Duncan paused, clearing his throat before his tongue refused to form the words. “I ought saymyland, as they live hidden away in a bleak and empty corner of Kintail. Castle Dare is their home. A place I haven’t visited in many a year. No man wishing to see the next day’s sunrise would willingly set foot there.”
“They are that evil?” Linnet sank onto a chair.
“They are that cursed,” Duncan amended, knowing the distinction made little difference. “Tradition claims they had a sorcerer ancestor in their distant past. Maldred the Dire. An archdruid of such great wickedness his legacy has marked them, bringing doom and grief to the clan all down the centuries.”
“Dear saints.” Linnet clapped a hand to her breast.
Sir Marmaduke frowned, already reaching for his sword. “You must refuse this offer by any means. I will postpone the journey to Doon.” He stepped forward, patting his blade. “My sword arm is yours, as always.”
“Your sword arm is the last thing I’d want unleashed on the MacRuaris,” Duncan said, touched by his friend’s loyalty but well aware that he couldn’t make use of it. “Such recourse is closed to me.”
“I do not understand.”
“You would if I’d spoken plainer words.”
“Then speak them,” his wife urged. “Please, I pray you.”
His heart heavy, Duncan went back to the table, helping himself this time to a cup of tepid ale. The drink’s staleness suited him. He picked up the rolled parchment, only to let it drop again as if it’d been an adder and bit him. “The offer for Gelis did not come from the Raven but from the man’s grandfather, the MacRuari chieftain. He is the man I cannot refuse, not his grandson and heir.”
“Why can you not refuse him?” His wife came into his arms, holding him tightly. “Surely you can?”
“Nae, I cannot,” Duncan spoke true. “My honor forbids it.”
“Your honor?” Linnet pulled back to stare at him. “How can you speak of such a thing with your daughter’s life at stake?”
“Because,” Duncan told her, the truth breaking him, “without the valor of old MacRuari, I would not have a daughter. Not Gelis. Not Arabella. Nor even you. Valdar MacRuari saved my life when I was a lad. I owe him that long-standing debt and now he is wishing to claim it.”
“Oh.” The color left Linnet’s face. “Now I see.”
And Duncan saw that she did.
Honor was everything to a MacKenzie. Even death was preferable to forsaking it.
“Indeed, I see as well.” Sir Marmaduke sighed. “You have no choice.”
“Such is the way of it,” Duncan agreed, wishing it were otherwise. “As soon as arrangements can be made, Gelis must wed the Raven. God help the man if aught befalls her.”
Chapter Two
Gelis paused just inside the crowded bailey, her hand still on the latch of the postern gate. Chaos reigned, and she didn’t need her newly discovered ability as ataibhsearto recognize that the turmoil was anything but the usual bustle and stir known to fill Eilean Creag’s vast, cobbled courtyard. Not that the pandemonium ruffled her. Ever one to find a certain excitement in disorder, she put back her shoulders and ran her still-frozen fingers through her hair, not surprised to note that nary a pin remained.
The image of the raven remained as well, the memory of his dark good looks and spellbinding intensity making her heart pound and her blood quicken. Thinking, too, of the fierceness of his embrace, she leaned down to swipe at the wet sand and bits of seaweed clinging to the lower half of her cloak, not at all bothered that her efforts made so little difference.
She had more important matters on her mind than caring if anyone glanced askance at her.
As for her ruined clothes, she’d apologize to the laundresses and see that they received a few ells of fine woolen cloth for their trouble, if she could make her way to where they worked at a wooden trough across the bailey — a next to impossible undertaking, considering the throng of kinsmen and servants.
She bit her lip and glanced round. Some of the garrison men tried to look busy though clearly doing nothing, while others gathered in tight, noisy circles, their raised voices and agitation outdone only by the barking of the castle dogs. With the exception of her father’s favorite old hounds, Telve and Troddan, every four- legged beast at Eilean Creag raced frantically about, scattering chickens, annoying horses, and lending to the general air of madness and mayhem.
Something was seriously wrong.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, she started forward, only taking a few steps before Arabella squeezed through the crush in front of her. Blocking the way, she reached out and gripped Gelis’s arm.
“I knew you’d gone to the foreshore.” Arabella’s nose wrinkled at the sight of her mussed and dampened clothes. “You picked a fine day to go running about looking like a drowned fishwife.”
“And you look like a prune with your face all screwed up.” Gelis snatched back her arm. “Itisa fine day. You won’t believe what —”
“ ’Tis you who won’t believe what Father has to say to you. He —”
