“You must be Lindsey,” the man said. “My name is Quinn and I’m here to help you.”
* * *
Tavish rode fast to Castle Sinclair. He prayed he would make it in time, that his father would still be alive when he got there.
Approaching the castle after so long a strange feeling washed over him. Guilt, anger, affection, all mingled with panic over whether he had taken too long to get there.
Two guards manned the gates. They were not men he knew though after so long would he recognize anyone there?
“What do ye want?” the first guard asked. “Alms are given tae beggars on Sundays only. If ye seek charity, the abbey feeds the poor. Five miles that way.”
“I seek no abbey. I seek the laird of the Sinclairs.”
The second guard laughed. “Do ye now? A beggar wishing to speak to our laird. Well, what might ye have to discuss with him?”
“Ah have something for him.”
“And might I ask what gift you bring? Gold? A destrier perhaps? Chainmail?”
“This.” Tavish leaned down to pass the velvet bag to the guard, watching as the two of them slid it open, pulling out the contents.
“The sacred stone,” the first guard said, sounding shocked. “But how did ye get this?”
“Ah am Tavish Sinclair and ah retrieved the stone to end my exile as I was bid tae dae a decade before this day.”
“Tavish? Is that really you?”
The second guard vanished, leaving the first to hand the stone back to Tavish.
“The stone is returned at last,” the guard said. “Praise God.”
“Are ye going tae let me inside?”
The gates rattled open. The guard stood aside and watched as Tavish rode into the courtyard, taking in what had changed and what remained the same. A new armory had been built against the far wall. The chapel had been expanded. It was all so different yet so familiar.
Jumping down from his horse he carried the bag into the keep, marching up the stairs to the great hall. The laird was at the far end, deep in conversation with his retinue.
“I seek the laird,” Tavish called out in a loud voice.
“Deal with him,” the laird said impatiently, waving at one of his retinue.
“This way,” the steward said, trying to push Tavish backward.
“Is that how you treat an old friend, Andrew?”
The man stopped, blinking as he stared at Tavish, realization spreading across his face. “Tavish?” he muttered. “Is that you? You must go. They’ll have you killed. You know the law.”
“I have the stone.”
The steward’s face turned white. He almost dragged Tavish over to the laird who looked up with fury in his eyes.
“Who disturbs my plans? I have the English on the march and a steward who cannot keep beggars from my door. Take him-” He stopped dead. “Tavish?” He was already getting up, reaching for his sword when Tavish held up the stone.
“Ah bring back the sacred stone of Clan Sinclair as you bid all those years ago. Now you will free my father and bring him to the infirmary.”
The laird waved at someone in the back of the room before reaching out, his eyes wide, his fingers trembling. “The stone. Ah cannae believe the stone is back where it belongs.”
“I give it freely tae you,” Tavish said. “The MacIntyres return it with a plea for peace. We must come together if we are tae defend the Highlands.” He pressed it into the laird’s hand. “Now tell me, does my father live?”
