Page 68 of Highlander’s Quest of Desire

“Aye,” Laird Labert said. “But I’m nae fool to look for Honors that can be used against us. John always was ridiculously romantic when it came to the Honors. So many times, I told him he was ignoring the reality of Scotland’s present by reliving the glories of the past. But would he listen? Nae!”

“And what’s so wrong with wanting to recreate the past?” Bruce flared up. “We were kings of our own country. We were free to decide our destiny. We’re in chains now, ousted out of our homes, our men flogged and humiliated over petty squabbles, and our women defiled.”

“Get yer temper in control, Bruce!” Laird Labert thundered. “I am nae yer enemy. I am Scotland, and every insult it has endured I have felt on my flesh. Ye are nae the only one who cares for Scotland’s future. But the Honors are nae the answer.”

“If we crown a king with the Honors, the English will have to come in the field and contest him. We can win a war. I ken it.”

“War is nae game, young lad.” Laird Labert shook his head. “It maims, tears, and kills youth. Only bitter regret is won by both sides. And now Leo has the Honors. He will use it to give to the English who will rule us with impunity.”

“We can win them back still,” Bruce said.

“Stop being stubborn,” Laird Labert chided. “Ye are willfully misunderstanding me. Even with the Honors ye cannae unite a Scotland that is so divided. The Honors will cause the warring clans to fight more. Deeper factions will be cut up, and Scotland will be more divided than ever. The Honors do nae serve a purpose now. Do nae get me wrong,” he said, holding up a hand when Bruce opened his mouth to argue. “They are important. They are our symbols of divine right to rule. But their time will come later when we have resolved our internal conflict.”

Bruce had considered all of this, but to hear it from Laird Labert was sobering. It was true that he had followed in the Bishop’s footsteps and idealized and romanticized the Honors and what they could mean for Scotland. But as Elspeth had said, the Scots didn’t need the Honors for their spirit, and passion for freedom would break their chains.

“We still need to plan an attack on Dunnottar. Nae just for the Honors. I need to rescue Elspeth.”

Laird Labert sat down and pressed his thumb into the center of his forehead. Bruce felt a fierce protective urge for the man. He also understood the complicated situation he had put him in. Laird Labert was the master of spies and playing the long game. He had cultivated alliances with the Buchans, the Grants, and even the English aristocracy, and had used them all to maintain peace around his borders.

Every piece of his carefully curated life was going to fall to pieces if he marched on Dunnottar, even if it was on Bruce’s behest. Especially if it was at Bruce’s request. The English could stomach much but not an army being led by a man they had put in prison. Asking Laird Labert for support was asking him to burn some essential bridges.

“Aye,” he said finally. “It must be done. Leo needs to be put in his place. Ye cannae abduct a clan woman, abuse her, and expect to get away with it.”

“Then let’s leave now,” Bruce said. “Call yer men, and we can ride for Dunnottar now.”

Laird Labert laughed. It was a tired sound. “Ye never were one for patience, were ye Bruce? It is yer habit to run before ye can walk that has gotten ye in this situation. Keep yer impulse in check and think this through.”

“Ye said yerself that Elspeth is in danger.”

“Aye. But we must wait.”

“For what?”

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion. Bruce didn’t appreciate the intrusion. He had been exhausted after his climb and had allowed the Labert men to put him in a bath and care for him, but now he was rearing to get going again. His restlessness forced him out of the chair, and he opened the door with a mind to tell whoever it was to go away.

“Bruce!” Domnhall Buchan was standing at the door. Before Bruce had a chance to respond, Domnhall grabbed him by the collar and pushed him back inside the room. “Where’s my sister?”

Bruce’s thighs collided with the large desk. “Get off me!” Bruce held Domnhall’s arms and pushed him off.

“Domnhall!” Laird Labert thundered. “Calm yerself down.”

Domnhall was breathing hard and staring daggers. Bruce had never seen him so angry. He had never associated any bravery or fight with Domnhall; his impression was so passive that this outburst was shocking but in a good way. They needed this fire to win Elspeth back.

“What were ye thinking dragging her across the country when ye should have brought her straight home?” Domnhall punched the wall. “Ye’ve put her in danger, and only ye will be responsible for whatever happens to her.”

It was the truth, and the guilt of it struck him like lightning. The pain was intense, and because he had never handled pain well, he lashed out.

“Aye, for ye have never been responsible for any pain caused to Elspeth, eh Domnhall?”

Domnhall flinched as if Bruce had struck him physically. “That’s in the past. I have apologized to her for it.”

“Has she forgiven ye?” Bruce asked. “And what has been yer answer to her existence since then? Getting her married off? Do ye even ken how much she abhorred yer obsession with her marriage? What kind of brother were ye to not be aware of the torture dealt on yer sister living in the same castle, and then not bothering to ken what she wanted with life?”

“I had her best interest at heart always,” Domnhall snapped. “I was looking out for her.”

“By letting yer first wife demean and humiliate her?”

“And how is what ye did any better, Bruce? Ye used her for yer own means when ye should have sent her home.”