“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.”
CHAPTER 1
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 fondling 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 have told Anders about hunting in the same sleet storm earlier in the afternoon. And he couldn’t recall the last time he’d touched alass, 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 itched to know the details, but he knew he would get nothing more from Anders until his twin made his report to their father. Stellan settled back to let Anders enjoy his ale and his warm feet. They would go together to their father’s solar.
Anders thanked the lass who brought him a mug of ale. She gave him a grin and a wink, turned to Stellan, curtsied and went on her way. Anders took a long drink, following her with his gaze until she was out of sight, lowered the cup and rolled his eyes.
Stellan gave him an answering grimace. The lasses flocked to Anders’ easy charm like gulls to a beached fish. It didn’t seem to matter that they were identical twins. No one flocked to Stellan. At best, when the lasses saw them together, their assessing looks and smoldering smiles occasionally spilled over from Anders to include him. Stellan considered himself open and friendly. Some of the time. When it suited his purposes.
Female giggles echoed from the direction of the hallway to the kitchen. Stellan hadn’t heard that sound since Anders left for Inverness.
“I see ye haven’t lost your charm,” he chided.
Anders sighed. “’Tis no’ just me, as ye ken fine. ’Tis the two of us, together. Which is how some of them would like to try us.”
Stellan snorted. On his own, the lasses were friendly, but when the twins were together, well, the lasses had always been fascinated by the little 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 protected Stellan from ambitiouslasses who wanted to be the clan’s lady by allowing him, once in a while, to pretend to be his younger twin with a lass who’d caught his eye. During Anders’s latest absence, Stellan had toyed with the idea of impersonating his brother with one of the lasses, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. Most knew Anders had gone, not Stellan.
“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. It was Anders’ turn to report to the laird. Stellan used every opportunity to make their father see Anders as capable and in control as much as Stellan. Their da thought only of Stellan as his heir, ignoring the possibility that if something happened to his eldest, Anders would be the one to take over, and unaware, as far as they knew, of their vow to rule together.
Anders cut Stellan a sour look that spoke volumes, opened the door and went in.
Stellan waited long enough to hear Anders greet their father and garner his attention, then joined them. Anders knew what Stellan was doing, and appreciated it, but Stellan felt his frustration nonetheless as a tightness in his gut. Anders deserved to be valued just the same as his minutes-older brother, but their father adhered to the notion of primogeniture, that only the eldest would rule in his stead.
“So, ye are back.” Seated behind his worktable, 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 since we returned from fostering.”
Sutherland nodded agreement, since he was well known to do the same, and set aside his quill. “So ye did.” He gestured at the seats across from him. “What did ye learn in town?”
“They’re making progress rebuilding. There are rumors Domnhall plans another incursion, but ’tis only talk,” Anders said as they settled. “No sign of his men in any numbers. Only the normal few ye’d expect to find anywhere in Scotland on business for the Isles. ’Twas a wasted trip.”
