To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull series) (21 page)

“’Tis nothing, Morna”, Shoney smiled. “I was just so overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness and generosity. ‘Tis such a beautiful home. I am truly honored.”

“Indeed, Morna, you’ve done a fine job”, Ronan said.

The older woman blushed, “Well, I cannot take all the credit. Flora and Una were of great help.”

Morna began to bustle around the hut, straightening what Ronan noticed was already straight and wiping what was already clean.

“Well, my dear, I came to make sure you have everything you need. I noticed your satchel carried only medicines, bless your heart. Some of the ladies donated what they could spare for tunics and the like. They’ve been altered to fit your slim frame.”

“My goodness, Morna, did you sleep at all today”, Shoney exclaimed.

“Oh, don’t you be worrying about me, lass. I will sleep like a plow at Yule tonight.” She kissed Shoney on the cheek. Then she turned and gave Ronan a little shove.

“Now, out you go. You might be the size of three men, but you don’t scare me, Ronan MacKinnon. You know better than to be bringing her here on your own. Her family is trusting us to care for her, virtue and all.” She shoved him again. “Now, get.”

“I would not dare risk your anger, Morna. I will take my leave.” He looked beyond the older woman to where Shoney stood and winced as he met her scowl.

“Goodnight, lass. You no doubt will feel better in the morning.” As he turned to leave, he muttered, “I hope.”

Morna shut the door with a “humph” behind him. The night ended on a much different note than it began. Shoney had been jovial all evening, smiling and dancing. She had even teased him wickedly, intentionally fueling the fire of his desire but how swiftly her mood changed.

God’s blood, what game did she play?

He gazed up at the stars. “What would you have me do?” he asked.

“For starters, quit talking to yourself.” Ronan turned to find Aidan standing behind him. He swore again.

“You are always under foot. Wipe that grin off your face, before I do it for you”, Ronan growled.

Aidan’s laughter only increased, “As I see it, there is but one answer to your problem, and you won’t find it in the stars.”

“Aye, and what is that?”

“Whiskey, my friend”, Aidan said.

Ronan looked back at Shoney’s hut. He pictured her lithe body as she undressed and lied down on the pallet with her fair skin glowing in the firelight.

“Damn it”, Ronan swore. “Whiskey it is then, but I’m warning you now, Aidan. I am likely to get pissed drunk and beat someone to within an inch of life.”

“No worries, my friend, we’ll bring Guthrie along. He’s already soused and won’t feel a thing.”

***

Ronan woke with a jerk. His father stood over him with an expectant look on his face. “Get up, Ronan, We have to talk.”

He sat up and winced. Damn it, but his head pounded. He remembered little about the night before other than drinking a fool’s portion of whiskey. He looked around and saw he had passed out in the great hall alongside Aidan and Guthrie. The latter had a fat lip and a black eye, the responsibility of which no doubt was his.

“I’ll be paying for that when he wakes up”, he said aloud.

“Ronan, hung over or not, I would speak with you now”, Nathair commanded. “Get those two louts on their feet and out of the keep and join me down by the docks.” Then Nathair turned on his heels and strode out the door.

Ronan watched him exit. He remembered the fire in his father’s eyes when Shoney first walked into his parent’s quarters. He had yet to truly speak to his father since his mother’s recovery, and he did so now with a measure of trepidation. His father had charged at him with murderous intent. If Aidan had not intervened, Ronan might have been run through. Of course, Nathair had not been in his right mind at the time. Still, Ronan knew this was not going to be a typical meeting with his father where they discussed clan business. He was going to confront Ronan about Shoney.

Ronan closed his eyes and prayed for Norse ships to attack their coastline so that the subject at hand might be avoided at least until he was no longer hung over.

“Christ, where the hell am I”, Aidan groaned.

“You were just leaving”, Ronan muttered. “Wake up Guthrie, and gather the men together for drills.” Ronan stood up and stretched the ache from his bones. “I have a feeling we all need a good sweat after last night’s indulgences.”

“Where are you going now?” Aidan asked.

“The MacKinnon wants a word with me.”

“Och, well you knew this was coming”, Aidan winced. “If my head wasn’t pounding, I’d wake up Guthrie and sing you a death march so you could meet your maker with dignity.” Aidan groaned again. “But that being said, I can’t open my eyes, and I think I’m dying.”

