Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) (21 page)

Now what?

The MacKinnon lad rode into the vale upon her horse, and Aidan knew that animal well. Wolf would never have abandoned Lael… unless she were…
gone
.

Was she dead?

The possibility gave him an ache that settled like a weight in his chest.

Some claimed Aidan was a patient man, but he scarce felt that truth as he waited for Cameron MacKinnon to awake and tell him what precisely had transpired during the battle for Keppenach—if in fact the lad would ever awaken, for he slept like the dead.

Despite the rising cold, the floor beneath his feet grew warm, and he continued to pace, for he felt down in his bones that his sister had need of him now. Trapped as he was, he felt cantankerous and regretful of his decision to allow her to leave. He had known better, and although it was not his way to lay down the law as though he were god, he had sorely wanted to command her to stay and to leave Keppenach to those who would profit most by its return.

His wife Lìli sat at the long table, cradling their young daughter in her arms, but she left him to his thoughts, understanding more than anyone how much he blamed himself.

Una, on the other hand, paced opposite him, ambling along a parallel path, all the while rebuking him for his temper. “There is naught you can do,” their priestess assured him. “Twas her given right to go.”

Aidan said naught, for he realized she spoke the truth, whether or nay he liked it. But neither did her words settle his ire, or stop his feet from wearing layers off the wooden floor. Keane stood beside the fire pit. Sorcha and Cailin had already fled the hall and both now sat watching over the MacKinnon boy.

If the sun comes out, I could still ride out in the morn…

“What good will ye do?” Una pressed him, as though she’d read his thoughts.

Aidan cast her a disgruntled glance, wishing her to the Netherworld—or wherever it was that brownies went when they were not put upon this earth to harass good folk.

At last the old woman stopped pacing opposite him, and stood in the center of the hall, resting wearily upon her staff. Her knuckles whitened to match the weathered ash wood in her hand. “Aidan,” she whispered, and the single word was like a balm. He felt his tension melt a bit as the tenor of her voice caressed his soul. Faerie magic, mayhap—but more than likely ’twas simply that she’d raised him from a wee bairn. Her gentle voice spoke to the child within. With a sigh, he ceased his pacing and found a chair.

Una lifted her chin toward Keane and his brother quickly seized a tankard and then a pint as well and brought it to the table, pouring a hefty dram into Aidan’s cup. Thanking him, Aidan lifted the glass and quaffed the contents, then set it down and requested another.

“She speaks the truth,” Lìli offered now that he was a bit more settled. “There is naught ye can do ’til the snows have cleared. What good will ye be to anyone if ye’re finished by the cold and wind?”

Aidan nodded. He leaned his chin into his hand, pushing the glass toward Keane for another dram. His brother poured him yet another, then sat down beside him, whilst behind him, the fire crackled and spat.

Una ambled over. He watched her shadow approach, but didn’t turn. “I ha’e seen her face in my keek stane,” she reassured him. “She lives, Aidan. What’s more the question is whether ye’ll find it in your heart tae forgive your own blood?”

Aidan frowned. Of course he would forgive her! He already had. The instant he’d spied the MacKinnon boy covered in his own blood, lying with scarce any breath, he’d forgiven Lael that very instant… and mayhap even before. But he was admittedly stubborn and could not seem to say so even now.

Lìli watched him, her brow furrowed with concern. Kellen, thankfully was fast asleep, as was the babe Lìli cradled in her arms—a child of their blood.
A child of two nations
, he thought absently, and then pushed the idle thought aside. By the gods, he would lock Ria in her room—or seal her down in that grotto with the accursed stone—long before he’d allow her to sit upon Scotia’s throne, or marry into that viper’s nest. David mac Maíl Chaluim’s brother Edgar had plucked out the eyes of his own uncle to keep him from attempting to steal his throne. And David mac Maíl Chaluim was hardly any better, aligning himself with England and forcing his will upon men who would pluck out their own eyes rather than see themselves strapped under David’s yoke.

