by Eliza Knight
Fate had dealt them both a cruel hand.
Why had he not made family a priority? Why had he given himself wholly to the crown? Questions he was certain to ask himself for the rest of his days. Questions his people might be asking as well. The very least he could do was give them the answers they sought and lay the head of the traitor at their feet.
In the past, Edan’s visits had always been brief. He’d deemed his duty to the king more important than duty to family. Enough so that many faces within the clan were not well known to him. Edan had been fostered out to the king’s army captain when he was just a wee lad, his father’s gift to the realm since he had one heir already, Edan’s half-brother, Connor, born of their father’s first wife. Though his father never told him exactly why he sent him away, Edan wondered if it was because he looked so much like his mother, that when his father looked upon him, he was only reminded of his own broken heart.
In fact, the last time he’d been home was to pay his respects to his brother as the new laird when their father died. A keen sense of dread threatened as he approached the castle gates. The men up on the thick stone wall shouted down to him, recognizing the Rose banner even from this distance. The pulleys of the portcullis grinded, and the gates were swung wide, yawning as though they’d swallow him up as he went inside.
The keep rose two stories higher than the wall itself, solid and familiar, yet never feeling quite like home.
And now, possibly home to an assassin, too.
Rose lands were not as vast as some of the more powerful clans in the Highlands. In fact, he could ride from one end to the other in less than a day, sometimes twice depending on the weather. Despite their small size, the clan did occupy several miles of shore along the Moray Firth between the Campbell and Hay clans, which gave them further abilities to trade and fish. In essence, what they lacked for in land, they more than made up for in sea.
Across the firth, such clans as the Mackenzie, Urquhart, Munro and Ross battled for space. To their left were the Frasers and Mackintosh clans. It was a source of pride for Clan Rose that they were able to keep their hold on the water despite battling with some of the most powerful clans in Scotland.
Most of them got along well, other than the occasional raid—all except Clan Ross, who’d been the bane of nearly everyone’s existence since time itself stood still. Whether by land or sea, whenever there was trouble, it was the Ross clan to blame, for certain.
In fact, the reason he was here at all, the reason he felt a gaping hole in his chest from the loss of a brother he wished he’d known better, was probably due to those bastards.
Edan rode through the gate into the bailey, surrendering the reins of his horse to a waiting stable hand before dismounting to plant his feet on the ground. His ground.
“Welcome home, my laird,” his guard Raibert said, sweeping an arm out to indicate the slowly gathering crowd and the imposing keep.
All of this was his, as was the responsibility of seeing that the people were safe, cared for and thriving. All things his brother and father before him had done perfectly. All of which Edan felt completely unprepared for.
He could lead an army. Take down his enemies. Make sure they were safe—aye, he had that down. But lead a clan? Comfort a wife who’d lost her husband? Solve disputes between neighboring crofters?
Covered in dust, not yet washed from his hasty journey north from Stirling, Edan climbed the worn stone steps of the keep facing his people. Some folks were familiar, having changed over time, but some were not recognizable at all. There he stood watching as the bailey slowly filled with weary clansmen and women; children even appeared subdued as they stared up at him. Edan imagined that each one wished his brother was still alive. He longed to be back out on the battlefield or traversing the land with his men.
He was not a laird. He was a warrior. A brutal man of his word who’d helped protect the King of Scotland for the past decade.
Why did Connor have to go and die on him?
Upon the death of his brother, an urgent missive had been sent to Edan, carried by Raibert. On the long journey back to the Highlands from Stirling, Raibert had filled him in on all the goings-on at Rose, and that the elders had voted unanimously for Edan to take his natural place as heir to his brother and leader of their clan.
If they’d voted against it, honor and duty would have made it impossible for Edan not to challenge the successor.
Being laird had never been on his list of things to do in life. In fact, since his brother had wed a pretty Highland lass, he’d assumed he’d never need to worry over it. Now it would appear that the very same lass had never had a child, leaving Edan as the first in line as blood heir, even if they were only half-related. They shared the same father, both of them born into a strong line of Rose leaders.
Even though he’d been voted in as laird, that could change.
There would be a waiting period to see if Connor’s wife was early on in a pregnancy, though it did not seem likely. Her maid had explained to the housekeeper, who had relayed the message to the steward, who had relayed it to Raibert, who then blundered through it to Edan, to make clear at this moment, due to some things known privately to women, that it was likely she was not carrying a child at this time.
But if they were all mistaken, Edan would take his place as their laird until the time came that the child could rule instead—which was essentially a lifetime from now.
Edan let out a long sigh.
He’d yet to have a moment to deal with his own grief. How was he supposed to face these people and try to offer them comfort? With his men, comfort was a rousing slap on the back, thumping of chests and hearty jests, a round of whisky, and perhaps a challenge to cheat death once more.
Doing so with the clan would likely be frowned upon.
They stared up at him now, waiting patiently for him to speak.
The death of his brother was under investigation, as Connor had died rather suddenly when in such good health. Connor had been dining in the great hall with several guests when he’d suddenly clutched at his chest and fallen face-first into his supper, never to wake. When they’d examined him, his tongue had been purple, and the whites of his eyes red.
