The best part about them taking care of the horses was that her own could remain in the padlocks as well, munching on fresh hay. “Cotton,” she cooed, stroking the muzzle of the horse nearest to her. “At least yer happy tae see mah right?”
He nudged her arm and she laughed, knowing he was looking for his treats. “Nay ye already had yer treats ye greedy nag,” she scolded him, moving to the pitchfork to shovel what was left ofthe hay into the stall. It was the horses that kept her by her uncle’s side, the horses and the fact that the pitiful old Scot had no one else to turn to. If she left, he would freeze, or starve to death, or even worse than that, drink himself into a stupor he couldn’t wake from.
Nay, she couldn’t leave him. She could never leave.
1
Ian Wallace drew in a breath as he halted his small company of men at the stone border with the lift of his hand, his insides churning. Years ago, he would have never ventured this close to MacGregor land without his shield and sword raised, but things were different now.
Or at least, he hoped he wouldn’t be greeted by a war party ready to take his head.
“I dinna like this,” Dalziel muttered next to him. “We should at least scout ahead.”
“There’s nary a need tae do so,” Ian replied evenly. “Ye know that I wonna lie tae ye.”
“I’m not worried aboot ye,” his captain of the guards replied. “I’m worried aboot the lot of them.”
Ian rolled his shoulders, knowing what Dalziel was thinking about. He was thinking of the great battles that the Wallaces and MacGregors had fought over the centuries, some even in Ian’s lifetime. His grandfather and his father before him had spilled their blood on many a battlefield fighting their enemy and it seemed that he was due to do the same before his sister had changed it all for them.
She had united the clans with her marriage to a MacGregor.
“We will be fine,” Ian finally said, forcing back his own threads of worry. “Ye know mah sister. She wouldna let her own kin walk into a trap.”
Dalziel snorted. “If she is still yer kin and not corrupted by the likes of them.”
Ian really wanted to hit the man in the jaw for talking ill of his sister and her intentions, but if he did, the rest of the men would start to think that there were disagreements amongst them and he couldn’t allow for that to happen.
Still, it didn’t stop Ian’s hand from tightening on his rein to keep him from doing exactly what he wanted. “I want ye at the back,” he finally told the captain. “Watching our backs.”
Dalziel’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t argue, knowing that Ian was his Laird to begin with. Ian was the oldest of their siblings, with his brother, Stephan, next and then Iris. They also had two younger sisters, Lena and Gretna who were still at the keep with them, not yet old enough to strike out on their own.
This was, however, the first time that Ian himself had visited his sister since wedding James Lennox two years past. Lennox was the advisor to Laird Wallace and while Ian hadn’t cared for the Scot when Lennox had wed his sister, he had to admit that she seemed happy enough in the letters she had written.
If their da could accept the marriage, then so could Ian.
But there were others that hadn’t. Some, though not to Ian’s face, called his sister a traitor of the worst sort, marrying into their enemy clan. Ian couldn’t blame them for thinking that way. There were centuries of hatred to get over and that couldn’t happen immediately.
Not only that, Iris wouldn’t have wed the Scot if she hadn’t seen something in him that had made him strong in her eyes. Iris was the strongest out of them all, even stronger than Iansometimes, and while had never thought she would wed anyone in her lifetime, he imagined that Lennox had to be a tough lad.
Now his sister was a mother. Ian shook his head, still unbelieving that she had a bairn. The last time that he had seen his niece, it had been a long time ago but she had been a wee thing then, barely a month old. Lennox and Iris had made the journey to Wallace land and spent a few weeks with them, where everything had seemed to be fine.
It had been good to have happiness and laughter in their great hall again. Though it had been nearly three years past since their da had passed on, Ian still felt the smothering grief sometimes when he sat in his da’s chair, the chair that had now become his.
“Should we move forward?”
Ian looked over at the soldier that had replaced Dalziel at his side, realizing he had been standing there for no reason. “Aye,” Ian said, his cheeks reddening. “We should.”
The soldier, Lomas, nodded and spurn his horse forward, making way for the laird in case there were traps waiting. Ian drew in a breath and followed behind him, the rest of the soldiers falling in step. It was hard not to think about the raids. Even though he knew that he was in protected land, unease settled between his shoulders. He couldn’t ignore it.
Or the tenseness of his body as it clung to the horse’s sides.
Or the rapid beat of his heart as he scanned the trees, looking for anything amiss.
Nay, it was hard not to think about all those things, his body tightly strung like a fine piece of thread waiting to be woven into a tapestry. Even his sister would have had the same feeling once upon a time and Ian couldn’t help but wonder if she still did from time to time.
Ian would never admit it to his brother or his sisters, but he missed Iris at their keep. Iris had a liveliness about her, whethershe was fighting in their sparring ring or drinking with the best of them. Since she had been gone, some of that light was dimmed. Everyone was happy for her of course, but it just wasn’t the same without their family together. His sister had fought alongside them in their battles, slaughtered just as many men as he had at times, and had fought their da to earn her place in his eyes.
Now she was a wife, a mother, and had an important role in bridging the two clans together. Some days, Ian wished for it all to go back to the way it had been before the games.
