Harris ruffled his sister’s hair. “Well, we’re here now, aren’t we?” he said, echoing Ailsa’s thoughts.
“Yes,” muttered Iona. “And I am most interested to find out how your definition of stealthy has changed since I last saw you. Everyone has been talking about some party that you showed up to.”
Harris had the decency to look abashed.
“Couldn’t be helped,” he murmured.
Iona caught Ailsa’s eye and gave her a confused look.
What else have they been saying? wondered Ailsa.
“So, little brother,” Duncan asked, clapping Angus on the back. “Do you have it?”
The younger prince laughed and stood back, fishing around inside his pocket. The crowd pressed in around them, holding collective breaths. He revealed it with a flourish, making sure to do his best Harris impression.
“Behold, the Stone of Destiny.”
The Eilanmòrians around them cheered and jostled one another to get a better look. Ailsa bit her lip. She didn’t like that so many people could see they had found the Stone. Wouldn’t it be better to keep it hidden? She eyed the people in the crowd with growing anxiety. Any of them could be working for another country—or even Nicnevan herself—waiting for their chance to steal it or sell someone information on its whereabouts. Cold dread clawed at her throat.
Just then, she glimpsed a hooded face in the crowd, with what looked like gleaming red eyes. She blinked again and it was gone; it was probably just her mind playing tricks on her.
“I’m glad you’re home,” smiled Duncan. “Come, let’s go inside.”
Someone was playing bagpipes as they paraded into the castle. Ailsa allowed herself one look back as they ascended the stairs: the castle grounds were alive with summer flowers, but beyond the walls, purple and orange heather covered the landscape. She took in the jagged mountains and boulder strewn moorland they had first travelled through over a week ago. Eilanmòr was wild and dangerous—but it was her home and they had saved it.
Duncan kept one arm around his brother, with Ailsa, Iona and Harris close behind. Lady Moira shuffled ahead, shouting orders at servants to have rooms readied, food prepared and ambassadors alerted that the coronation would soon be taking place. Ailsa realised that Angus’s cousin had lost her previously poised demeanor. Ailsa made a mental note to surprise her more often in the future.
The castle was also much busier than it had been when she, Harris and Angus had left. Nobles and guests from around Eilanmòr and neighbouring countries swanned through the halls, like puffed-up pheasants. In comparison, Ailsa felt that they looked like little brown sparrows in their travelling clothes. When they arrived in the main hall, she was happy to see that they’d left the hubbub behind; only a few people sat around the long table, eating their lunch.
She noticed Princess Vashkha huddled over something at the side of the table. As they approached, they heard a gurgling sound and a little hand popped up from the bundle of blankets she was holding.
“Is that?” Angus breathed.
“I’m afraid, brother, that you’re not next in line to the throne anymore,” said Duncan with a pleased smile.
Big, round eyes peered at them with interest when the three leaned in for a closer look. The baby flexed its fingers in front of them.
Angus chuckled, tears building at the corners of his eyes. “They’re welcome to it.”
Princess Vashkha lounged regally on her seat, surrounded by pillows, like a golden goddess. The baby’s jet hair sprouted thickly on his head and she smoothed back a tuft, clearly besotted. The rest of the party, even the soldiers, followed the movement, enraptured. Duncan placed a hand on her shoulder.
“May I present Prince Douglas Visuran MacFeidh.”
Princess Vashkha tsked, but continued to smile down at the little prince. “My son should have a Visenyan first name.”
Duncan rolled his eyes as if they’d had this conversation many times before. “He is a prince of Eilanmòr. There are no Eilanmòrian names that start with ‘V’.”
“Which is why I had to settle for a middle name,” she sighed. “It means, ‘lucky despite my father not giving me a proper first name.’”
Douglas stuck a few fingers into his mouth, oblivious to his parents bickering.
Duncan motioned for them to join him at the table and took a seat at the head, all business again. Now that they had arrived in front of the council, the family reunion would have to be called short. Angus did not sit down, instead leaning on his sword, so Ailsa and Harris took their places behind him.
Prince Duncan didn’t seem to notice, as he lifted a glass of wine to his lips. “I hope that your journey was less eventful than the rumours would have us believe.”
Angus stood up straighter and gave a brief summary of their expedition. He left out any time that they had been in great danger, nevertheless, he was sure to include a quick reference to Ailsa saving his life. At the mention of this, Duncan’s eyes flicked over to her, impressed.
Once Angus had finished, Prince Duncan nodded his head and stood.
“I thank you brother, and your companions, Lord Harris and Ailsa.” He stopped and his eyes crinkled. “We really ought to give you a title, it will sound better when I thank you.” He began again, in his booming voice. “Time is of the essence. We must inform our guests, and the residents of Dunrigh, that the coronation will take place two days hence, at sundown.”
He spoke to General Fraser beside him who, up until then, had been eyeing Ailsa with open contempt. “General, please send out some of your soldiers to nearby towns to tell them they will have a new king by the week’s end.”
“And what of the old king?” Angus asked, stepping forward. His eyes were eager, but he gripped his sword tightly.
