MacGregor glared at Graham. “So ye’ll add kidnapping to yer list of sins?”
Graham sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Iain wanted to step in but feared making matters worse, so he sat quietly while MacGregor stood in the middle of the room, bristling and growling like a cornered boar.
“Ye deny yer sins against my family?” MacGregor asked Graham.
Iain’s attention sharpened. This was getting interesting. MacGregor must hold a grudge against other clan chiefs as well. And what were Graham’s sins against MacGregor?
“Sit down, Wallace,” Graham said firmly. “Quit blustering like an idiot. There are no sins against yer family.”
Iain bit back a smile. These two acted like old friends who had a lifetime of bickering between them, and Iain really wanted to know what MacGregor was referring to.
MacGregor puffed out his chest. “No sins? Nosins, ye say? Yer daughter killed my son.”
Iain sat forward, more intrigued than ever. He looked at Adair, who shrugged, indicating that he had no idea what this conversation was about.
Graham looked pained, and a fleeting moment of grief crossed his face. “Our children did no’ kill each other. My daughter died in childbirth. Yer son killed himself.”
What in the hell was this? To Iain’s surprise, MacGregor’s chin trembled, and he suddenly looked like a vulnerable, weary old man.
“Both deaths were a tragedy,” Graham said quietly. “And both were mourned by the Grahams and the MacGregors.”
“Ye allowed Catherine to wed that numpty bastard.”
Graham’s narrow-eyed gaze moved to Iain then back to MacGregor. “We’re here to discuss the feud between ye and Campbell, no’ the one between us.”
Catherine?
The only Catherine related to Graham would be Cait. Why would MacGregor care that Graham had allowed Cait to wed John? And what was this about Graham’s daughter killing MacGregor’s son? This was getting very interesting indeed, but Graham was right, it wasn’t why they were here.
MacGregor crossed his arms. “There’s nothing to discuss. My father’s death must be avenged.”
“Sit down, MacGregor,” Iain said calmly but with authority.
MacGregor turned to him. “Mìle marbhphaisg ort,Campbell. I’ll no’ be taking orders from ye.”
Iain rubbed his eyes. A thousand curses on you, MacGregor had said. The man was daft.
“The only feud is with yourself,” Iain said.
MacGregor pointed at him, his face alarmingly red. “Ye deny that yer kin killed my father?”
“I don’t deny it.”
MacGregor’s finger wavered. His arm dropped to his side and he seemed to be at a loss for words. In some ways Iain was sympathetic to MacGregor. He was an old man clinging to the old ways. His entire life had been about revenge and retribution, and while the world had moved on, he had remained firmly entrenched in his outdated beliefs.
“Even though I wasn’t alive when it happened, I apologize for the deeds of my grandfather. I find his actions unacceptable and reprehensible.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that I don’t condone his actions, and I would never allow that to happen under my leadership. What my grandfather did was wrong.”
The air seemed to go out of MacGregor, and he looked from Graham, who was watching the scene calmly, to Iain. He then looked around the room at Rory, Adair, and Tavis and seemed to realize he was standing alone. He sat heavily in the chair behind him and rubbed his eyes.
“He broke a long-standing unspoken rule. My father asked for sanctuary and yer grandfather offered it, then killed him in his sleep when he was defenseless and thought he was safe.”
“I know.” Iain had heard the story over and over in his youth. His own father didn’t understand the actions of his father. Neither Iain nor his father was certain why it had happened, other than Iain’s grandfather was a supporter of the English and MacGregor’s father was not. But even then they’d not been adversaries.
