Page 4 of The Return of the Heir

A cold chill crept up Alastair’s spine. “It cannot be.”

“What cannot be?” Graeme asked as they rode into the front courtyard.

Alastair blinked and searched the window again. The wooden shutters were in place and appeared every bit as undisturbed as they had been since his father sealed the tower nine years ago. Had he only imagined seeing Gwendolyn? Was his conscience so guilty over her loss that her image had come to mind when he returned to the last place he’d seen her alive?

The day she’d disappeared, he’d lost a part of himself. He blamed himself for her leaping to her death. In the five years he had been gone from this place, he’d learned to accept her absence in his life. But the very thought of her brought back pain, joy, and regret. He forced the emotions from his thoughts as they entered the courtyard. His youngest brother, Callum, stood in the shadows created by the arched entry to the elaborately carved front door.

They brought their horses to a stop and dismounted. Several servants stepped forward to take the horses from him and his men. Alastair nodded a greeting to the men and murmured his thanks, as his attention fixed on his brother. Callum was no longer the awkward youth he’d left behind five years ago. There was no denying he was a young man now at nineteen years of age. Alastair had always thought Callum bore a striking resemblance to their father, but now he could see that his brother had their mother’s eyes and her kind smile as he stepped forward.

“It’s about time you returned home.” Though the words were harsh, they were softened by his soft brogue and by the hint of tears in his grey eyes. Callum took another step closer and suddenly enveloped Alastair in a fierce embrace. “Welcome home, Brother.”

Alastair’s arms wrapped around him and gave his brother an equally fierce hug. “I’m sorry it took so long. I needed that time—”

“It matters not. You’re home. We have much to discuss.” Callum released him and took a step back. “Come,” he signalled towards the door. “Now that you are here, there is a small matter you need to handle straight away.”

“What is that?”

Callum opened the door and moved up the stairs. Alastair followed as Callum headed down the hallway. As they drew closer to the great hall, the sound of a scuffle and men shouting came from within. Drawing his sword, Alastair stepped quickly into the chamber and came to a sudden stop in front of a pile of his men and his sister Rowena beside them wailing, “Get off him!”

“What in God’s name is going on?” Alastair could feel his pulse pounding at his temples. The men in the pile continued to ignore him. Fists flew against an unseen enemy. Alastair’s gaze narrowed on his sister as she pulled at one man’s arm, trying her best to minimise whatever was happening here. Rowena? Rowena was here?

Alastair moved to her side. “Why aren’t you at that fancy school where I left you?”

Rowena released the man’s arm and straightened. Her gaze filled with surprise at first, then shifted to anger. “I left Miss Doddie’s School for Girls last year. I graduated and decided to come home instead of becoming a tutor for some English lass.”

“Why wasn’t I told you’d returned?”

If possible, her back straightened even more. “You treated us as if we were unimportant, so that is the way I decided to treat you.”

“Now see here, Rowena—”

She cut him off with a gesture of her arm. Her eyes glinted fiercely. “You and I can squabble later. Right now, get these men off of him.”

“Off of whom?”

“The man I’m going to marry.”

“What? When? Oh, good Lord.” Alastair signalled to his men behind him to help break up whatever was happening. One by one, his other clansmen were drawn back until a lone figure remained huddled in a ball against the planked floor.

“Marcus, are you well? Did they hurt you?” Rowena surged forward and helped the young man to his feet.

“It would take more than that to hurt a MacDonald,” the young man said as he straightened his vest and jacket.

Alastair’s senses and his sword were trained on the dangerous man before him. The MacDonalds were their fiercest enemy. “What happens here?”

Everyone started talking at once.

Alastair whistled shrilly. “Silence. One at a time, please.” He turned to Thomas Becks, his steward, who had watched the brawl. The man Alastair had always thought of as a second father had aged. His head was fully grey, but Becks still had the same wisdom in his eyes. His welcoming smile brought out more distinctive lines about his eyes and mouth. “How did this man enter the castle?”

“Good tae have ye home, m’laird.” Becks cleared his throat as he addressed Alastair. “Yer sister has taken a fancy tae this man. We forbad the two of them tae see each other, but she dropped a rope from the north tower and allowed him tae climb right up.”

Alastair sheathed his sword and rounded on his sister. “So, this was not an attack on the clan. Why would you do such a thing? You know the history of our two families.”

“We were in the process of capturing him when you arrived,” Innis, one of the castle’s warriors, interjected with a tug on Marcus MacDonald’s arm. “We were going to tie him up and shoot him for daring to enter our domain.”

“Nay!” Rowena shrieked, clinging to Marcus’s other arm. “He meant no harm to any of you.”

“He’s a MacDonald. Treachery runs in his veins,” a voice rang out from the gathered warriors.