“Get up, you sod”, Ronan said, giving his friend a light kick to the ribs. “And wake Guthrie up, but not until after I leave. He has a shiner that I’m pretty sure I put there. Where my father has already reserved the right to wallop me this morning, I’d hate to disappoint him.”

“Ronan, we both have six and twenty years to our credit. We have fought numerous battles and have the scars to prove our bravery, but your da scares me as much now as he did when I was a lad. I’d rather face a fleet of Norsemen than your da.”

“As always I thank you, Aidan, for your encouraging words”, Ronan said dryly. “I feel so much better.”

“I do what I can, my friend,” Aidan chuckled. “I’ll see you on the fields.”

***

There he was, Nathair, Laird of the MacKinnon, standing at the end of the pier, staring out to sea. He had not been Ronan’s first hero; that role had belonged to his brother, Nachlan. In Ronan’s youth, the MacKinnon was always an elusive figure, hard to reach and seldom available. It was Nachlan who first taught him to ride and wield a sword, but he died at sea during a storm off the Outer Hebrides when Ronan was eleven. He dived in to save a fallen brother and was never seen again.

For many days, Ronan stood at the end of the pier where his father stood now, looking out to sea for Nachlan’s ship to return. One day, the MacKinnon came up behind him and rested his hand on Ronan’s shoulder.

“He is gone, lad. Do not look to the sea for your brother’s ship. He died with honor. Turn around and look to the land instead.” Ronan did as he was bid.

“You are next in line to be chieftain.”

“Aye, Father”, he mumbled.

 “Look with open eyes, lad. One day you will be responsible for every MacKinnon, every man, women, and child and every field that feeds and sustains the clan just as I am now.”

 Ronan remembered feeling awed by the man who stood beside him, and ever since that moment, he had done all he could to walk in his father’s footsteps. Nathair was a great leader and warrior. He was fierce and honorable. Few saw his softer side, but Ronan knew he was also a gentle and loving husband.

Ronan took a deep breath and strode down the pier to stand alongside Nathair. After some time the MacKinnon spoke.

“To be a leader, Ronan, is to be alone.” Nathair turned and looked at him. “Never forget that. The council plays a part in every decision, but the outcome rests on your head.”

“Aye, Father.”

“The clan must always trust that even during the hardest times you are doing everything within your power to aid and not to harm. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, Father.”

“If you were to marry Bridget and her secret be discovered you would lose the trust of the clan. What say you?”

“I do not believe anyone will ever know. Her fictional origins are intentionally vague, and if someone did suspect that she was other than what she claimed, no one would entertain the possibility of her being the Witch of Dervaig. Beyond this, her merit is such that if any doubt regarding her identity were to arise, it would be soon forgotten.”

“If what you claim is true, and she has no sorcery, then she does seem to have all the fine qualities any young woman might hope for, excluding of course the fact that she is a heathen, Ronan. But listen well, my lad. If any mistrust arose or if the truth came out, the clan would never forget. Suspicion’s seed would be planted. If fortune holds, then ‘tis possible you and Bridget might never be called to task, but if sickness were to take hold or crops fail, they would cry out that you brought the wrath of God down upon their heads. Do you ken what I am telling you, lad? Despite her goodness, she is always one tragedy away from being the Witch of Dervaig.”

“It is a risk I am willing to take, father.”

“Your life is not your own to be careless with, son. As chieftain your life belongs first to the clan.” Nathair’s voice took on a foreboding note. “I have tried to appeal to your sense of logic and duty, because, in truth, I am ashamed for raising my sword against you the other night.”

“Father”, Ronan began.

“Enough”, Nathair snapped. “I have been more than reasonable. I gave her a home, and her secret will not be revealed by me. I owe her this much. But you listen well, lad. Do not test me. Debt or no debt, I will tell the priest that the Witch of Dervaig disguised as a child of God is living among us, and he will purge our island of her black soul”, he spat. “You must choose your destiny, Ronan. The laird of the MacKinnon lies with a woman of the MacKinnon—a daughter of Christ. I will have your decision tonight. If you choose Bridget, you will not be laird.”

Chapter 20

“We climb again”, Ronan shouted, “Move.”

