His grin took the sting from the comment and put Cameron at ease.
Then he sobered. “And I heard what ye told the clan. Now tell me the rest,” he demanded as he poured whisky for both of them.
Cameron had no doubt that was the laird speaking. He lifted his cup in silent toast to his father. “There is, of course, more to tell,” he acknowledged. “Domnhall will no’ remain at Dingwall. I learned in St. Andrews if he doesna return to Islay of his own volition by Samhain, Albany plans to force him out. I learned that before Red Harlaw, but I doubt those plans will have changed.”
“That’s three weeks from now. I’ll send ghillies toward Aberdeen—if Albany’s men are headed west, we’ll ken it soon.”
“I’ll go.” Observing and gathering just such information as this had always been his role.
“Nay, ye willna. I have something else in mind for ye. And Albany may no’ wait. He could attack Dingwall any day now. I dinna want ye in the middle of that.”
“Aye, he could, though we had no news of an army moving near Rose. He then plans to return south before winter sets in. If Albany succeeds, he’ll control all of Easter Ross, south of Sutherland.”
“And be sniffing at our borders when the weather improves in the spring, with his supporters in MacKay at our backs to the north.” Sutherland drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair.
“Unless he gets caught up in chasing Domnhall back to Islay to finish what they started at Harlaw,” Cameron said with a shrug. “A lot of good men’s deaths on that field accomplished exactly nothing for either side.”
Sutherland frowned. “Were ye there? Is that how ye came by yer injury?”
“Nay. From a gallowglass straggler on the way to Rose. We arrived near Harlaw two days too late. We heard about it from Brodie men who fought and survived.”
Sutherland compressed his lips, then spoke. “No doubt Albany would like to strip Domnhall of his holdings on the mainland, along with as many of the isles as he can take.”
“That should keep his attention well south of us.”
“If it comes to pass. If no’, Domnhall is the one we’ll have to deal with. He will have an eye to expanding Ross territory east or north—if no’ this year, then the next.”
Cameron nodded. “Likely east, rather than north. If James Rose dies, and Brodie and their other allies aren’t strong enough to help them, Rose will be ripe for the picking. His heir is his eldest daughter, Mary.” He turned his cup in his hands, hesitating to make his interest in Mary Rose evident just yet.
Sutherland grunted.
“Unless Rose names another,” Cameron added, “or manages to get a son on his new, much younger bride.” He outlined the situation there, all the while remembering Mary’s voice, her touch, the way she melted against him. All things he already missed.
“And if she weds?”
The twinge in Cameron’s chest had nothing to do with his wound and everything to do with the image suddenly filling his head of Mary standing beside another man. He took a breath. “Depending on what her father does about the succession before he’s gone, and with a husband to support her claim, she could become Laird.”
His father frowned. “No’ a Sutherland husband, if that’s what ye’re thinking,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Cameron. “There’s nay connection between our holding and theirs, save across the firth. And must I remind ye of our tie to Clan MacKay?”
Cameron’s blood went hot, then cold, but he kept his expression neutral. He’d never seriously expected his father to honor a betrothal agreement made between the clans when he and the lass were toddlers, and his brothers not much older. The agreement didn’t specify which Sutherland brother would wed the MacKay lass, only that one of them would. Eventually. Surely his father would not try to marry him off now, and certainly not to a MacKay. “Indeed?”
“Clan MacKay finally wants to end the feud between our clans with this marriage. ’Twould be a good match for ye and for Sutherland.”
And while that decision, he thought with a groan, might be important in its own right, likely, his father would want him to report back with everything he could glean about clan MacKay. Its laird, his current political leanings and anything else that might affect Sutherland in the ongoing trouble between Domnhall and Albany.
For the last century, MacKays had killed Sutherlands and Sutherlands had returned the favor. Recently, MacKay had supported Albany when Domnhall set his sights on Dingwall earlier in the year. Sutherland supported Domhnall, who had soundly defeated MacKay forces. Cameron didn’t think the feud would end so easily. “Do they plan to murder a Sutherland son in his bed, I wonder? Did they ask for me specifically?”
His father hesitated, then smiled. “I could tell ye aye, but I would lie. Nay, lad, they asked for a match with Sutherland, but no’ with ye or any of yer brothers by name. No’ even Ian. Ye are best equipped to enter their keep and leave it again, both alive and with useful information.”
“Why did they no’ ask for yer heir, I wonder?”
“Perhaps they thought that would be reaching too high.”
“Or perhaps they think the potential alliance is valuable enough not to care with whom it is made. They simply want to hold the kirking here, be welcomed into our keep, and murder all of us in our beds.” Cameron shrugged.
“Mayhap their usual allies, Sinclair and McLeod, are planning something that’s making them nervous.”
“If I were the MacKay, I wouldna trust them.”
