She shrugged, feeling very much alone. “I canna return to Dunrobin. My association with the Sutherlands is forever severed after what I’ve seen here today.”
“A wise choice.”
“If my sire will take me…”
“Would it help if I sent him a missive explaining how sincere ye’ve been—how sorry ye are for running away?”
“I don’t regret running away, Father. I’m sorry for the way it happened, though. There’s a distinct difference.”
“I’m well aware.” There was an intensity in his gaze she hadn’t noticed before. “Would ye indulge an old man and confide in me why ye dinna stay with John?”
She cleared her throat and tried to find the strength to answer. “B-because I never loved him.”
He nodded in understanding. “Who did ye love, lass?”
“No one.” Had she just lied again? Before a priest and on consecrated ground? “Forgive me, Father Michael. Fear once again overrode my sense of truth. Twas Alexander MacKay I wanted and loved, not John.”
Father Michael patted her hand. “Ye are forgiven. Under the circumstances, the truth matters not, for ye have no place here now. Yer only connection to Clan MacKay will be buried with Laird John tomorrow. Go in peace, Lady Keely. I will pray for a successful reunion with yer sire.”
She curtsied, determined to leave the MacKay stronghold before the sun set.
*
Keely loved me?Alex had never left the sanctuary. Instead, he hid in an alcove and listened to everything she said. Her words did nothing to change his mind about her. In fact, it made him distrust her even more. For if she’d truly loved him, why did she pledge herself to John?
As he strolled away from the kirk, he shook his head. Women were capricious creatures. He’d never let another beautiful face manipulate him. He’d never believe another woman’s sweet lies or open up his heart to one. Plenty of foolish men would, but Alex refused to be counted among them.
Tomorrow he’d bury his brother and oversee the election of a new laird. As long as a MacKay sat upon the chieftain’s chair, he cared little about what happened afterward. He’d already done more than he’d ever planned by staying to defend his clan against the Sutherlands.
His galley awaited his return—as did the princes of the far east. In the land of Mohammed, infidels were free to do as they liked, so long as they didn’t curse the Prophet or Allah. Alex could live with those stipulations more than he could live in this place where too many ghosts haunted him.
“Milord.” Jamie joined him in the courtyard. “Some matters need yer attention in the great hall.”
“I left ye in charge, Jamie. We are kinsmen, and it’s my intention to put yer name before the council to elect ye as the next chieftain.”
Jamie came to a dead stop. “Me? Laird?” He shook his head. “The council convened while ye were out.”
The news pleased Alex. The less they relied on him to solve their problems, the better the chances of this branch of Clan MacKay surviving. “And what did they decide?”
“Tis better for all of the council members to speak for themselves.”
“Every warrior has the right to vote, Jamie.”
“Aye,” he said. “Several names were put before the council.”
“And?”
Alex followed his tight-lipped cousin into the great hall. The only other time he’d seen such a showing of blue and green plaid was on the battlefield. As he approached the high table, the men stood.
“Be seated,” he said. “Formality isna required here. We are all MacKays.”
“But not all of us are lairds,” Craig, one of his brother’s captains, pointed out.
“I’d prefer to wait until John is in the ground before we choose the next chief. But under the dire circumstances, I understand yer need to take a vote.”
“There’s no need, milord,” Craig said.
Alex sat down, looking into the crowd. “Why?”
