The Promise of Peace (3 page)

He was so tired of holding everything inside. So tired of waiting for his father to return. The years at Inverlochy had been good ones. His mother's father had been there to teach him to fish and how to use a knife and to overcome his fear of horses.

Then Grandfather had died two winters past and they'd moved to Dunstruan. Here he'd been tutored by the warrior monk, Ceallach. And just when Keifer had come to feel attached to the people of Dunstruan, especially Ceallach, once again he was forced to leave behind all that was familiar.

It isn't fair.

He raced to the stairs and then down them, turning at the bottom— not into the bailey where Ceallach, his sister, and the others expected him.

No.

Instead Keifer ran through the kitchen, careful that Cook didn't see him. Running as fast as he could, he headed into the oak forest behind the castle.

Following the well-worn path of Dunstruan's flock of sheep, he ran until he came to the overlook, stopping briefly to stare at the blue loch below. Then he ran toward the water, and now the tears couldn't be held back. Anger and frustration welled up and flowed down his cheeks.

He ran until his lungs hurt, until he nearly choked on the tears and his fury. Finally he reached the water's edge and momentarily considered running straight into the water and swimming as far as he could. Swim until his arms gave out and he sank beneath the surface. There would be an end to his problems. His pain.

The boy skidded to a halt in the mud and drew in rapid breaths. He hung his head. He knew such thoughts were evil—they solved nothing, just as running away would do no good. 'Twas no use—they would find him and he would have to leave.

But until then he would sit right here and wish he'd never been born.

MORRIGAN MACNAB FOUND HER BROTHER sitting on a log by the edge of the loch. The future laird of the Macnab clan drew back his arm and threw a rock into the water with a fury that alarmed her and made her glad she, and not her mother, had come to find him. The woman would have taken one look at her son and changed her mind about allowing him to be fostered so far from her.

Fostering was usually done with a nearby family, but Morrigan knew this move was in Keifer's best interest, to keep him safe. The boy had become quite attached to Dunstruan's laird over the months they'd lived here. She understood Keifer's reluctance to leave what had become familiar and dear. Hadn't he suffered enough losses in his short life?

But something in the angry set of the boy's shoulders told her more was at work here. She walked closer, deliberately scraping her foot. Keifer's head jerked up at the noise and he faced Morrigan. His face was streaked with tears, and Morrigan's heart stumbled. She hadn't seen the boy cry since their father's funeral. She'd known Keifer didn't want to leave Dunstruan, but perhaps she'd misjudged how deep his feelings ran.

He didn't speak to her, just turned and heaved another rock into the lake. A gentle breeze ruffled his curly red hair.

Morrigan wished she could spare Keifer this upheaval. He would learn a hard lesson today, but learn it he must. Ceallach had returned from the war in Ireland to keep his promise to escort Keifer to Moy. “It's time to leave, Keifer. Ceallach is waiting.”

Another rock splashed into the lake. “I'm not going.”

Morrigan didn't argue, seeking instead words that would comfort while letting him know that he must eventually give in. “I know you don't want to leave, but you must learn to be laird. One day you will take over the clan. You are Da's only living son—the duty is yours.”

“I don't want to be laird. I want to be a soldier, a knight like Ceallach.” This was not a new argument. Ever since their earliest days at Inverlochy, Keifer had made his wishes known. However, King Robert the Bruce had disinherited their Uncle Angus and his son— first casting them out of Scottish-held territory and then imprisoning Angus when he came back fighting. The Scottish king made Morrigan head of the Macnab clan until Keifer came of age. But Keifer remained adamant that he wanted to be a knight, not a laird.

Morrigan said, “Adam Mackintosh is a knight, Keifer. 'Tis an honor to be fostered by the laird of the largest federation of clans in the highlands.”

“But he doesn't know how to joust or, or . . . he can't teach me to use the claymore.”

Keifer was right about that—Adam Mackintosh had been gravely wounded years back. Though still an admirable adversary with a broadsword, Adam's fighting abilities were limited. “Aye, that's true. But his warlord, Seamus, can teach you to use any weapon. He will teach you the ways of the highlands, and Adam will teach you to be a laird.”

