Was there no end to the grief his father had caused with his careless philandering?
“Some say she did it out of grief over losing the babe. Others say it was because your father lost interest in her.” Sorely paused. “But Lachlan’s father believed the chieftain forced his wife into his bed and that she killed herself for shame.”
“I’m glad ye told me,” Connor said, rubbing his forehead against the headache that had started pounding, “though it doesn’t mean Lachlan is the one who betrayed me.”
In the Highlands, grudges were passed from father to son for generations. Yet he and Lachlan shared the loss of a brother whom neither had a chance to know. Perhaps it was foolish, but Connor felt that loss created some kind of bond between them. While he would watch Lachlan closely, he prayed that Lachlan would not turn out to be his enemy.
***
That night, for the first time since he left Dunscaith, Connor dreamed of his mother. In his dream, he was on the beach as a child, hugging his knees against the cold and his fear.
“My curse on you!” his mother cried out as her hair blew around her like writhing snakes. “May your seed dry up, Donald Gallach…May your sons already born by other women die young…”
Connor felt as if he were looking down upon his child self while his nursemaid, Anna, tried to comfort his mother.
He sat up straight in bed, suddenly awake. He remembered what his mother had said to Anna that night.He’s been keeping a woman up at Trotternish Castle—and she’s borne him a son!
The woman she spoke of must have been Lachlan’s mother and the son the babe who died. Pain seared through Connor as words he had forgotten for years and years rang in his ears.
May your sons already born by other women die young.
He had heard her chant as she circled the fire without comprehending it. His mother had cursed Ragnall, his older brother who had loved and protected him, and that innocent babe. Connor was the only son of his father’s to survive. For such an evil, perhaps he did deserve to be punished.
Eventually, Connor recalled that he did still have one brother living, though he had never met him. Torquil MacLeod of Lewis was the son his mother had abandoned, along with her first husband, to marry Connor’s father.
Connor lay awake until dawn, contemplating the hatreds that plagued his family. Between the rebellions and the rivalries among the clans, violent death was commonplace in the Highlands. But among Connor’s closest kin, death usually came by the hand of one of their own.
Though this should serve as a warning, Connor decided he wanted to extend the hand of friendship to his last remaining brother.
CHAPTER 14
Connor tensed when one of the guards burst into the hall and made a straight line for him. It was usually bad news that couldn’t wait.
“There’s a man at the gate claiming to be a relative of yours—and he looks as if he could be,” the guard said. “He came in a fine galley with a dozen warriors.”
This was good news after all. A week ago, Connor had sent Sorely with a message to Torquil MacLeod of Lewis. He had not expected his half brother to accept his invitation and offer of friendship, but he was very pleased that he had.
“Bring him in at once.” Connor stood, too anxious to remain in his seat.
When the doors swung open and the guest led his warriors in, Connor covered his disappointment. This was not the relative he was hoping to see. Though Connor could not recall meeting this middle-aged man dressed in fine clothes, his guest looked unnervingly familiar.
“I am Connor, son of Donald Gallach, and chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat,” Connor said when his guest stood before him in the center of the hall. “Welcome to Trotternish Castle.”
“I hope I am welcome,” the man said. “I haven’t seen ye since ye were a young lad. I am your father’s brother, Archibald Lerrich.”
Connor had guessed as much. He had the same square face, fading golden hair, and barrel-chested frame as Connor’s father and his hated uncle Hugh. Of the six sons his grandfather had by six different highborn women, Archibald and Hugh were the only survivors. Archibald was one of the middle brothers, in his midforties, with a reputation for staying out of trouble’s way. The last Connor heard, Archibald had left Skye to live with his wife’s clan in Lachalsh.
“I’ve come to swear my allegiance,” Archibald said and sank to one knee. When Connor nodded, his uncle held his claymore out in both hands and gave his oath.
“Ye took your time,” Connor said, not bothering to hide the coldness from his voice as his uncle rose to his feet again.
“I didn’t join Hugh against ye,” Archibald said, spreading his arms, “but neither did I wish to get between the two of ye.”
Connor let that pass for the moment. He wanted to find out the true reason for Archibald’s visit.
“Let us go where we can speak in private,Uncle,” Connor said. Without waiting for Archibald’s reply, he led the way into the adjacent building.
“You’ve grown into a fine man,” Archibald said, when they had settled at the table in Connor’s chamber. “I can see your mother in ye.”
