Page 32 of The Return of the Heir

“Do you not want to know for certain the legalities of your past betrothal and how they affect your current betrothal?”

“Do you ever listen to me?” Alastair returned irritably.

“I listen when you make sense, but you cannot avoid the fact that you owe Gwendolyn something now that she’s reappeared in your life.”

“You want me to come to a financial settlement with her?”

Callum shrugged. “It would be the least of what you owe her. Put yourself in her situation: She has not truly lived a moment of her life since the day she disappeared. She’s been locked in isolation, trying to survive each day, trying to keep her siblings’ spirits from crumbling, half-starved, and terrified out of her mind every time Garrick MacDonald came near them.” Callum narrowed his gaze on his brother. “You on the other hand had the freedom to do whatever you wanted over the past five years. You were fed, clothed, cared for by your servants, and while you might have been angry and a little hurt by what happened to you, you had the world at your fingertips.”

Alastair didn’t need Callum to remind him that Gwendolyn’s suffering had been far greater than his own. He was well aware of that fact. “You’re right. I should do something to relieve her fear. I’ll meet with the solicitor, but if you don’t start doing as I ask, you may need to start worrying about your own welfare.”

Callum stood eye to eye with Alastair. A face Alastair remembered as youthful and irresponsible hardened, replaced by that of a grown man who was not only self-assured, but determined and strong.

“Don’t threaten me,” Callum said in a low tone. “I’m not the scrappy young man you left behind five years ago. I’ve learned to make my own way in this life. I have my own funds and the means to support myself. I’ve been here at Dunvegan, holding your position as laird and protecting your castle since Father died. So ’tis you, not me, who needs to wake up and start living up to the role to which you were rightfully born.”

They were no longer just talking about his responsibilities towards Gwendolyn. “You’re right, Callum.” Alastair ran a hand through his hair and released a heavy sigh. “I have failed you and Rowena, Gwendolyn, and the entire clan.” He winced at his own words. “I’m here now to stay, and I promise to make up for my lack.”

“All any of us wants is for you to take charge and be the laird we need.” Callum clapped his brother on the shoulder and smiled. “None of us realised you would have to rise to the challenge of our enemies so soon upon your return.”

Alastair returned his brother’s smile. “The MacDonalds have been a thorn in our side for decades. I should have expected something.”

“What will you do now?”

His smile broadened. “Teach my little brother how to fight if you’ll join me in the rear courtyard for warrior’s training.”

Callum beamed. “You would train me with the rest of the men?”

“Of course. You are a MacLeod and must know how to wield your sword as well as, if not better, than anyone else.”

Callum turned towards the door. “Then let’s go.”

Alastair joined Callum at the door. “Before we join the men who are not already guarding the castle, I’d like to invite young Samuel Harris to join us as well.”

“That’s a terrific idea.” Callum’s brow quirked. “Shall we race up the stairs like we used to and see who is now the fastest amongst us?”

Alastair barely nodded when Callum took off, dashing through the great hall, down the hallway, and up the stairs with Alastair at his heels. Alastair slowed his pace as they burst up the staircase, giving his brother the lead and allowing the warmth in his chest to heal a part of himself that had been lifeless for too long. He’d come home. He’d rid himself of Garrick for now. He’d reconnected with his brother. And soon his men would be better trained for conflict in the future. He might say his life was falling back into place if only he didn’t have two brides and a traitor amongst them.

*

A slight morningbreeze moved across the open courtyard, carrying with it the pungent scent of the sea as Alastair and Graeme sparred with each other, giving and receiving forceful blows with their swords as they wove themselves through the two sets of men. The sound of steel striking steel rang throughout the courtyard as mock-battles raged all around them.

The warriors from the castle fought with less skill than Alastair would have liked, but after all that was why they were out here practising with his own highly trained men. At the thought, Alastair frowned. He had to stop thinking of them as his men and the men of the castle. After they were all trained in the advanced art of war as he and Graeme had been, these men would be each other’s equals and united by the tartan they wore.

Callum and Samuel were the least experienced warriors amongst them, but Alastair was pleased they were both eager for knowledge as they practised basic defensive moves with the others.

“If you do not keep your mind on the battle before you, how can you expect your men to do the same?” Graeme asked with a thrust to Alastair’s head.

The clash of steel reverberated through the air as Alastair met the thrust with one of his own, then twisted upwards and sideways, taking Graeme off-balance, then down to the ground. “My thoughts might wonder but my focus is on the battle at hand.” Alastair offered Graeme a hand up.

“You spent the last five years perfecting the art of diplomacy,” Graeme said as he dusted himself off. “Why not focus on your skills as a negotiator instead of teaching the men to battle?”

“My idea of diplomacy is having the men ready to fight, then negotiating a way to avoid that situation.” Alastair assumed his fighting stance, balancing on the balls of his feet, ready to strike. “Shall we go at it again?”

“And if negotiations fail?” Graeme rushed forward, cutting and slashing.

“Then we go to war.” Alastair parried his blade.

“And what about the Fairy Flag? How will you retrieve that without going to war against the MacDonalds?” Graeme asked.