He turned to find his footing in the sheer cliff wall. He was several feet in the air when he noticed none of his men followed. He leapt to the ground.

“Something had best have rendered your ears useless, or you will find yourselves paying the penalty for defiance”, he shouted.

“Jesus, Ronan”, Aidan swore. “A word please, if you don’t mind.”

Ronan turned away from his men and released a loud, rumbling growl. He was seething with rage and wanted the world to suffer alongside him or at least his men. His father had given him an impossible choice—his clan and his family or Shoney. He could not live without Shoney, but he would not be the man she loved if he dishonored his family and abandoned his clan.

He turned around. All eyes were on him. He looked at Aidan, “What?” he shouted.

“Let’s just step over here”, Aidan said. Ronan followed him several yards away from the rest of his men.

“We’ve climbed that cliff quite a few times”, Aidan began.

“Aye, what of it?” Ronan growled.

“We’ve done a month’s worth of training already today.”

Ronan grunted in reply and looked away. He was not interested in Aidan’s complaints. He had his own problems.

“And what about poor Cormick. You nigh killed him earlier. And I know it was due to him asking her to dance last night.”

“He shouldn’t have touched her,” Ronan growled again.

“He’d have to touch her if they were dancing, and ‘tis not as if he knew she was spoken for.”

“I wasn’t too hard on him.”

“You were sparring with him like he was King Haakon himself.”

Ronan was losing his patience. “If your rambling has any point, Aidan, then I suggest you make it.”

“I don’t know what your da said, but you just go talk to him and work it out before you kill us all and rob the Norse of the chance.”

Aidan was right. He hated when Aidan was right. His men had tolerated his ruthless orders long enough. Truth be told, he was surprised they had not rebelled sooner.

“Alright, Aidan, I will go to my father. He must be forced to see reason.”

“No, you won’t”, Aidan said.

Ronan grabbed him by his plaid and lifted him in the air. “You push too far Aidan. I don’t know if you noticed, but I am in a foul mood.”

“I was merely pointing out, friend, now may not be the best time to have it out with your da after all.”

“Aye, and why not when you just told me I should?”

“Oh, no reason really. ‘Tis just that a messenger from the king is heading this way”, Aidan said.

“Damn it”, Ronan swore.

He put Aidan down and covered his eyes against the glare of the sun and saw the rider in the distance, carrying the banner of King Alexander III.

He grinned.

His father and Shoney would have to wait. The messenger bore the battle colors of the king. It appeared as though God answered his prayer after all—war with the Norse was at hand.

“Warriors to me”, Ronan shouted. “Aidan, find my father. Guthrie, summon the council to the keep. The rest of you, come with me. We ride out to meet him.”

***

A mixture of unrest and excitement was brewing in the great hall. The food and drink went unnoticed as Ronan’s men shifted about the room impatiently. The day’s gruelling exercises and the overindulgences of the night before were forgotten. His men were ripe for battle. If someone shouted “charge”, the roar of battle cries would fill the air, and the men would ride out eager to meet the enemy. He sat with the messenger and his father, awaiting the arrival of Argyle who moved slower these days. No messages would be exchanged until the entire council was together.

“If so ordered I could go meet Argyle and carry him the rest of the way”, Aidan said.

“Patience, Aidan”, Nathair reproached, “You disrespect your elder. If our departure is not immediate, you will spend tomorrow’s entirety at Argyle’s service.”

Aidan spoke his apologies and took his seat just as the doors opened, and Argyle shuffled into the room.

The old man sat beside Nathair and asked, “What word from the king?”

“As you know, Haakon rejected King Alexander’s claim over the Western Isles”, began the king’s messenger. “What you may not know is that Haakon arrived some weeks ago with a fleet of long ships and has been pillaging the western coast of the mainland.”

“The Devil take the coward”, cried Guthrie. The hall erupted into chaos as the men stood and voiced their fury.

“Silence”, commanded Nathair. The men were quick to comply. Ronan could tell the king’s man approved of the order the MacKinnon maintained.

“King Alexander”, the messenger began again, “has agreed to begin negotiations.”

“What terms are negotiable?” Nathair interrupted. “We men of the Isles are Scotsmen. We must yield nothing to the Norse.” The MacKinnon’s words were met with cheers from his men.