“She is of great help to us,” Malcolm said.
“But after yer wife has delivered...”
“We will have an even greater need for her.”
Another long pause. Ethne’s chest tightened for lack of air. She was ready to scream.
Aidan finally spoke again. “She will remain here. For now. I will let ye know if that changes.”
“I will abide by yer decision. Do not doubt it,” Malcolm said.
Tears flooded her throat, but Ethne dared not make a sound. Despite her confusion about specifics, one thing was clear: it was not safe for her to remain here. When next she went to the village, she would look for a place to hide. Mayhap a church.
Her thoughts turned to Finn as they often did. A sweet child except when he mimicked his mother. She was training him to be hard-hearted and cruel. Ethne’s plans needed to include him. Abandoning him was no more an option than ripping out her own heart.
Decided, she took a quiet breath and soon drifted off to the memories of happier times.
Chapter 6
Garnait refused to speak to Niall about their possible travel to the priory, instead sending them into battle with a promise to grant them any request upon their return.
More than a sennight later, Lachlann stood with Niall before their chieftain. They were both exhausted and the scream of dying men still sounded in Lachlann’s ears. While they had fought under the command of the bloodthirsty Campbell, Garnait had stayed behind ensconced on his raised dais as if overlooking his royal subjects.
“And I should allow ye to make such a trip to what purpose?” Garnait MacDonell settled himself in his favorite seat in the longhouse. He crooked a single brow before smiling. Definitely a smile intended to let them know groveling would be involved in order to get his permission.
His wife and daughter huddled beside the open fire in the center of the open space with their sewing, their heads close together as they spoke. His sons slouched about the only trestle table remaining after the evening meal had been cleared away, drinking and gambling over a game of dice. The rest of the warriors were within earshot of their chieftain, almost as if ready to assist at a moment’s notice. It seemed their chieftain believed he needed protection.
Lachlann smiled to himself.
“The church has requested our assistance with some troubles there.”
Garnait’s expression twisted into a comical display of outrage. “But their priory is to the east.”
“They have spiritual interests across the area,” Lachlann added. “Certainly, God has no limit to where we may be of service to Him.”
“What exactly is in it for me?” The aging warrior demanded before taking a deep swallow from his silver bejeweled chalice.
“Is it not obvious?” Too late, Lachlann realized his irritation came through in his tone. Rustling came from his left where the warriors feigned disinterest.
“Uncle.” Niall’s voice was tight. “We will offer yer well wishes to the chieftains whose lands we cross, both as a tribute and to avoid any useless fighting. Reaching out to these other clans could verra well put ye in a favorable light, as I’m sure ye realize.”
Lachlann hoped Garnait wouldn’t ask too many questions. Just as Niall’s temper had settled enough that he obeyed his uncle to support the Campbell in battle, he could choose now to leave without another word.
At the narrowing of his uncle’s eyes, Niall’s face reddened. “OrI could not mention ye at all and do the work of the church faster and with God’s blessing. Surely, helping the Brides of Christ will cover many of the sins laid at my feet.”
His angry tone had not been missed by those around them. Garnait’s men shifted in the suddenly quiet room.
Sensing danger, Lachlann closed the distance between Niall and him. He squared his shoulders and ignored the men moving ever closer. “Did ye not promise us a boon, Garnait?”
“My uncle’s word holds little value.” Niall spat out the insult, a hand on the hilt of the blade at his side.
The women were grabbing up their needlework to make a quick exit.
Garnait stroked his long beard. “I see ye have yer father’s temper.”
Niall snorted through flared nostrils. “They are called principles, Uncle.”
Insulting murmurings became more distinguishable, but Garnait raised a hand to silence them.
