“Do ye think we should be leaving so soon?” Alex asked, as they crossed the yard to the byre. “We only just arrived.”
“We need to find Connor and Duncan and make our plan,” Ian said.
His father’s grim news had kept Ian and Alex up talking far into the night. As they had feared, Hugh Dubh and his rough, clanless men had taken control of Dunscaith, the chieftain’s castle, as soon as the men returned from Flodden bearing the body of their dead chieftain. Hugh had proclaimed himself the new chieftain. And then, the new “chieftain” had stood by and done nothing while the MacKinnons attacked Knock Castle.
Ach, it made Ian blind with fury.
“Connor said he’d come for us when he wants us,” Alex said.
“I can’t sit here on my arse doing nothing with so much at stake,” Ian said.
Besides, he needed to escape, if only for a day or two. Nothing at home was as he expected. Finding his father crippled had shaken him badly. And seeing Sìleas had confused him.
“So what are ye going to do about Sìleas?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Ye think being away from her will help ye decide?” Alex asked. “Ye must know that’s utter foolishness, cousin.”
Foolish or no, that was what Ian was doing. Because he was forced to say vows when he’d committed no offense, he’d never considered keeping them. But if he took Sìleas as his true wife now, that would be an entirely different matter. It would be his decision, and he would feel honorbound to keep his vows. ’Til death.
“I need time to decide,” Ian said.
“So ye think it’s your choice, do ye?” Alex said. “Are ye so sure Sìleas wants ye?”
Ian turned to look at Alex to see if he was serious. “She’s been living with my family all this time, waiting for me.” With a grin, he added, “The whole clan knows the lass has adored me since she was a child.”
“Ach, but she’s not an ignorant child now,” Alex said over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to the byre.
Alex stopped so abruptly that Ian ran into him. When Ian pushed past him, he saw what—or rather, who—had caught Alex by surprise.
Sìleas was dressed in a man’s shirt and old boots, and she was mucking out a stall with a pitchfork. With streaks of dirt on her face and bits of straw tangled in her hair, she looked more like the Sìleas that Ian remembered.
Her pitchfork was half-raised when she saw them. Her eyes widened, and then, very slowly, she rested the wooden end of the pitchfork on the dirt floor.
“Do not tell me ye have it in your head to leave,” she said, looking at Ian.
“Just for a few days,” Ian said, feeling unaccountably guilty. He had every reason to go.
“Ye cannot mean it,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve seen how it is here. You’ve seen what’s happened to your da.”
“Sìl, a man must do what he must,” Ian said. “The future of the clan is at stake.”
“Hugh Dubh has been sitting in the chieftain’s castle for weeks,” she said, planting one hand on her hip. “I believe we can survive another day or two with him in it.”
“Delay will only make things worse,” Ian said.
“Ye cannot spare your mother more than an evening after the poor woman didn’t lay eyes on ye for five years?” Sìleas said.
Ian felt a twinge of guilt about that, but he had to go. To divert her—and because he was curious—he asked, “What are ye doing dressed like that and mucking out the stalls?”
“Someone has to,” Sìleas said, her eyes sparking green fire. “Your da can’t do it. And your brother can’t do everything himself, try as he might.”
“There are other men who can do this,” Ian said.
“Do ye see any men here to help?” she said, sweeping one arm out to the side. Her other hand gripped the pitchfork so tightly her knuckles were white. “We lost some men in the battle, and Hugh Dubh has forbidden the rest from working our lands.”
Ian’s father had not told him of this insult.
“Give me that, Sìl,” Alex said, using the voice he used to gentle horses. “I understand why you want to use it on him, but Ian won’t be good to anyone if you stick that pitchfork into his heart.”
When she glared at Alex and banged the end of the pitchfork against the ground, Alex lifted his hands palms out and stepped back.
“I can see,” he said in a low voice to Ian, “the lass adores ye still.”
Ian decided to try his luck. When he started toward her, Sìleas braced the pitchfork in front of her.
“Don’t ye try to tell me what a man must do,” she said, so angry that tears filled her eyes, “because the truth is ye are just playing at being a man.”
She was straining his patience now. How dare she mock him? “Protecting the clan is not playing.”
“A true man doesn’t desert his family when they need him,” she said. “And protecting the clan starts with your family.”
This time, the truth of her words burned through him.
“I’ll stay until we hear from Connor,” Ian said, and reached out for the pitchfork. “Go inside, Sìleas. I’ll do this.”