But of course, Aidan would never hold Ria back, for he, like all chieftains before him, believed that each man had a will to pursue his own purpose, and come what may, all consequences were his own to bear. Wherever she was, Lael was paying the consequences of her own choices.

The hall was silent now, and Aidan only realized he’d lost himself in thought when Una spoke again.
“Cha d’dhùin doras nach d’fhosgail doras,”
she said and clucked her tongue at him.
No door ever closed, but another opened,
she’d said.

Frowning, Aidan peered up at her. “Is there aught ye know ye havena revealed, auld woman?” He knew she had an inexplicable sense of things to come, but she kept that knowledge mostly to herself. All day long she sat peering into her bloody scrying stone and then she rarely shared a thing with anyone else.

The fire in the pit seemed to grow all at once and yet the brightness of the hall appeared to dim. Una’s shadow crept across the table and fell upon the distant wall. “What I ken, ye already know,” she said cryptically, “What I canna see, ye dinna allow.”

Aidan was tired, that much was true, but this was no time for Una’s tiresome riddles and he told her so. “Go on wi’ ye, auld woman!”

She shook her head at him. “Ye asked a question, Aidan. I simply spake ye the answer ye sought.”

“Ach, now! Go on,” Aidan commanded her again. “Go see to the MacKinnon lad. Ye’re doing naught here but bedeviling me now.”

She sighed portentously at his back, saying naught, but then she did as Aidan bade her and turned away.
“An làmb a bheir, ‘s i a gheibh,”
she grumbled as she struck the end of her staff against the floor.
The hand that gives is the hand that gets
, she said.

In the instant she quit the hall, the fire waned and Aidan had a terrible sense of impending doom. Reaching out, he placed a hand upon his brother’s shoulder and considered him a long moment.

Keane’s frame was slight, not yet that of a man’s, but neither was he a boy. Once the snows were cleared, one of them must stay and one must go to find Lael. But these were uncertain times, and Keane was not yet prepared to rule in Aidan’s stead. What if Aidan should fall? Then again, neither was his brother aged enough to go to war. Barely younger than Cameron, it might well be Keane lying so still just beyond those doors… a boy-man who’d barely lived and who might not get to see another sunrise.

His throat thick with emotion, Aidan shook his brother’s shoulder. “Go and check your sisters,” he said gently. “Be certain Cailin and Sorcha take turns sleeping, and dinna leave either alone with that boy.”

Keane nodded. “Ye’ll get some rest as well?” his brother asked, worry etching his young brow, and Aidan smiled. He returned a nod, then cast a weary glance at his loving wife who was smiling now as well.

Keane grinned and slid out of his seat. “Dinna worry,
bhràthair
,” he said quickly. “Ye may count on me.”

Aidan nodded, and hoped to the gods that it was true, for once the snows melted, whenever that should be… one of them must stay, and one must go.

Setting about the keep with renewed purpose—not quite those of a chatelaine—Lael acquired the keys to the demesne, much to Luc’s dismay.

The boy-man was hardly any match for Lael, and more’s the pity that his arrogant laird had placed his squire at her mercy.

“I am not certain my laird will approve,” Luc fretted, worrying at his bottom lip like a wee lass when she asked him for the keys. Having wrested them from the previous steward, he wore them on his person, dangling low from his belt in place of a sword. As far as she was concerned he was far too pretty to be a warrior anyway. She thrust out her hand, expecting him to comply.

“
Your laird
?” she asked sweetly. “Is he no’
my laird
now as well, and more to the point, he is my husband too, and did he no’ gi’ me free rein of this keep?”

Luc considered that a long moment, nibbling at his bottom lip until Lael feared he might skewer it through with is eyeteeth. Her fingers itched to touch the cold metal of the keys, poor as the substitute might be for her trusty blades. “Of course, my lady,” he relented. “I suppose he did.” He fiddled with his belt, removing the keys in question and Lael seized them from him the instant she could.