Iona placed a hand on his elbow. “When you returned, I was reading to him.”
“Our business here is almost over—let us visit him together,” Duncan told his brother kindly. “Lady Iona, could you please escort your brother and Ailsa to their rooms? I believe they could do with a wash and a rest.”
Iona led them away through the large doors to the side of the hall. When Ailsa turned to look back, Angus and Duncan were lost in conversation. Without warning, she was struck with a sudden wave of jealousy. How nice would it be to have someone else to share your plans and worries with?
She gave herself a mental shake. Their father was dying.
She let Iona push her up the stairs but before she could follow Iona into their room, Harris pulled Ailsa aside.
His eyes slid over her face but lingered just below her eyes, at the dark circles which must have been blooming there.
“Will you be okay?” The red curls that fell over his brow were in need of a good wash. Her hand itched to push them away, but she gripped the hem of her shirt instead. “Do you need anything?”
She sighed and shook her head. “I just need to sleep for a month. Shame the coronation is in two days.”
Harris rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long journey, especially for someone who didn’t want to go in the first place.”
“Well, ”she smiled ruefully, “there was this presumptuous selkie who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I’m glad you were with me, Ailsa.” He lifted one of her hands and, despite the dirt caked on her skin, kissed the back of it. “I’ll see you later,” he said, releasing her and turning towards his room. She stared at the spot he had kissed.
“Okay,” she murmured, but he was already gone. Feeling light-headed and tired, she headed to her own chambers.
Iona was there to help her strip off her clothes before Ailsa headed towards the bathroom.
She was scrubbed down quickly by a servant who could clearly sense that she would fall asleep at any moment. Then, bundled in a fluffy towel, she was dried and pushed towards the bed. They had drawn the curtains to block the sunlight, and a fire burned in the hearth. Once alone, Ailsa managed to change into a robe, before sinking into the
soft blanket and falling asleep.
Chapter 54
Later, Ailsa awoke to a muted conversation coming from the main room. She rose groggily and combed her hair out with her fingers; it had become a knotted mess as she’d slept.
Night had fallen but the fire and some candles created a warm glow. Food had been laid out for them but no one seemed to be eating as they talked quietly. Angus was there, sitting on the couch with Iona’s arm around his shoulders. Harris was in the process of setting a cup of tea in front of him.
Ailsa took a deep breath. From the look on Angus’s face, she knew what he was about to say.
“It’s done,” he mumbled bleakly. “He’s dead.”
She pressed her lips together and went to sit in the chair across from him. “When?”
“Sometime between when we arrived in Dunrigh, and when I went down to visit him with my brother.” He stared down at his palms, his eyes puffy.
“I’m so sorry, Angus,” whispered Ailsa. She was no good with this. When her own mother had died, she had been alone. She hadn’t had anyone to share her grief with. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat until finally she did the only thing she could think of and reached for his hand. He jumped when he felt her fingers clasp around his, but he gripped her hand like a lifeline.
“After everything—all we went through—I thought I would get to see him alive one more time.”
Iona rubbed his back. “When he heard you had returned, he must have felt he didn’t need to worry anymore. He had been holding on so long. You finally brought him peace.”
He nodded and took a sip of his tea. Ailsa moved so she could sit on the couch beside Angus and pulled the robe tighter across her body. Of all people, she knew how he felt; Angus was an orphan now, just like her.
At least, she thought, he has everyone here to help him through this.
Harris left his seat at the low table to pace across the room.
“How did Duncan take it?” he asked as he set about making another cup of tea.
“When we got to the greenhouse, there were a few nurses there, waiting. They told us he had passed. Duncan… did his duty,” he let out a great shuddering sigh. “He walked in, lifted the sheet from my father’s face, bent a knee, then left me there. Not even a minute had passed before he was off shouting instructions to staff, arranging his funeral and the coronation.” He wiped a hand under his eyes.
“He was trying to be practical,” Iona soothed.
“When we were younger, my brother was always laughing, always joking around.” He studied Ailsa’s hand in his as he spoke. “Then, one day, it was as if he realised the responsibilities that he’d face. They’re always at war, the boy and the man. Sometimes, when he forgets that he’s going to be king, he’s just my brother. I like him better then.”
Harris returned from the buffet with a few plates piled high with snacks. He placed one in front of Angus and another in front of Ailsa. She raised her eyebrows but he just flopped down into a stuffed armchair across from them.
“You looked hungry.”
Ailsa picked at the food as they all listened to Angus. Iona managed to find a bottle of whisky that had been left in her room and they toasted solemnly.
“To King Connall,” said Iona raising her glass.
“And to King Duncan,” Angus replied, clinking his goblet against hers. “Long may he live.”
They all murmured their responses and took a sip of the amber liquid. It burned Ailsa’s throat on the way down, but warmed her belly as she drank.
Chapter 55
They talked long into the night until Angus fell asleep, Ailsa stroking his hair, just like he had done for her during their journey.
She must have fallen asleep too, because when she opened her eyes again, she saw that blankets had been spread out over her and Angus, and Harris and Iona’s sleeping bodies on the other seats. She wondered who had done it and whether that person had thought the way their limbs entwined was inappropriate. She quickly dismissed the thought. Impropriety was not the worst thing she had ever been accused of.
