“Your clan…how came you to own treasures like these? My people claim prosperity, yet I’ve never seen the likes of this before.”
Kinnon’s mouth twisted in a half-mocking smile. “Though it may not appear so now, before your sister attacked us, the MacRaes had much wealth and power. Our overlords granted us with lands and estates, and we gained our other possessions in successful campaigns and wars.” One blond brow arched in surprise. “I cannot believe your kin neglected to tell you aught of that. Aside from wanting to steal theEalach, a desire for our holdings was what incited your sister to attack us—that and her need for revenge after Duncan refused to marry her.”
“Marry her?”
“Aye. She desired the match; he did not. And even if he had wanted Morgana, he was already in love with Mairi by then and pledged to wed her.” Kinnon frowned. “They did not tell you that bit either?” When she shook her head in stunned silence, he made a scoffing noise. “You come from strange folk. Did you yourself never question the whys of the feud between our peoples, beyond the possession of theEalach?”
Embarrassment made Aileana’s cheeks feel hot as she tried to explain. “I was but a child when Morgana waged her battle against you. When it was all over, Father brought me to my chamber, telling me that from that day on, I was to become theEalach’s keeper. I was his only remaining daughter, and so it was fitting that I fill the role. He said that the amulet would bring prosperity back to our clan, as long as I remained confined there to protect it. A little while after, the council determined that Morgana had committed crimes against our clan, both in practicing the Black Arts and by consorting with the English…but she saved herself from execution thanks to having retrieved the amulet for our people. They banished her to the far north instead, where she died a year later.”
Aileana swallowed and looked back to Kinnon for understanding. “It’s all I know—all I was ever allowed to know.”
An expression of disbelief had crept across Kinnon’s face as she spoke. Now he just stared. “Are you saying that until you came here you were kept locked in your chamber to watch over theEalachfor thirteen years?”
Aileana shrugged. “I was allowed to come down to the hall at certain times. It was the way it had to be. I was nearly eight when theEalachcame home. Morgana had been banished, and as the chieftain’s only remaining daughter, it became my charge. We had been without its good influence for nearly a century, and Father decided that dedicating me as keeper would aid in achieving a quicker reversal of our ill fortunes. My loss of freedom was a worthy price to pay.”
Kinnon continued to gaze at her in silence, and she wrapped her arms around her waist, recalling the hours of loneliness and boredom, standing at her open shutter to catch a sniff of the air or watch the people of her clan living their lives. His obvious pity made her uncomfortable, though, so she added, “It wasn’t unbearable. I was allowed freer roam of the main keep on certain feast days and Sundays. And I got out of my chambers at other times as well, mostly when Father was gone; my brothers would sneak up then and steal me out to play.”
She thought for a moment. “Oh, and Father allowed me my herb beds for a while. During the space of two years, I was given leave to come down for an hour each day to tend them and learn what I could about plants from an old woman who lived in the village; she was getting too frail to give much help to the sick, and so I begged for the chance to be trained to take her place, eventually—to have something more useful to do. That ended, though, when Father learned I was cultivating centaury; he feared I’d use it for practicing the Black Arts as Morgana had done.” Aileana spoke matter-of-factly. “It is true that if given in the right dosage centaury can cause delusion. I never considered using it in so sinister a way, but Father wanted to take no chance that I might be tempted to darkness as Morgana had been.”
Kinnon remained silent for a few moments more before saying in a somber voice, “You’ve been a virtual recluse, lass. No wonder you caused such a clamor when you came to live here.”
She looked at him in wounded denial. “If I did, it was wholly deserved. I’ve been treated with naught but disrespect and loathing since I arrived at Eilean Donan, though I’ve tried my best to fit in with the whole lot of you.”
Shaking his head, Kinnon spoke more kindly. “Hold, lass, I’ve no wish to kindle your anger. I’m just trying to make sense of it all so that perhaps I can find a way to help Duncan reach an understanding with you.”
“He doesn’t wish to reach any kind of reasonable understanding with me.” She gave an unladylike snort. “The only thing he’s interested in is badgering me into telling him where I’ve hidden theEalach.”
Kinnon smiled enigmatically. “Perhaps…perhaps not. My cousin isn’t as blustery as he seems. There are many layers to Duncan MacRae; it might not be a bad thing for you to try to uncover a few of them.”
Flushing, Aileana stalked over to the shelves and took down three pots, muttering, “Aye, well I doubt I could penetrate a single layer of that man’s stony hide, even if I was foolish enough to want to,” before adding more loudly for Kinnon’s benefit, “I’m afraid I’ve dallied here long enough. Would you consent to help me carry some of these pots into the keep?”
Smothering a grin, Kinnon gave her a feigned bow and murmured, “At your service, lass.”
As they trumped back to the kitchen with her booty, Aileana thought over what Kinnon had told her. She had difficulty imagining Duncan as anything but a harsh and unbending leader. Then again, people weren’t always as they seemed; she knew that better than most. Walking into the kitchen with Kinnon close behind her, she gazed boldly at the women who looked up, noticing that, for once, all conversation didn’t cease the moment she entered the room.
Aye, her plan to fit in with the MacRaes and make them like her was progressing well.
The future remained unknown, but one thing was certain. She was going to be using her new, commanding persona to full advantage from now on and as often as possible, practicing the skill until the moment the irascible, enigmatic leader of the wild MacRaes finally returned home…
Because she knew that when that time came, she’d be put to the test like never before—and she’d be damned if she was going to fail in it.
Chapter 8
Duncan raked his gloved hand through his hair and groaned as he dismounted Glendragon and led him toward the stables with the other men and their mounts. Sleeping on the ground each night after long days spent skirmishing with the MacLeods had left him aching. Some pains sprang from his old prison wounds, while others were signs of age, no doubt. But be it as it may, he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted nothing more, right now, than a hot bath and the comfort of his bed.
After settling Glendragon with a double ration of oats, Duncan nodded to the men who were dispersing to find their families, and then trudged to the center yard and into the castle’s main keep. His sleep-deprived mind took foggy note of the area; it seemed quiet for this time of the afternoon. Almost deserted.
His steps slowed as he passed the place where the dogs slept. Gone was the pile of bones and refuse that used to surround the animals. Clean rushes covered the floor, the hounds stretched out upon them, snoring in blissful oblivion. Duncan paused in surprise. It looked as though someone had taken a comb to the animals’ unruly coats.
Shaking his head, he continued toward the great hall; he must be more tired than he realized. The dogs were never brushed. They just romped in their natural state, happy to be left to their own play and none the worse for wear.
Duncan rubbed the back of his neck as he entered the passageway leading to the great hall. He saw with satisfaction that at least this one command had been obeyed, even in his absence. Every wall torch was lit, illuminating the narrow corridor as if midday sun shone through the stone. But like everywhere else, the hallway was empty, save for several large baskets filled to overflowing with tiny blossoms of purple heather.
Baskets of heather?
This time Duncan jerked to a stop, his stupefaction breaking all bounds as he absorbed the innocuous sight of the flower baskets set on the floor at regular intervals. Walking into the great hall, he peered around like a hawk searching for prey. Where the devil was Bridgid—and what was she thinking with all this feminine nonsense?
And then he began to notice it. The regular clamor of the hall was no more than a genteel murmur; he looked round and saw his men, huddled over cups of ale, staring belligerently ahead, but speaking nary a word; they sat nicely as schoolboys…boys with neatly trimmed beards and clean tunics and plaids.