“There you go, my lady,” he said.

Lael smiled, if only to herself. Inasmuch as she told herself she loathed the sound of the English title coming from his lips, it gave her a keen sense of satisfaction to know it afforded her some measure of authority now. In one day she’d gone from being prisoner in this keep to mistress over all, and she fully intended to take advantage of that fact and look for ways to free herself from this travesty of a marriage and Broc Ceannfhionn from his cell.

Her brother would be horrified—and so would she!
A babe?
she thought.
A babe?
By the sins of Sluag! She would no more bring a wee innocent bairn into this world with a demon for a father than she would forsake her own kin. This was
not
her home, nor would it ever be, but it would serve her well enough for her Butcher husband to believe she’d embraced her role.

In the meantime, there must be some way to better use her position in this keep, and she intended to discover how.

With that decision made, she made her way about, as pretty as you please, dangling the keys at her side and jingling them loudly for everyone to hear. All the while, the Butcher’s squire followed at her heels, making himself a nuisance.

“I do not think he would like that,” he said again, when she stopped to inspect the kitchen stores and then began to move things about. “He has not yet taken inventory,” the lad fretted.

That is his problem,
Lael thought. All she was concerned with at the moment, after weeks of going without a hearty meal, was feeding herself and finding a way to send a good meal to Broc.

Taking stock of what there was to be had, she stuffed bits of bread into her mouth, hardly realizing how hungry she’d grown.

Luc merely watched her with a look of consternation that nearly made her laugh.
Nearly
. Were she not so enkindled with purpose.

There was not nearly enough grain to last a long winter, she noted. Nothing smoked. Little remained of their livestock, and no
uisge
at all. Cailleach have mercy, for they would not last the winter without it!

As for the scullery maids who’d remained, there were but three—mind you, merely three. All stood by the wayside, staring at Lael with expressions that were fraught with both worry and glee—an odd combination, she decided.

Mairi, Ailis and Kenna she learned were their names. All three had apparently remained only because they had nowhere else to go. Mairi, the eldest, had been there as long as she could recall. Ailis too was older than Lael, but Kenna was younger, it appeared, although the girl didn’t precisely ken her age. Lael thought mayhap she could be her sister Catrìona’s age or thereabouts.

Her sister Catrìona had wed a Brodie near
Chreagach Mhor
—a grievous sin as far as Aidan was concerned, but not so grievous that he’d disowned her as he had with Lael.

She sighed, coming to terms with the truth. Her brother would not save her, so it was up to her to find a way herself. But that was quite all right. In the meantime, she endeavored to make herself a few allies.

During the course of the day she learned that many of Keppenach’s residents left once word arrived of the MacLaren’s death. Some stayed, hoping to profit in some way from a new laird’s rule, for Rogan MacLaren had been a terrible miser, giving little and taking much. Some believed a new laird could do little worse, but there were others who simply were not inclined to begin anew, and so they took their families to other parts, where they had distant kin. Another exodus took place once they learned of the Butcher’s approach, and by the time Lael and her band had arrived, few homes remained occupied beyond Keppenach’s curtain walls. Broc had secretly encouraged the last of the villagers to seek shelter elsewhere, at least until the matter of Keppenach could be settled. And now the village itself was razed—although not by them—and those who had no permanent place to sleep within the castle were going or already gone. In fact, quite a number who’d stood outside the hall when Lael arrived to take her vows, unbeknownst to her, were waiting to ask permission to leave now that the gates were closely guarded.

Were Lael mistress here in truth, she might have promised them all better circumstances if they remained, but she was not, and she planned to leave as soon as she was able. Although, when she thought about it a moment…

Mayhap she could help herself and these people as well? In the end she decided that with the help of Mairi, Ailis and Kenna, she would restore Keppenach to a measure of order—even if it meant working at cross-purposes with her husband. In fact, if that should be the case, it would give her all the more pleasure, she decided, so she spent the day repairing the kitchens and taking stock of the gardens.