“But the MacKenzie couldn’t have possibly attacked England. It would have been suicide.”
“He wasn’t supposed to attack England.” A heavy silence fell between them, and when Bridgid broke it, her voice sounded strange. “He was supposed to attack your clan.”
“Oh.” For the second time in less than a quarter hour, unpleasant surprise dulled Aileana’s ability to speak.
Bridgid continued, “As Chief of Kintail, the MacKenzie should have demanded vengeance for the crimes committed against us. But he chose peace over right.” Pursing her lips, she added, “In his favor, he took in those of us who survived after the ambush. He even gave some men for Kinnon to take with him when he tried to free Duncan from the Tower. But he wouldn’t raise a force against your people.”
“I see.” Aileana’s back stiffened. “I suppose that gives Duncan another reason to hate me.”
“Nay, missy. He doesn’t blame you for that,” Bridgid said in a kinder tone. “Duncan is just. He always has been.”
“Then I would not want to see him when he’s behavingunjustly.”
Bridgid was quiet for a moment. She sighed. “I cannot stay longer to talk about this with you right now. But come and I’ll set you to some tasks outside the kitchens to get your mind off what troubles you.” She gave a gentle smile. “Come.”
Feeling the weight of her shameful position at Eilean Donan settle into her chest once more, Aileana nodded and followed. As she walked alongside thebailie, she bit her lip. None of this was working as she’d hoped.
It seemed that it was going to take something much greater than these little revenges she’d plotted against Duncan to ease the ache that grew in her heart every time she thought about him…and somehow she doubted that she was ever going to find the means she sought.
The door blew open. Duncan waited a few seconds before pushing himself to his feet. He stood to face the Chief of Kintail reluctantly, but he couldn’t risk open insult, not when his clan might suffer the consequences of his insolence.
John MacKenzie, Chief of Kintail, strode into the hall, flanked by four other MacKenzies in full regalia. He stopped ten paces from Duncan. His wide stance exuded pride and confidence, yet his expression revealed a hint of uncertainty.
“It’s good to see you prospering, Duncan MacRae.” He spoke loudly, his words echoing in the silence of the great hall.
Duncan clenched his jaw before tilting his head in greeting. “I’m well enough. Though it’s safe to say that the English did all that they could to ensure otherwise.”
“Aye, well, the English are dogs.”
“Dogs with a bite,” Duncan rejoined quietly, fisting his ruined hand within its gauntlet.
Kinnon appeared out of nowhere, stepping up behind Duncan and laying his hand on his shoulder. “My cousin is too modest to admit that he fought the bastards in body and in spirit, for which they repaid him in cowardly fashion. But we survived, did we not, Duncan?” Kinnon slapped him on the back and smiled, before raising his cup. “Enough talk of our enemies, now. Come, share some warmed ale and a meal with us on this cold day!”
The MacKenzie nodded. “Aye, a cup would be most welcome after our journey.” He moved to a table at Kinnon’s gesture. Duncan flicked his gaze to a serving boy, directing him to bring the ale. Then he too sat.
The chief took his place at the seat of honor next to Duncan, refraining from talking while a trencher of venison, turnip, and bread were placed before him. He dug into the repast with relish, slowing only when he’d finished a good portion of the food.
“I would have come to greet your return to Eilean Donan earlier, MacRae, but for the skirmishes these past months with the Buchanans. The sorry bunch of them keep attacking Brahan Castle.”
“So you still lead raids against other clans, then?” Duncan murmured the statement half as a question, and the chief paused with a finger full of venison part way to his mouth.
Kinnon threw Duncan a warning glance, but Duncan ignored him and tossed back the remainder of his ale.
Finally, the chief put the meat in his mouth and chewed slowly. After he’d swallowed, he spoke. “Aye. I lead attacks—on those who threaten the welfare of Highland peace. If another way is available, I take that over warfare. It is less costly in both men and time.”
Duncan toyed with his empty cup, twirling it between his fingers. “And what of leaving a matter unsettled—leaving a debt unpaid? Are you saying you’ve never allowed the likes of that?”
“Nay, never.” The chief’s eyes were steely, his gaze unwavering. “And I’m not daft, either. I heard about your raid two months past on the MacDonells. I cannot condone it, though I understand your feelings in the matter.”
Then why did you not retaliate against them for me when I was helpless in the Tower?The question burned in Duncan’s brain, but he didn’t voice it.
The MacKenzie sat back and picked a shred of meat from his teeth. “It’s time now to put aside your thirst for vengeance, Duncan. The MacDonells themselves punished those who wronged you; justice was served many years ago.”
“Not all of the guilty were punished.”
The MacKenzie leaned forward. “Morgana MacDonell was sent into banishment to die, along with two score of her clan.” The chief raised one brow. “If I don’t forget myself, your own brother Colin was made to join them for his part in the plot.” The chief drank and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let the past go, man.”
Duncan stared into his cup, gritting his teeth until he thought they would crack. He could say no more. His duty to the Chief prevented it. Yet knowing that the MacKenzie was willing to sit here at his table and defend his lack of action against the MacDonells all those years ago galled him.
