Page 43 of The Return of the Heir

Alastair remained where he was. How could he explain what it was about the loch that he cherished? It was the scents of the earth and the sea, the sound of the water lapping against the shore, the feel of the sun warming his skin, the rush of blood moving through his veins as he thought about how many of his ancestors had stood in this very spot, gazing out at the Little Minch in the distance with the wind in their hair.

Dunvegan was an essential part of him. “This is my home,” he replied simply. “This is where I will stay. And as my wife, I hope you will stay here with me.”

Beatrice’s face paled. “Will we ever go to Glasgow or Edinburgh?”

Disappointment flooded him. “Occasionally, I suppose.”

Alastair turned back to the water’s edge. He drew in a deep breath, taking into himself what he needed from this place. Peace. Connection. Determination.

“Alastair? Why are you ignoring me?” Beatrice’s angry voice called out. “I cannot move. There is muck and water everywhere I look. How will I get back to the castle without ruining my boots?”

Alastair drew one last fortifying breath before he turned around, then moving to Beatrice’s side, he swept her into his arms and carried her back to the courtyard. At her satisfied smile, he knew she was pleased at the solution.

When he set her down, she clung to his arm. “The next four days cannot pass quickly enough for me, Alastair. I wish you didn’t have to hold this council meeting. It’s getting in the way of our plans for the wedding. I still haven’t talked with your cook about what to serve at our wedding breakfast. And the minister has yet to arrive.”

“There is time for all of that,” he said absently as he looked back at the shores of the loch then at Dunvegan. The muscles of his stomach clenched as memories of the past came back to him, then suddenly his stomach eased. The horrors of the past were gone. They had vanished along with the afternoon air. Nothing as hideous as his mother’s death would ever touch this castle and its people again. And if it did, he would find a way to combat it. He was the laird of the castle, the chief of his people, and now a guardian of all those who lived on the isle. He was committed to finding a peaceful solution to the clan wars, but was marriage to Beatrice the only way to achieve that? He needed more time to consider a path forward. Perhaps tomorrow after the council meeting, he would know for certain the direction his future was supposed to take, and which woman, Beatrice or Gwendolyn, would help him best achieve that goal.

*

Later that afternoon,Graeme returned to Dunvegan from his secret mission. Alastair met him and the men who had accompanied him at the castle gate. “Success?” Alastair asked his captain of the guard as the men entered the castle along with a wagon that was covered with a tarp, shielding the wagon’s contents from onlookers.

“Aye,” Graeme replied. “The supplies you sent from France were waiting with your contact in Portree just as you said.”

Graeme dismounted and stood alongside Alastair at the side of the wagon. “For a man of peace, I find it interesting that you felt the need for such military force.”

Alastair peered beneath the tarp at the one hundred flintlock pistols and ammunition his contact had secured for him. “You and I both know that it is best to be prepared. It is my hope that the MacLeods never need to use such force, but if we do, we will not be left wanting.”

Graeme gave him a sober nod. “To the armory then?”

Alastair secured the tarp then nodded. “I will see to this. You and the men must go once more and invite the isles’ clan leaders to the council table. It is time to begin our talks of peace, but to be prepared for war.”

*

After supper thatevening, Alastair headed upstairs to the drawing room, relishing the moments alone as he stood looking out one of the two windows that overlooked the loch. The moon hung low in the night sky and reflected on the glassy waters below, limning the trees that skirted the shoreline in silver.

A knock sounded behind him and he turned to see Rowena framed in the doorway. “Might I come in for a moment, Brother?”

“Of course,” he replied, turning fully to greet her.

She shut the door behind her before making her way to his side. “This is for you,” she said, extending a leather hat box out to him.

He accepted the item and waved her towards the settee. She took a seat, and he followed but left enough space between them for him to set the hat box down. “You wished to bring me a hat?” he asked in a sober tone.

“Nay, Brother. Look inside,” she said with an eager smile.

He unbuckled the latch and peered at the contents. His breath stilled in his chest at the sight of the unmistakable embroidered red elf dots and crosses upon a sea of faded yellow silk. “Is this what I think it is?”

She nodded. “You asked me to recreate the Fairy Flag, and so I have.”

With a careful touch, he lifted the silk from the hat box and held up a perfect replica of their family’s prized treasure. Every detail had been carefully recreated. He met his sister’s pleased gaze. “You did this from memory?”

Her smile faded. “You forget that while you were learning what you needed to know to become the heir, and when you and our brothers were busy with war games and other manly accomplishments, I sat in this chamber alone for hours teaching myself how to stitch, or reading the books in Father’s library, or pacing the length of the chamber.” Rowena swallowed hard, her throat working. “With Mother gone, and then you, Tormod, and Orrick, I was so lonely. I made daily trips to this chamber to talk to the Fairy Flag. It was the one thing that bound all of us together because of its importance to our clan.”

Her fingers knotted together in her lap. “I had hoped that a little fairy magic would make its way to you, and somehow let you know how desperately I wanted you to come home.”

He returned the flag to the hat box and set it aside, taking her hands in his. “I sent you to Miss Dottie’s. I had hoped that you would meet other like-minded young ladies there.”

“There were some that made the time away from Dunvegan tolerable, but the head mistress took a special hatred of me because I was a MacLeod. Father and his men had raided her family’s village and had killed her one and only child. The woman was vicious to me and made my life there a living hell.” Her voice dropped to a raw whisper. “When I finally completed my studies, I could bear no more and finally came home.”