Poison, Edan was certain, having seen the effects of it before. Lady Rose had been cleared of any wrong doing, but the guests had been retained in the dungeon, each under suspicion.
Edan wondered if the suspicion should go beyond their guests and to any of the people who faced him now. He drew in a long breath, feeling the pulse of his jaw muscle flex at the side of his cheek. What did a laird say when his people did not expect him to be laird? When they knew so little about him? He might have been brother to Connor, a Rose through and through, but he’d spent most of his life away.
He cleared his throat and hoped to hell they didn’t toss him out on his ear. He racked his brain for wise words he’d heard from his father or his king, or hell, his sword master. But it was all a jumble, and nothing specific came to mind.
Well, there was no way about this other than to simply dive right in. “People of Rose, my family, my friends, ye were loyal to my brother, my father, and my grandfather before him, all strong and able-bodied men in service to the clan. Great leaders, brave warriors.” Edan’s gut twisted in an unexpected knot as the people stared back at him blank-faced.
Add failure to move a crowd to the list of his deficiencies.
It was utterly ridiculous that he should feel unworthy. He was a battle-hardened warrior. He’d certainly roused his men to fight, to risk their lives when he spoke. He was well-respected by his king, and the first to mount his horse and ride into battle. He’d single-handedly taken on a dozen men at a time and saved countless lives.
Edan Rose was worthy, dammit.
And yet, the more they stared, the smaller he felt.
Wasn’t that ballocks…
He straightened his shoulders, puffed his chest a little. He was Edan bloody Rose, slayer of Sassenachs and lassies’ inh
ibitions. And now he was a blasted laird, ruler of men and protector of his clan. Add that to his list of undertakings. “My predecessors left large boots to fill, and I can promise ye that I’ll work day and night to make them fit.”
Several of the older clansmen nodded approvingly. A few of the younger lassies whispered, and even more still simply stared at him. He’d take that as a partial win—at least they were not all blank-faced.
“Though I may have been away serving the king, I assure ye, I have always been and always will be a Rose.”
Edan’s gaze went toward the kirk, the steeple climbing high enough for him to see it above the wall. Just there behind that holy house was his brother’s body. They’d left him out in state long enough for his people to pay their respects, but not for Edan to do the same.
He still remembered being a lad of perhaps seven or so when his mother had passed. Seeing her body laid out, so still, so pale, a linen cloth wrapped around her. Her lips had been blue, and he remembered thinking she must be so cold. And the linen blanket, so thin. He’d run up to his room, tugged off the fur blanket on his bed and brought it to the kirk where he’d placed it over her body. But it hadn’t helped. Within days they’d covered her face with the linen before placing her in the ground, and the fur blanket had been put back on his bed.
But Edan had never used it again. If it couldn’t warm his mother, how was it going to warm him?
Foolish thoughts, he knew, but what was a lad of that age to think when no one told him anything? Less than a sennight later, his father had packed him off to Stirling.
Lady Mary Rose, née Guinn, who Edan had yet to meet as he’d not been able to attend their wedding celebration, took that moment to open the great doors. All eyes left him, going to her. Edan studied her, and she gaped at him, her mouth falling open in horror.
He knew what she was staring at—the scar on his face that cut a path from the right side of his forehead, through his brow and to the center of his cheek. He was lucky he still had vision in his eye, though it was weaker than before. Women either found his scars enticing or horrifying. It didn’t take much to realize what she thought of them.
Before Mary had the chance to faint, or run back into the castle screaming, thinking him some monster come to attack, Edan bowed.
“My lady, I am Edan.”
Seeming to get control of her fright, and concentrating her gaze on his nose, she held out her hand. “I am…pleased to meet ye.” He could hear the opposite in her tone. “Connor spoke verra highly of ye,” she offered, though it didn’t sound sincere. Dark circles were smudged beneath her brown eyes, lack of sleep and tears, he’d guess. There was a haughty lift to her chin, and no doubt, she wondered why he should be here, and not her own husband.
Edan said softly, “I’m sorry for your loss, my lady, and that this should be the reason we finally meet.”
She pursed her lips. “And I am sorry for yours.” Her gaze once more centered on his scar. “I trust your journey was…uneventful.”
“Aye.” The lass chose an odd word to describe his journey, and he surmised it must have something to do with his battle scar, as she continued to concentrate on it.
She smoothed shaking hands down her unwrinkled blue gown and glanced at the assembled clan. “I shall let ye get back to it. I came out to see why everyone had gathered.”
“Ye’re welcome to stay, my lady. We are still your people.”
She shook her head abruptly, her lips a firm line, shoulders rigid. “I am packing.”
Edan was taken aback by that, but he forced himself to remain neutral, a hard thing considering what Connor would likely think if his wife were to leave so shortly after his death. He had to attribute her behavior to grief and not guilt. “Packing? Ye dinna have to leave so soon. Ye’ve only just…” He let his words trail off as tears gathered in her eyes. There was no need to remind her of what she’d just lost. To do so would only be cruel. And he had no idea how to comfort her. A woman in tears was more terrifying than any enemy on the battlefield.
