Chapter Nine
Kyle was glowing. He shut the door behind him as Laila walked away and felt a tremendous jolt running through the whole of his body. He rubbed his hand where theirs had brushed together, and he found himself smiling, looking like a fool for nobody to see. Then, as quickly as he had felt the joy of their contact and banter, he felt foolishness for himself.
He had only just met this woman, this Englishwoman at that. He was not some soft-bellied bard who swooned over a maiden’s fairness. No, he was a warrior, a proud son of Scotland. The women swooned for him! That was the role he was used to playing, and this other thing that he had just experienced yet couldn’t explain was a role quite foreign to him. So much so that it made him squirm with discomfort.
He pressed the clothes flat against his torso, trying to compose himself. What would she say to all the others? Had that been real, or just his imagination? Was it just the excitement of a foreigner, something new? She was utterly beautiful, there was no doubt about it, and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He could practically still see her there, standing in the hallway, half walking away, half looking back at him. It was those eyes, those piercing green eyes. They had him enthralled.
But there were more important things to think about! He tried to force her from his mind, focusing on the day’s task. The war council of the McGowan clan was convening, and he would surely be expected to speak. The war council was a great matter, for all the heads of the farming families who contributed men in numbers to the McGowan levy would be there, and all would have an opinion on what to do about the MacLeans, these outlaws and traitors.
It was not certain they were there in McGowan lands, but Kyle had lived long enough to know better. Where there is dung, there is a creature. Kyle perked up a bit as he thought that. It was a good line. He would use it at the war council. It was sure to get a laugh, and it happened to be true. He wondered if Laila would have laughed about it, then he bit down on his own lip. It was a day for war and leadership, nobility and might, not for daydreaming about Englishwomen. He had to find something else to occupy himself with.
Kyle went out of his chambers and hurried out to the yard, waiting for the heads of the families to arrive. He saw that his brother was not yet standing by to receive noble guests in the yard, and as such, Kyle gleaned, he had plenty of time before anyone arrived. He frowned. He was already scanning the servants washing clothes for a sign of Laila, yet he could not see her.
Pursuing a better view of the yard, he climbed the stairs of one of the guard towers and walked out onto the castle ramparts, surveying the scene below. She had to be down there somewhere. Where was she?
War. Death. Nobility. Duty.
“Pull yerself together,” he muttered, swinging his gaze outward at the countryside around them. A pleasant breeze blew through his hair, but then it switched and threw long stray strands up into his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He turned about to pull it from his face, and as he pulled it away, he saw Laila down in the yard, looking up at him.
Kyle immediately turned back around.War. Death. Nobility. Duty.
“God’s sake,” he said. “Leave me be.” His face was hot.
Then there was a trumpet blast from one of the towers, and his eyes shot out to the horizon. There they were, the first of the families, drawn out in a short line of the landowner and his retinue, perhaps some five or six men from what Kyle could tell at that distance. Then there was another blast, and Kyle saw another group of men making their way down out of the hills. The families were coming. Now it was real. War. Death. Nobility. Duty.
Kyle peaked back over his shoulder, trying not to catch sight again of Laila but looking for his brother. Another trumpet blasted. There he was, coming out of the keep with Ella beside him and the boy beside her. Kyle smiled. His nephew was a shining beacon of light in that dull, cold world. He would make a fine Laird one day, of that Kyle was sure. Kyle went back down the stairs in the tower and went to join his family in front of the keep, taking up his place on the other side of his brother.
“Well, dinnae ye look fine,” Gavin said, turning to look Kyle up and down.
“Ye haven’t worn that tunic in a year at least,” Ella remarked.
“It suits me for today,” Kyle replied, widening his stance and puffing out his chest a bit. He did enjoy a good compliment. It made him feel good.Was Laila still out in the yard?
Another trumpet blasted.
“That’s all four,” Gavin said. “At least, we’ll get started on time.”
“Don’t plan tae end in a timely manner,” Ella muttered, and Kyle smiled at the remark. It was true. When such a war council was called, discussion could last well into the small hours of the evening, complete with much badgering, bad-mouthing, name-calling, and praising. Then, when all matters were settled, it was expected that all parties present should go out drinking. And it was heavy drinking, for it was to celebrate whatever was agreed upon at the council.
What’s more, it was rare for the heads of the highland families to come down to the castle, least of all together. So, in addition to all the general merriment, there would also be a lot of catching up to do between the heads of the families, the Laird and Kyle. He had not seen them all in one place since he was a young lad, and surely, they would have words for him.
“Are ye nervous?” Gavin asked, leaning in a bit to Kyle’s ear.
“Nervous?” Kyle replied. “Nay, excited.”
“I’m bloody nervous,” Gavin said back. “These bastards always want somethin’. And me, I’m the one who delivers. Not tae mention they remember us as children.”
“We are men now,” Kyle said, and Gavin gave a slight chuckle.
“Here we go,” Gavin replied, watching the men file into the castle.
They came up from the gate in their small procession, filing into a line as their paths converged just outside the castle. First came MacRhone, a tall, elderly Scotsman with years of war and hardship in his eyes, a man who had fought across the length of the country and who had no qualms saying so. Second was MacLeod, a much shorter yet much harrier man who had lost an eye years ago. Third was MacFraise, who was much less warlike than the first two, sported a slimmer, more delicate frame and was known among the hills for his quick wit, though he seldom spoke.
And finally, in the rear rode MacNear, a boisterous Scotsman who was not shy with his love for drink, and everybody agreed spoke far too frequently on matters he knew nothing about. It was said that he loved hearing his own voice more than the words he was saying. Together, the four made quite an impression on the castle yard, and many of the peasant folk about hurried over from the market and the orchards to see the small procession.
“Me friends!” Gavin called out at the approaching party. “Welcome tae me home!”
“Me Laird,” MacRhone said, bowing his head as he came to the base of the tower. “It is good tae see ye.”
