Page 63 of The Return of the Heir

Alastair ignored the barb. “Will you agree to a truce between our clans? And will you allow the Isle Council to move forward in seeking to unify the clans against the English?”

“Why would I agree to any such thing?”

“There is no honour lost in backing away from a fight. Saving our men is honourable enough. The days of the MacDonalds lording over the isles are gone. The political power must now be shared amongst the clans for the good of all.”

“My men would rather die than run home with the promise of peace from a MacLeod.”

Alastair straightened, his patience stretching thin. Was there no reasoning with this man? “You know as well as I do that we need to save all our men and all our resources for when the English make their move against us.”

“Why would they fight those of us on the isles? We have no resources they can extort. The land is no good for farming.”

“It is not the land they want. It is the dominance over our people, our way of life, and our possible loyalty to a different king to which they take exception.” Alastair forced himself to relax, to continue offering another option besides war. “Our kin do not deserve to die this day. My clan has suffered abuse at the hands of your clan, yet I am willing to entertain a peaceful resolution. Can you do the same? Can you be the leader your clan needs you to be?”

Anger flashed in the older man’s eyes, and his hands clenched around the reins in his hands. Sensing unease, his horse pranced beneath him before the MacDonald released a fractured breath. “You think we can achieve peace? That by avoiding a conflict today, that we will not end up in the same place at a later date?”

“No one can predict the future. But the two of us can at least try to see reason when it comes to putting our kin at risk.”

As suddenly as it had come, all signs of anger vanished, and a slow, sly grin pulled up the corners of Alexander MacDonald’s mouth. “Very well. I agree to preserving the peace this day. What we had hoped to accomplish has already been achieved.”

A chill snaked down Alastair’s spine. At the satisfied gleam in the MacDonald’s eyes, Alastair suddenly realised something darker was at play here. His heart faltered. “You bastard!” Alastair jerked the reins of his horse, guiding the animal back up the hill at a full gallop. He reined to a stop before his brothers, Graeme, and Marcus. “The battle is a ploy. The MacDonalds wanted us here, leaving Dunvegan only minimally guarded.”

Graeme’s face mirrored Alastair’s dread. “You don’t think they waited for us to leave before they breached the castle?”

Bile rose in Alastair’s throat. “Aye, I do. They are after Gwendolyn.” For the past five years, Alastair had been learning the ways of peace, but in that moment all he wanted to do was fight. “Graeme, Orrick, Tormod,” Alastair said. “I’ll leave this battle against the MacDonalds to you. It is time to put an end to their machinations against us.”

“We will lead the men with pride,” Tormod said as he donned his battle helm.

“I’m going back to Dunvegan.” Alastair turned his horse around.

“I’m going too,” Marcus said, joining him. “Rowena is there, unprotected. If anything happens to the women. . .”

Alastair didn’t argue. He spurred his horse towards Dunvegan. He knew in the depth of his soul that the MacDonalds had attacked Dunvegan while he and his men were gone. Alastair’s heart pounded as fear took root inside him. He’d failed to keep Gwendolyn safe before. Had he done so again? Fear, anxiety, and rage all coiled together inside his gut as his horse raced over the rocky terrain.

Unable to hold the emotions inside him a moment longer, he released an inhuman sound that was part howl, part cry. He had to get back to Gwendolyn before it was too late.