The news saddened her greatly, for her sire had killed many men in his lifetime. Not that she considered him a murderer, for most had met their end on the battlefield. “This was one of his conditions in order for Alex to gain his approval?”
“Aye.”
What next? Alex’s blood? “My father can be uncompromising.”
“Levi deserved to die, milady. And so did the men who supported his rebellion.”
“How many were there?”
“Seven. One but a child. He’s been placed under the care of the cook and the head of household.”
“And the others?”
“Banished.”
She supposed that was better than execution. Though it did surprise her Alex had let them live. For she’d never escape the nightmare of watching her husband beat a man within an inch of his life. Aye, she’d seen men die before from illness and sword fighting. But never from fists. That’s why she intervened with Alex, asking him to stop. She’d been the cause of the unrest and felt responsible for the violence.
“You are very quiet,” Petro observed.
“I am thinking.”
“About what?”
“What will happen if we are caught.”
Petro offered her a water skin. She took a long drink of the refreshing, cold water.
“Alex is unpredictable,” he said. “I have seen him kill without conscience one day, and demonstrate the mercy of God the next.”
“Let us hope we are caught on a good day then.”
Petro laughed. “Are you hungry? I have smoked fish and venison, and some bread.”
“I would like the fish.”
He gave her a piece of cloth filled with meat. “Keep it with you on the horse,” he suggested. “Unless you are more comfortable with me.”
She’d never ridden at night before. And there did seem to be an advantage to staying with Petro. She felt safe. But she said, “I will ride my own horse.”
“Very well,” he said. “We should go then, I do not like staying in one place too long.”
She’d travel all night if he wished it. The sooner she completed her business with the earl, the quicker she could return home. As long as Alex would take her back.
*
After a longnight of drinking too much ale and arguing with his father-in-law, Alex stumbled up the stairs to his bedchamber. He welcomed a good night’s sleep. Keely had grown weary of the feast and retired early. Smart lass. It had taken a great amount of patience to entertain Laird Oliphant. Even his sons had abandoned them eventually.
The two guards posted in the passageway bowed, and Alex grunted as he opened the door. Not wanting to wake his wife, he unlaced and kicked off his boots. The warmth from the fire beckoned him, and he crossed the space as quietly as he could and sat in one of the padded chairs in front of the hearth. He folded his arms over his broad chest, rethinking everything he’d spoken to Laird Oliphant about. The one good thing to come out of their drunken revelry? A renewed treaty. The MacKays and Oliphants would stay allies.
Joining forces with the Gunns, Sinclairs, MacLeods, and if God willed it, the Keiths, the Sutherlands would have a difficult time attacking any of them again. It had been Alex’s idea to organize mixed patrols. An equal number of soldiers from each clan working together to keep their borders secure. The men would work on two-month long shifts. Laird Oliphant would host a meeting with all the lairds at his keep as soon as it could be arranged.
“Damn the bastard,” he said aloud, “he still hasna blessed my marriage.”
Would his father-in-law ever accept it? Or maybe he simply liked keeping Alex guessing, for the man had a twisted sense of humor. And as for the payment he demanded, Alex would simply offer Keely’s dowry back, though he hated to part with the land she brought with her to Clan MacKay.
He yawned and scrubbed his chin, his eyes as dry as the desert. The days and nights were bleeding together, lately. There had been so much to do, and still was. Enough men had been hired to construct the walls for the west villages, and several dozen new recruits had arrived in the last week. Good men, from what Alex had seen. Jamie would be leaving tomorrow. There could be no regrets about sending his cousin. He loved and respected him more than he had his own brother, John.
“And ye can rot,” he said with a single tear rolling down his cheek. Aye, old feelings had resurfaced for his brother lately. Emotions he’d never admit to anyone but couldna deny himself. He blamed the ale.
