Sutherland frowned, then lifted one shoulder. “That was nay a wasted trip. Ye have brought good news. The longer Domnhall holds off, the better. No one kens why he walked away from Red Harlaw instead of finishing the fight. ’Tis something to worry us, but for now, we have other problems. If our neighbors would follow Domnhall’s example, we might get through the spring without more bloodshed.”
Stellan turned to his twin. “No’ much chance of that. In the time ye have been gone, MacKay has raided crofts on our border three times.”
“So many? What about Gunn?”
“Harald Gunn sent me a missive a few days ago. He met with the MacKay recently and said with spring coming on, they’re more interested in planting than stirring up trouble. I hope he kens I have nay reason to believe him.”
“Likely,” Anders said and nodded.
“’Tis time to see what there is to be seen toward the northwest,” Sutherland continued. “Stellan, ye will take some men and ride our borders with Gunn and MacKay.”
“I’ll go,” Anders objected. “Ye need Stellan here.”
Surprised, Stellan glanced at his twin, and gave him a slight shake of his head. But he kept his expression neutral as heturned his gaze back to their father. Why the quick offer to go? Anders hadn’t been back long enough to get bored with life in the keep. And if their father was ever to see the value in his second son, Anders needed to spend time with him at Dunrobin, doing the things that Stellan usually did with the laird.
“Ye are just returned. In fact, ye are still dripping from the weather ye rode through,” Sutherland stated, his tone firm and unyielding. “’Tis time for the heir to visit our outlying crofts.”
Had their father finally come around to accepting he needed to prepare both sons to succeed him? “I’ll leave in the morning,” Stellan said, determined to take advantage of this opening for his brother. He collected Anders with a glance and stood.
After a moment, Anders stood, too, and they left the solar together.
Mariota MacKay removedthe hood and jesses and let her hawk Valkyrie fly free. They’d both been cooped up too long indoors, but the skies cleared around midday and she loved the feel of the sun on her face. Valkyrie soared over the glen, making Mariota wish she could see through the raptor’s eyes, feel the wind and weightlessness as her favorite hunter did.
She would spread her wings and never look back.
But that was a dream. And her fathers’ edicts were real. Not only could she not leave MacKay land, she could not stray out of sight of the keep’s imposing walls. She could not ride, or hunt with a bow, or speak her mind, or live her life the way she wished. And his men enforced his every word.
“Lasses do as they’re told,” her father growled the last time she reminded him she was a better shot with her bow than his men. And Valkyrie could spot and flush prey. To her, it made allthe sense in the world. To him, well, she was not a son. And after a boar gored and almost killed him five years ago, he’d never have one of his own.
She was the clan’s hope for the future. Or rather, the man she’d eventually be forced to marry would be.
And if something happened to her father or her before that day came? The Lord of the Isles was ready to pounce. Or so her father believed. He’d become obsessed with two things in the last year. Finding a husband for her, and guarding MacKay against their neighbors, clan Gunn and the mighty clan Sutherland, as well as Domnhall of the Isles.
Valkyrie wheeled, catching Mariota’s attention in time to see her stoop and dive on some prey. Good. A kill would do much to ease the frustration her winged hunter had felt at being enclosed for the last week. She was trained to bring her kill to Mariota, a necessity if she was to be part of the clan’s hunts. If the MacKay ever allowed it.
Mariota watched her take wing and held up her gloved hand, a signal for the bird to return to her. As Valkyrie neared, she dropped a rabbit in front of her mistress, landed on Mariota’s fist, flapped her wings to settle her balance, and stilled.
“Good lass!” Mariota told her. “A coney for the pot. Cook will be pleased with ye, even if Da is no’.” She replaced the jesses, retrieved the rabbit, and made her way around the glen to the keep’s gate.
“Got one, did she?” The guard, her friend Seamus, called down to her.
Mariota held up Valkyrie’s kill. “Aye. She always does. I’m headed for the mews, then the kitchen. Can I bring ye anything? Or are ye coming down?”
“Go on about yer business, Mari. I’ll visit the kitchen myself soon enough.” He gave her a grin and a dismissive wave.
Mariota nodded and after returning Valkyrie to her perch in the mews, entered the kitchen with her prize.
“Been out, have ye?” The cook took the coney and laid it aside. “I should ha’ kenned ye would now the weather’s cleared. What will yer da say?”
“Nary a word. I stayed in Seamus’s view the entire time.” One of the clan’s senior guards, Seamus was highly accomplished for a man only a few years older than she, but he had always been kind to her.
“As if that lad would tell yer da any different. He fancies ye.”
“Dinna ye start. Seamus is a friend and naught more.”
“He’d like to be. More, that is. Poor lad. ’Twill never happen.”
Mariota’s shoulders slumped at the reminder, however oblique, of her duty to the clan to wed a stranger.