Morrigan put her hand on the boy's shoulder. “And you will be safe at Moy, should Uncle Angus be released from prison.”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Keifer went back to throwing rocks.

Plink. Plop.

Morrigan sat down on the log and looked out over the peaceful loch. Would Keifer tell her what else weighed so heavily on his young shoulders? Was it only the prospect of being sent away or something more?

She said, “You look like you lost your favorite toy.”

Panicked, he reached into the folds of his plaid and pulled out the leather-bound ball Ceallach had made, looked at it, and carefully put it back. “No.” He threw another rock, with less force this time, then sat down next to her, resting his chin in his hands. “Why can't I stay here?”

She wanted to put her arms around him, shelter him, keep him close, just like her mother did with him. But he would not appreciate the gesture. And he could not stay. For his own good, he must go to Moy. She feared Keifer would be a virtual prisoner here. At Moy, he could have a more normal life. “I've told you. I cannot protect you here—too many men loyal to Uncle Angus remain nearby. Adam and his warlord can train you to be a laird.”

“Fergus could train me.”

“Much as I admire Fergus, Keifer, 'tis a fact he grew up as a servant at Homelea. He's an able steward but doesn't have the training to lead a clan.”

“Ceallach then.”

Morrigan drew upon her patience. “He is a wonderful soldier and he is learning to be a laird—”

“But I want to be a soldier like him.”

“War has already exacted a heavy price from our family. No more. You need to learn to lead the clan. And I need you to be safe. You could learn much from any of these men. But I want you somewhere that Uncle Angus won't think to look, should he be released from prison.”

“Uncle Angus wants the ring, doesn't he?”

“Aye. He wants the laird's ring back so he can pass it to his son.”

“He can have it.”

“No, he can't. King Robert has punished Uncle Angus by taking away the clan leadership and giving it to us. To you, once you are grown.”

“You can keep it, pass it to your son.”

“It is
your
birthright, Keifer.”

“Wouldn't you like your son to lead the clan?”

“No!” She gentled her voice. “No, Keifer, for that would mean you'd forfeited your right or that you were dead. I want you safe and healthy and grown to be a man. I promised Da in his grave I would see to it, see that you would be trained to take your place one day.”

He stayed very quiet and still. Morrigan sensed that whatever deeper issue plagued Keifer might soon be revealed.

“Da will never find me at Moy.”

Morrigan jerked as if punched. “What are you talking about?”

“Da is getting out of prison. He's coming for me, for us. How will he find me?”

“Don't be ridiculous, Keifer. Da is dead. Coming on nine years now.” Morrigan and her mother rarely spoke about Ian Macnab, but how could Keifer have come to such a conclusion? Had Keifer harbored such a hope all these years? “You know what it means when someone dies, don't you, Keifer?”

He nodded. “But when Da died, Mother said it gave her peace to know she would see him again. I don't remember much about him, but I know he wouldn't go away and not come back.”

“We'll see him in heaven, Keifer. Not here on earth.”

“Why doesn't Mother ever talk about him? Is she angry with him for leaving?”

“Perhaps she still grieves, Keifer.”

Morrigan found it hard to believe that the child had clung all these years to the fantasy that his father was in prison and would return when the war ended. That he remembered anything at all about their da, so young was he. Now the boy must deal with the reality that his father would not be coming back, and she regretted to see some of the light go out of the child's eyes.

He sighed. “I guess he must be dead or he'd have come back by now. Gordon is dead, too. I don't remember him at all.”

“Then when you get to Moy, you must ask Adam to tell you about Gordon—he and Gordon were good friends.”

Keifer turned to her. “Don't you remember him either?”

Pain stabbed Morrigan. “Oh, aye. I remember him well. He had your hair and slanted eyes, just like Da. Both of you.” She smiled. “Gordon used to tease me something awful. Once he chased me with a rotten apple on a stick, threatening to smear it on my new tunic. I tripped and fell and sprained my elbow.” She laughed and saw that Keifer smiled. “He caught it good from Da for that one.”

