If Ailis had been in her right mind and not driven nearly mad with grief, she wouldn’t have begrudged her friend’s happiness, no matter where she’d found it. Davina was a distant cousin to Ailis’ mother with few prospects. She had hoped to find a place in Ailis’ household on her marriage and never dreamed of anything higher than that.
She sighed as she approached the bedchamber at the end of the corridor. No sounds came from within, so she knew Iain was still with her father. With a warning knock before she lifted the latch, she spoke his name and opened the door. As she entered, she left the door ajar so he would be aware of her presence when he arrived.
The room was as she’d directed. A fire tended in the hearth, food on the table and jugs of ale and water waiting for him. She walked to the small chest along one wall and found two tunics and trews folded neatly on top of it. Ailis touched the unused garments.
‘Twas almost as if he didn’t want to take anything offered him. As if he didn’t belong.
It amazed Iain how cold the chambers in a stone keep could be. If not for the well-set fire in the chieftain’s hearth, Iain would have been chilled. Standing naked, except for his boots, before The MacKinnon was not what he had planned to do, but the man would brook no refusal. Breac and the other man stood nearby in case he thought to naysay their laird, though their gazes were directed elsewhere throughout this inspection.
“Does it yet pain ye?” The MacKinnon asked as he nodded his permission for Iain to dress.
Iain shook his head as he turned his back and tugged the trews up, tying the laces at his waist. The hooded tunic followed, but he left the hood gathered at his neck as he placed the fabric mask over his face and tied it behind his head. When he eased the hood into place, Iain felt more secure. Facing the others as he slid on the gloves, he looked for their reaction to his disfigurement and was surprised by the lack of it.
“I’d sent men to the brothers to confirm yer story,” The MacKinnon said as he offered Iain an empty cup.
The older man reached up on a shelf and took down a precious glass bottle. Opening it himself, the laird poured a good amount of the golden liquid into Iain’s cup before pouring some for himself. Breac and the other two were dismissed with another nod before the powerful man directed him to sit.
Iain waited for him to take a drink of theuisge beathafirst and then sipped from his cup. This was a powerful brew and he waited as it moved over his tongue and down his throat. ‘Twas a smooth, deep, intense and rich flavor of a skillfully-distilled spirit. He paused before drinking more and looked at the chieftain.
“Did ye find what ye were seeking?” he asked. Iain had questioned the brothers for days trying to find out more about himself.
“Gold has a way of loosening men’s tongues,” The MacKinnon began. “Much like this does.”
He held up his cup ofuisge beathabetween them and drank more of it. Did the man think Iain held back some secret that spirits would free? If only it was that simple. Iain took a deep swallow and waited for the rest of The MacKinnon’s disclosures. The warmth of the golden liquid spread from his stomach to his limbs, removing any lingering discomfort. But it didn’t ease the sense of warning in his blood.
The chieftain’s gaze revealed not a glimmer of recognition. No sign that the man saw anything in his features, those that had not been burned, that were familiar to him. Iain let out a breath and waited for what the chieftain would say, now that Iain understood his identity was yet unknown.
“They told me exactly what ye had said. Injured and left for dead. Ye spent the last several months in their care.” The laird drank another mouthful and then nodded at Iain. “They said that ye are lucky, blessed, to be alive at all. That ye should have died ten times over but ye are a stubborn one and wouldna give in.” Another deep draw on his cup. “They pray that ‘tis not vengeance that drives ye so.”
“Someone tried to kill me.”
He’d thought on it in the long hours filled with pain and torment. Someone wanted him dead. Did they know they hadn’t succeeded? Were they watching him as he sought out his past? Or had they thought themselves safe?
“Aye. From the look of ye, they almost succeeded. That ye stand before me speaks to yer strength and courage. Admirable traits in a man.”
Iain could hear the hesitation and the coming word.
But…
“Ye will be on yer way on the morrow.”
Iain smiled as the chieftain confirmed what he’d suspected. The man would never let this stranger marry his daughter. His instincts had been proven correct. No man as powerful and intelligent as this one would let some stranger walk in and take his daughter in marriage.
“I was a convenient weapon to force her to yer will.”
He stated the words without rancor. ‘Twas what his own father would have done. Though he didn’t know who his father was, he knew to his marrow that he was as canny and strong as the man who stared at him over cups ofuisge beatha.
“Just so,” the man said, finishing his spirits and rising to his feet. “I dinna wish ill of ye,” he said. Iain drank the last drops from his cup and placed it on the table. “But my daughter will marry Duncan MacNeil.”
Iain almost asked if his daughter understood that, but he held the words behind his teeth. He walked across the chamber to the door and would have left without another word exchanged, if the laird hadn’t called out.
“She may not wish to, but she kens her place and her duty.” The man paused as though waiting for the conviction of his own words to make him believe them. “When ye sort things out or if ye canna, I could find ye a place if ye have need of one.”
He understood that by the time that happened, Ailis would be safely married and sent off across the sea to Barra, one of the MacNeils’ lands.
“I will think on yer offer, my lord,” he said before lifting the latch.
“Iain? One more thing.” The man crossed the chamber and stood in front of him. “The brothers said that ye were found elsewhere before they brought ye to their community.”
