“Still missing yer lad, are ye?”
Fenella sighed. “Ye ken me too well.”
The man she was waiting for had been away for months, traveling on the continent or who knew where. She’d hoped to be wedded by now, but there’d been no word of him. Or from him. No letters home. Nothing to let the clan—or her—know where he was or what he was doing. Or when to expect him. In that way, he was much like his eldest brother. Would Gavan ever settle down—with her?
“As much as the frustration of not knowing about Gavan is eating away at me, I can only imagine how hard the waiting has to be for Aimil. She must be frantic with wanting Keenan with her when the bairn comes.”
Fenella’s situation was not the same. She and Gavan had an understanding between them before he left, but not a formal betrothal. He refused to bind her to him when he didn’t know what his future held. So she waited and fumed, envious of Keenan’s and Aimil’s certainty. Their marriage and happiness. Their bairn, now finally about to arrive.
As a young lass, Fenella had once dreamed of becoming Keenan’s wife, but as she grew, she came to understand the responsibility borne by the heir to the clan. Aimil was a MacKinnon, married into MacNabb for the alliance and the dowry she brought. Fenella had accepted he would never be hers.
She felt cheated by fate, and yet, she knew she should not. She’d been given a good home, accepted as a MacNabb. But as the Leny chief’s daughter, she would have married well with anheir such as Keenan, not a third son like Gavan. She’d have been a lady.
Nay, that wasn’t fair. She had not settled for a third son. Gavan was a wonderful man, strong, handsome, accomplished, who cared for her and her alone. She would be proud to be his wife and satisfied to make a family with him. She would not be the lady of the clan, but someday, as the laird’s brother, Gavan would hold an honored position in the clan, and so would she.
That was important to her. She’d come to the clan a wee orphan. Her father was the chief of Leny, a MacMillan sept. Both her parents had been killed in clan wars that little by little had wiped out her family line. The new chief, a distant cousin far removed from the conflict, had sent her to the closest clan that would take her in as a future bride to one of their lads, one of several Leny orphans scattered among the highland clans. She would have been important to Leny in the way Keenan’s wife was to his, had her family survived.
The weaver crossed her arms and shuddered. “I canna imagine. Nor do I want to. We can only wish her well.”
“Aye, and pray for both of them.”
“For her and the bairn?”
“For her and Keenan. He must return soon.” For all to be well, he needed to be at home. Could prayers reach him and hurry him on his way? No matter the mission for their clan that called him away, he was needed here.
The sound of horse’s hooves clattering through the village disturbed her ruminations. “What is happening?”
The weaver stood and went to the door. “Ye willna believe it, but Keenan is back. He and all his men are home.” She turned away from the door, a broad smile lighting her face. “He is in time to see his bairn arrive. Perhaps the bairn did ken its da was near.”
“Surely ye didna believe me. I was jesting.” Still, Aimil would have the comfort of her husband as their bairn arrived, so fortune had provided what was needed. Fenella’s vigil for Gavan would have to go on.
“Why no’? It makes as much sense as any other reason I can think of.”
Keenan was home, but the weaver had not mentioned Gavan. Well, she had no reason to think fortune would have smiled on the brothers such that they would have crossed paths and brought them both home together.
Fenella forced herself to return her friend’s smile, then stood. “I should get back to the keep. The family will be in an uproar. ’Twill be good to see their happiness, twice over, this day.” And perhaps, someday soon, Gavan would arrive as Keenan had, all unexpected but welcomed.
“Go on with ye, then,” the weaver told her. “Enjoy the celebration. I’ll be along later.”
Fenella made the short walk to the keep so quickly, Keenan and his men were still in the bailey, stable lads taking charge of their horses after the men stripped saddle bags and other belongings from them. The laird and lady waited on the keep’s steps for their son to approach them. Fenella waited with others of the clan watching the return until Keenan greeted his parents and followed them inside. Still part of the throng, she entered the great hall, where food and drink were being set out on long trestle tables for the midday meal. Some seated near the hearth murmured prayers, as did others scattered through the hall.
Keenan had disappeared, either to his father’s solar, or to his wife’s childbed, Fenella didn’t know. Which would he deem most important? To report to his father or to support his wife in her labor?
Her friend, Groa, approached her, smiling. “What perfect timing! Trust my brother to arrive just as his bairn makes ready to join us.”
“Being heir does bring some benefits, I suppose,” Fenella told her with a grin. “To be capable of such perfect timing, I mean. How goes Aimil’s confinement?”
“Well enough, it seems. This bairn willna be rushed.”
“Poor Aimil.”
“Aye, and poor Keenan, to have to wait through it all. But it serves him right for all the time she has had to spend awaiting his return.”
“Is he with her?”
Groa nodded toward her brother, just leaving the laird’s solar and making his way through the crowded hall toward the stairs. “He is on his way. Da had to have his few minutes with him as laird to heir before releasing him to be a husband, and soon, a father.”
Fenella crossed her arms as she watched Keenan mount the stairs. “So much responsibility.”
