1
Dunbarton Keep, Scotland
Late November, in the Year of Our Lord 1357
Iain MacKillop staredacross the hall and watched as his nieces and nephews, brothers, and other kith and kin went about their usual tasks and routines. And with every passing second, he knew he was not needed.
The MacKillops had been at peace for years, their allies strong enough to deter any real trouble. As uncle of the chieftain and commander of all the MacKillop fighting men, he thought things had been quiet. Too quiet. With the worst of the winter coming soon, Iain could not imagine being here with all the squabbling and . . . children.
Having never been blessed with ones of his own before his wife passed, he now grew impatient around the young ones. ’Twas not that he disliked them; nay, it was rather that he’d wanted to have children too much.
Marry again,his nephew Jamie had said. Jamie had even offered to make arrangements for a suitable bride as befitted the uncle of the chieftain. Suitable bride, his arse! Jamie simplywanted to use him to cement some far-flung relationship, as his own father had done with Iain’s first marriage. Now, though, Iain refused to be a pawn again.
As though thinking on Jamie’s marriage plans had made him appear, Iain noticed his nephew approaching the table where Iain sat. Lifting the mug and pouring the last bit into his mouth, Iain stood and pushed the stool away, determined to avoidthisagain.
“Iain, stay a moment,” Jamie said as he arrived next to Iain. “I have a matter to discuss with ye.”
“Jamie, leave it be,” he said. “I want no woman to wife now.”
His nephew studied him in silence and nodded, before sitting down and drawing Iain down next to him. Holding up Iain’s mug, he signaled his desire for ale to a passing maid. When a clean cup appeared filled with ale, his nephew drank deeply of it before speaking.
“I mean no disrespect to Elisabeth, uncle, when I urge you to remarry. I doubt she would want you to remain unhappy for the rest of your life.”
“I am not unhappy,” Iain replied. “And you do not know how Elisabeth would feel about it.”
But Iain did. Elisabeth had begged him on her deathbed not to mourn her. To marry again. To have the children she could never give him with another. Iain’s stomach soured at the memory.
“Fine,” his nephew said. “Then I will put it plainly to you—I need you to strengthen our alliance with the MacLarens. They have a daughter of marriageable age, and . . .”
Iain’s expression must have changed without him realizing it, for his nephew stopped in the middle of his words.Of marriageable agemeant a girl barely into womanhood. No matter that it was customary; as a man of more than two score years, he had no wish to take a near-child as his bride.
“Have I not served ye and our clan all my life, Jamie?”
he asked, already knowing the answer. “Have I not done everything asked of me by first yer father and then by ye?” Iain stood then, and his nephew raised his gaze to follow him. A curt nod was the only acknowledgement.
“Then if—ifI decide to remarry, it will be my choice this time.”
Iain strode the length of the hall and out of the keep.
Standing there in the cold November rain, he considered the issue that he’d thought was over and done. His stomach tightened as he remembered both Elisabeth’s last wishes and his nephew’s words and request. The truth in his heart was harder to accept than Jamie’s suggested proposal.
He wanted to marry again. He craved the joys and simple pleasures that had existed between him and his wife.
And, aye, he wanted children more than anything in his heart or soul.
He kicked at a stone on the step next to his foot and sent it flying at the wall. Damn, but he wished they’d been blessed with children. Nay, his real wish was that Elisabeth yet lived and had born their bairns. Another stone flew against the wall.
It had been five years and the deepest pain had passed, but Iain would never forget her smile and her tender touch. And her soft ways and words.
Ye are no’ a man to be alone, my love. Find someone who will make ye happy this time.
He’d argued with her then; for, though theirs had been an arranged marriage between strangers, their unexpected love had made him extremely happy. As was the usual way of things between them, even on her deathbed, she was right and spoke advice that was true. He did not like being alone. He would like to find someone. Mayhap he should allow Jamie his way in this? Let him make the arrangements?
The cold winds picked up then, whipping through the yard and around the stone keep. Buffeted by them, he wondered if mayhap Lisabeth was putting in her opinion about the matter? Nay, ’twas just the winds reminding him that winter would soon be upon them and the weather would make travel across the Highlands more difficult, if possible at all.
It had become his custom over these last years to visit Robbie Mathieson in Dunnedin over the darkest part of the winter. It was easier to celebrate Christ’s Mass and the year’s end there rather than here, where the memories of Elisabeth were so strong.
Make new memories, Iain. Love again. Live again.