“I’ve no reason to stay,” she said tersely. “Despite what others might think will happen.” She touched her belly, relaying to him in her own way that she was not with child. Mary had wed his brother nearly a year before. She should have, by all accounts, been well-rounded with Connor’s child, but her belly appeared as flat as the stone wall. “My father will be coming to collect me before nightfall.”
“Laird Guinn.” Edan didn’t know much about the Highland laird, other than there had been a scandal involving his eldest daughter a year or so before his youngest daughter married Connor, and Connor had been worried the scandal would carry down to him.
“Aye.” She pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod, dismissing him as she turned her back and re-entered the castle.
Edan frowned at the closed door, uncertain how he felt about the exchange. It had been awkward and strained. When he’d been riding for the castle, he’d thought up many ways in which he could try to offer comfort to Connor’s wife, knowing if he’d been in this position, his brother would do the same. But the lass wanted none of that. She simply wanted to get the hell off Rose property.
Unsettled, he returned his gaze to the crowd, trying to assess how they felt about the situation. They weren’t much help. A few gave judgment negatively toward the door, but the rest looked just as impassive as they had before. That told him a lot, even when words were not expressed. His sister-by-marriage had not made an impression on the Rose people. Whether she stayed or went, it meant little to them.
The fact that her father was coming so quickly to retrieve her after the death of her husband didn’t sit well with Edan, almost as if he’d been coming anyway. The Guinns were more northward, which meant a messenger would take at least a week to get there, and a week back. That was two weeks. It had taken Raibert four days to ride to Stirling, and four days for them to ride back together. That meant for her father to be arriving now, his trip had to be pre-planned, didn’t it?
Edan supposed the man could have been coming for a visit. Or a messenger could have ridden faster. But to know that he’d be there that day?
He shook his head, his thoughts turning dark. The lass wasn’t responsible for his brother’s death. Their marriage had been arranged, a useful alliance. She was not happy here. It had to be as simple as that. And she must not want to be a part of their clan. Perhaps their marriage had not been a happy one. Indeed, if it had, wouldn’t she want to stay among the people where she had found happiness? Was that not a wife’s place? Edan ran his hand through his long, untamed hair. What did he know of women? Or of their thoughts? Naught.
His frown deepened even more as he tried to recall everything his brother had relayed about his bride in his missives. Not much other to say how bonny she was, and that he was honored to have her as a bride. Her father’s land did not border theirs, so he wasn’t sure the significance of an alliance, save for it could help with any issues arising from the Brodies or Stuarts, of which they had none. But there had to be something, as they had not wed for love.
Edan cleared his throat once more and directed his attention back to the people. He had to focus on them right now, and not the awkwardness of meeting his sister-by-marriage for the first time.
“As I was saying, I’m proud to be a Rose, and proud to be your laird. Within the king’s army, I trained my own unit. My brother commended the Rose warriors, and I’m honored to lead ye. I will begin each day by training the men here, along with Raibert.” He nodded to his guard. “I’ll hold attendance to hear disputes each week as my brother did. And every day, I will work to discover what happened to Connor. I will not rest until we have uncovered the truth behind his death.” That was quite enough. His shoulders were tense, and he felt as though he held the weight of the keep on his back. “Does anyone have any questions?”
More blank faces, enough that he wanted to sigh with frustration.
Then Raibert raised a hand and called out, “What if the
king should need ye?”
Edan was glad he’d brought up the topic, as he was certain the others were wondering the same thing. “Every warrior in Scotland’s duty is first to king and country.”
Raibert nodded. “And the men here?”
Several of the women stiffened, shifting closer to their husbands as though Edan had come all this way from Stirling Castle to deprive them. He hadn’t, but if the king called, he was duty bound to obey. “We all owe our loyalty to Robert the Bruce, do we nay?”
“Aye,” Raibert said, glancing at the men.
“Aye!” they shouted in unison, their faces reflecting pride back at Edan.
The Rose men, small in number, were not oft called up by the king. Maybe a few here and there to bolster numbers, but nothing like some of the larger clans who sent men by the hundreds.
“What of the Campbells? They’ve taken to reiving since the laird’s passing.”
“Are ye certain ’tis the Campbells?” Edan asked.
“Aye, Murtagh captured one of the bastards. Beat his arse bloody, too.”
Edan frowned. “Did anyone reive after?”
“Nay.”
“And do ye suspect them of having anything to do with my brother’s death?”
“Canna say.”
“I will send a missive to Chief Campbell. With the return of his bloodied warrior, he’ll be expecting it, I’m certain.”
“What happened to your eye?” This unwelcome, yet not entirely unexpected, inquiry came from a lad no more than six or eight summers who’d crept in front of his da and was staring up at Edan with a mixture of horror and awe.
Edan wondered if he’d ever get used to the looks of disgust tossed his way by women and children—it was a noted difference than what he was used to. The men always looked on him with appreciation and reverence, for he’d survived.
