Anders scored a line in his palm. When it seeped red, he handed the blade to Stellan, who did the same. They clasped hands, mingling the blood they had once shared in the womb.
“So it will be as we have sworn this day,” Stellan said. “We may be forced to part for a term of years, but we will return. Someday, we will rule Sutherland together.”
“So it will be,” Anders repeated, “And when the day comes that Sutherland is ours, we will keep it safe and strong—together.”
Northern Scotland,Spring, 1412
The fire in the great hall’s hearth warmed Stellan Sutherland as he waited for his twin, Anders, to shake the sleet from his hair in the keep’s doorway and join him by the fire. May was late for this kind of weather, but they were far enough north, one never knew what to expect. “Come on, laggard. It’ll melt, but ye willna.”
Anders grimaced, gave his plaid a final shake and stepped in. “Sod off. ’Twould run down the back of my neck, as cold as the trail of a witch’s finger on my skin.”
“And when have ye felt the chill of a witch’s finger?”
“Never. And I dinna plan to start now.” Anders settled on the bench opposite his twin and signaled a passing serving maid for an ale. “’Twas a long, cold ride from Inverness. If I were eldest, I’d have been sitting here by the fire for the last fortnight, drinking and cuddling the lasses while ye froze yer arse riding home through snow and sleet.”
Stellan ignored the jibe. He was older than Anders by mere minutes, a fact that meant nothing to them, but carried great weight with their father, the Sutherland laird. He could havetold Anders about hunting in the same sleet storm earlier in the afternoon. And he couldn’t recall the last time he’d embraced a lass, much less held one on his lap, but certainly not in the last fortnight while Anders visited Inverness on business for Sutherland. Instead he asked, “Did ye get what Da sent ye after?”
Anders nodded. “Aye, and more. I’ll go tell him once I’ve thawed my feet.”
Stellan waited, knowing he’d be present when Anders reported to their father.
Anders thanked the lass who brought him a mug of ale. She gave him a grin and a wink she also turned on Stellan, curtsied and went on her way. Anders took a long drink, following her with his gaze until she was out of sight, then lowered the cup and rolled his eyes.
Stellan knew exactly what he meant. The lasses flocked to Anders like gulls to a beached fish. His open, friendly nature made him seem more approachable than Stellan, though both were more than passably good looking. And Stellan considered himself open and friendly. Some of the time. When it suited his purposes.
They looked so much alike, anyone who didn’t know them well had trouble telling them apart, a fact they’d taken advantage of many times both before and after they’d spent the years between ages nine and sixteen fostered away, Stellan with Domnhall, the Lord of the Isles and Anders sent northward, though not where their father had first threatened, across the North Sea. They’d traded off to fool their tutors of subjects one hated and the other liked. They’d fooled the cook, getting a treat, and returning as the other brother and getting another.
In the five years since they’d returned to Sutherland, they’d honored their vow to each other, neither marrying, both serving the clan much as their younger brother Cameron had donebefore he wed Mary Rose, traveling the countryside, gathering information for their father.
Female giggles echoed from the direction of the hallway to the kitchen. He hadn’t heard that sound since Anders left for Inverness.
“I see ye havena lost your charm,” he chided.
Anders sighed. “’Tis no’ just me. ’Tis the two of us, together. Which is how some of them would like to try us.”
Stellan laughed. On his own, the lasses were friendly, but when the twins were together, well, lasses had always been fascinated by the wee lairds, as they’d been called when they were bairns. Their fascination had grown along with them.
“Ye are welcome to them,” he said. “There’s none here I’d have without the lass thinking to be the next lady of the clan. I’d never be rid of them.” Anders had protected Stellan by allowing him, once in a while, to pretend to be his younger twin if a lass caught his eye. During Anders’s latest absence, Stellan had toyed with the idea of impersonating his brother with one of the village lasses, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble it could cause.
“Aye, that does tend to make one think twice.” Anders tossed off the last of his ale. “Very well, I’m ready. Let’s go speak to Da.”
They stood and made their way to the laird’s solar. The door was closed, a good indication Laird Sutherland was within and working. Anders knocked.
“Come,” their father’s deep voice penetrated the thick, oaken door.
Stellan gave Anders an open-handed gesture to precede him. Anders opened the door and went in, Stellan following close behind.
“So, ye are back.” Seated behind his work table, Laird Sutherland was a large, imposing man with glints of silver in his hair.
“Aye, father, just long enough to melt the sleet.”
“And have a drink by the fire, I’ll wager.”
Anders colored and grinned. “I learned from the best these last five years.”
Setting aside his quill, Sutherland nodded agreement, since he was well known to do the same. “So ye did.” He waved them to seats. “What did ye learn?”
“There are rumors Domnhall plans another incursion, but ’tis only talk. No sign of any of his men in any numbers. The normal few ye’d expect to find anywhere in Scotland on business for the Isles. The same for any of Mar’s men foolish enough to remain behind. ’Twas a wasted trip.”