She hurled the pitchfork against the wall with a loud clatter that set the horses snorting, and stormed past him.
At the door, Sìleas spun around to fling one last remark at him. “It’s time ye grew up, Ian MacDonald, because your family needs ye.”
Ian and Alex went to the creek to clean up, rather than dirty his mother’s kitchen washing in the tub there.
“Mucking out the byre was not how I thought we’d be serving the clan,” Alex said, sounding amused.
“It is a waste of our talents. We’re warriors!” Ian said, Alex’s good humor annoying him further. “We should be using our claymores, fighting our way into the castle, and tossing Hugh over the wall for the fish to eat.”
“While Sìleas mucks out the stalls for ye?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “Hugh Dubh has as much right to seek the chieftainship as Connor. We can’t just toss him in the sea, as satisfying as that would be.”
“But he’s claiming it without being chosen, and he’s no right to do that,” Ian said. “He made a mistake by not calling a gathering and forcing the selection before Connor returned.”
“I expect Hugh was waiting until he could share the sad news of Connor’s demise,” Alex said.
“It won’t be easy to convince the men to go against Hugh while he holds Dunscaith Castle,” Ian said. “We must find a way to show them that Connor is the better man.”
“I’m starving,” Alex said, tossing his dirty towel at Ian. “It must be time to eat, aye?”
“Something da said about what happened at the battle troubles me,” Ian said, as they headed toward the house.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
“He said the English surprised him, striking from behind,” Ian said. “You’ve fought with my father—the man fights like he’s got eyes in the back of his head. How did the English get past him without him knowing it?”
Alex squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “In his prime, your father was a great warrior—but he’s grown old.”
“Aye, he has,” Ian said, his spirits sinking as he recalled his father’s sallow cheeks and graying hair. “I should have been there to protect his back.”
“How are ye feeling today, Payton?” Sìleas asked, as she set the tray on the small table next to the bed.
“I’m missing a leg, so how do ye think I am?” he said.
She stopped herself from helping him sit up, knowing it would annoy him. Though she had a hundred things to do, Sìleas took the chair beside him and forced her hands to be still.
“What are ye all upset about?” Payton asked, slanting his eyes at her as he lifted an oatcake to his mouth.
Sìleas pressed her lips together.
“Come, Sìleas, you’re so furious it’s making your hair curl.”
“Your son is an idiot,” she blurted out—and regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Which of my idiot sons are ye referring to?” Payton asked.
“I’ll not hear ye say another word against Niall, and ye know it,” she said. “It’s time ye stopped blaming him for doing what he had to do.”
“So it’s Ian, is it?” Payton said.
“I fail to see why this is the first thing to amuse ye in weeks,” she snapped. Despite her annoyance, Sìleas was pleased to see a glimmer of his old self.
“What’s Ian done to get on your wrong side so soon?”
She couldn’t tell him that Ian had not seen fit to acknowledge her or their marriage—she had her pride—so she shared Ian’s latest offense.
“He’s no notion of what must be done with the crops and livestock,” she said, folding her arms. It was Ian’s responsibility now, and he would just have to learn.
“I raised Ian to be a warrior, not a farmer, lass. He has more important things to attend to,” Payton said, his expression turning stern. “I told him how that devil took Knock Castle.”
Sìleas said nothing, knowing that the loss of her castle was a festering wound to Payton’s pride—and to the whole clan. Her step-da had bided his time for five years, then struck in the wake of Flodden when the MacDonalds were weak.
Payton set his plate on the tray and sank back on the pillows, looking pale.
“If it’s any comfort to ye, I expect the Knock Castle ghost is haunting my step-da,” she said, giving him a wink. “I doubt the Green Lady has let Murdoc have a single good night’s sleep.”
“ ’Tis a shame your ghost doesn’t carry a dirk,” Payton said in a tired voice.
“Shall I tell ye how she warned me to leave that day?” she asked.
“Aye, lass.” Payton closed his eyes as she began and was asleep before she was halfway through the old story. It hurt her to see the great man so weakened.
The hands resting on the bedcovers were marked by battle scars that told a tale of their own. Yet she remembered how gently those big hands had encompassed hers the morning Payton had found her and Ian sleeping in the wood. Without waking him, Sìleas lifted the hand closest to her and held it.
Payton was getting stronger every day. She could leave soon. With Ian here, he would do just fine without her. They all would.
But she feared that when she left she would be like Payton, always missing a part of her that was gone.