She sat for a while, not quite ready to greet the day. Angus’s comforting smell rose from his thick hair. As always, Harris’s gentle snoring filled the room. When had this become familiar? When had these people come to feel like family?
All too soon, the voices of servants in the hallway drifted in to wake the others. They stretched and groaned as they slowly came back to consciousness. Harris gave her a little nod as he went to remake the fire and boil the kettle. Iona slipped to the windows to open the curtains. No one uttered a word, so as not to break the peaceful atmosphere in the room.
Angus was the last to lift his head, the grief still glazing his eyes.
Ailsa gave his shoulder a squeeze as he sat up, extracting himself from her legs. He nodded gratefully to her. He seemed to give himself a mental shake as someone knocked on the door. Ailsa could see the resolve building in his face as he stood and squared his shoulders. Today would be about saying goodbye to his father and preparing to crown their new king.
Finally, unable to delay any longer, he called to the world outside the door.
“Come in,” he croaked.
Lady Moira craned her neck around the door as she opened it. Today she was dressed respectfully in a black dress. Her golden hair was pinned back from her face, revealing dark shadows under her eyes.
“Your Highness, we were looking for you,” said Lady Moira as she stepped into the room, her cane making a resounding clack in the silence.
Angus shrugged his shoulders. “I fell asleep here.”
She approached the seating area and fussed with the blankets they had discarded. Ailsa wasn’t sure if she was cleaning up their indiscretion or if she just needed something to do with her hands. “Well, you must come with me and get ready for the ceremonies today.”
Iona placed a hand on the back of his elbow. “Don’t worry, Angus, we’ll be right there.”
He forced a half-smile onto his face and nodded. “Thanks. I’ll see you all later.”
He was led from the room by a kind-eyed maid. He seemed to know her well, as he threw an arm around the woman’s shoulder while she patted his back in comfort.
Lady Moira lingered, back straight as she hesitated near the open door.
“The funeral will be quite private. Family, castle staff and high-ranking foreign guests only. Lady Iona, Lord Harris,” she nodded to them. “As the ambassadors of Struanmuir, Prince Duncan has asked that you attend.” She took a deep breath and turned her disapproving eyes on Ailsa. “He has also asked that you attend, Miss MacAra.”
“Me?” asked Ailsa. “But I’m not high-ranking.”
Lady Moira nodded once. “He is grateful for the part you played in retrieving the Stone of Destiny. I daresay that Prince Angus would appreciate your attendance also.” She turned and let herself out of the room, the door whispering shut behind her.
Iona went to get ready, but before Ailsa could follow, Harris caught her arm, his eyes shadowed. “Will you be alright today?” he asked.
She bit her lip and gripped the folds of her robe in her cracked and weathered hands. She didn’t want to go—there would be so many people—but that didn’t matter. She would do this for Angus.
“I’ll be fine,” she finally said, raising her chin.
He smiled at her then and bent to give her a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll see you soon,” he said before letting himself out of the room.
Ailsa closed her eyes as her hand flew to her forehead, right where the brand of his lips was still burning. Something would have to be done about that selkie. She just wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hit him—or kiss him back.
Chapter 56
His father’s funeral was quiet and refined, not at all like the man he had been. He had been a great explorer and it had cost him his life.
Angus stood before the funeral pyre, where he had been for over an hour as priests and scholars chanted words over his father
’s body, sending him into the afterlife.
He felt only a melancholy detachment. His father had been a laughing, adventurous and highly-strung man. The body that was spread out, ready to be burned, was not him. Angus closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how he had been when he was alive, before he fell ill.
Although they hadn’t agreed on some things, and his father hadn’t exactly been accepting of his… desires… he hadn’t tried to beat it out of him either. Aside from that, he had been a doting father, if a little easily distracted by distant horizons and curiosities.
He had been a good king too. While the official funeral had only a hundred or so in attendance, he knew outside the castle walls, Eilanmòrians around the country would be toasting his memory.
He risked a glance at his brother, solid and serious as ever. He was playing his part well, but Angus could see the slight way he leaned into his wife. If he treated Eilanmòr half as well as he treated her and their child, the country was in safe hands.
While the priests continued their prayers, he lifted his eyes to scan the crowd. Finally, he caught sight of them. There, nestled amongst his extended family, were Ailsa and Harris.
He felt a surge of warmth. Duncan had allowed them both to come, along with Harris’s sister who stood beside them, her hair shining like molten copper in the early morning light. They were all dressed in black, which suited only Ailsa, the contrast against her pale, unblemished skin shockingly lovely. She raised her eyes to his, her dark hair falling away from the left side of her face, revealing her wine-coloured mark. She raised a hand to sweep it back into place, hiding that part of her face, and gave him a tentative smile. She nudged Harris at the same time, his eyes also meeting Angus’s.
He felt it then, a bond between the three of them. In his mind’s eye, he imagined it, strong and golden, connecting their bodies together with light. How had he come to love these two people in such a short time?
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