“Why did he do such things?”

“Well, now I realize it was his way of showing that he liked me.”

“Oh.” The smile left Keifer's face. He looked so serious, too serious for such a young boy. “Everyone leaves me or sends me away.”

This time she reached out and pulled the child into her embrace. “ 'Tis not because there is some deficiency in you, lad.”

Keifer hugged her back, and they sat together for a good while. Eventually he pulled away, and she saw resignation in his expression. But the hurt still lingered in his eyes, and she wondered what it would take to heal his sense of abandonment. She would pray every day for him to find comfort and peace.

They stood and walked back to the keep and the future that awaited Keifer in the highlands.

TEN DAYS LATER, Keifer and Ceallach arrived at Moy. They stopped on a hillside overlooking a loch with a castle sitting on an island in the middle of it. Cattle and sheep grazed nearby, and despite his intention not to like the place, Keifer could feel himself drawn to the enchanting, midday view.

As they rode over the causeway, the watchman shouted a welcome. They rode into the bailey and were greeted by the castle folk. A tall blond man and an auburn-haired woman came out of the keep. The woman held a boy child of about two, and a somewhat older lad clung to her skirts.

Ceallach dismounted, but Keifer held back as a wave of shyness overcame him. And just a little resentment. Despite the danger from his uncle, he didn't see why he must be relegated to the far reaches of the highlands. Granted, Castle Moy looked able to withstand any siege, but there were other castles that could have protected him. Castles closer to his mother and Ceallach.

A small girl a few years younger than him raced into the courtyard and careened to a halt in front of the man and woman. The girl's spiraling red hair had escaped its braid and hung in complete disarray. Her forehead displayed a fresh-looking bruise. A daub of dirt on the end of her pert nose crowned the urchin's face, and Keifer grinned in spite of his melancholy.

Ceallach said, “Come down from the horse, boy.”

Keifer did as he was told, and the girl marched up to him, arms crossed. “I'm Nola. I already have two brothers. What I need is a sister, not another boy.”

“Nola! That's quite enough,” her father said. “Apologize.”

Arms still crossed, she said, “I'm sorry.” Then she turned and stalked up the stairs and through the castle door.

Well, there was at least one person as unhappy about the situation as Keifer.

Ceallach said, “Adam and Gwenyth Mackintosh, this is Keifer Macnab.”

Keifer mumbled a hello.

The woman shifted the child in her arms from one hip to the other. “When you men have seen to the horses, come inside for food and drink.”

Keifer decided right then that he liked Lady Gwenyth. She had included him with the men. He led his horse, following behind Sir Adam. Keifer and Ceallach tied their horses outside the barn and Keifer unfastened the girth. He lifted the saddle off, struggling a bit with the weight of it. As he swung away from the horse, the heavy saddle collided with the girl.

“Watch out, clumsy ox!” she cried as his load smacked into her.

He dropped the saddle from one hand and scrambled to pick it back up out of the dirt. Once he had a firm grasp on it, he said, “Please excuse me, my lady.” Then he looked at her in her disheveled state.

She giggled. “I'm not a lady.”

Keifer struggled but managed to keep his features stern. “And I'm not a clumsy ox.” He reined in his temper—mustn't lose it and embarrass himself or his sister so soon after arriving.

He brushed the horse and cleaned its feet while the girl, Nola, chattered about her father, her brothers, the new calf, and a cat about to have kittens. She didn't seem to require answers for her questions, which suited him fine.

“Nola, leave the boy be,” Adam said, halting the flow of words. “Come, Keifer, I'll show you where to put your horse.”

Keifer led the horse, Nola at his side.

She said, “You don't talk much.”

“You don't give a body a chance.”

At her crestfallen face, he quickly made amends. “I'm sorry.”

With a shrug that seemed to offer forgiveness, she said, “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

He put the horse in the stall Adam indicated and made sure it had hay and water.

“Aye.”

“I'm the oldest,” she said. She leaned down and picked up a gray kitten, petting its head.

“I'm the youngest.”

“Oh. Do you have a best friend?”