Highland Storm

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  “I will never forget the first time I saw him,” Kenna confessed, with rosy cheeks. “He was newly arrived and I thought to myself that he was the epitome of male beauty, so dark and handsome. But of course, the ladies were all half in love with him from the instant he rode through the gates.”

  Lael laughed. “Dinna speak such things in front of my brother,” she forbade Kenna. “His head will grow overlarge, and Lianae will suffer his arrogance all the more.”

  “I dinna find him arrogant,” Lianae demurred.

  Kenna smiled. “Aye, well, until you, if wasna made of metal, feathers or horseflesh, Keane did not see it. One day, I thought I would come to sup dressed as a shield, with feathers in the front my head and a horse tail behind.” The ladies present all tittered over the image.

  Lianae might have told a different tale, but she didn’t wish to make Kenna feel bad. There were many things she might find to call her new husband, but inattentive was not one. Blind was not one. And neither was passionless. Despite that they had yet to consummate their vows, she knew this for a fact, for she’d certainly not missed that lump beneath his wash cloth. Her cheeks heated over the memory.

  But the bath had been a pointless endeavor. Now, even more than before, he would come to bed in the wee hours, whenever he thought Lianae was fast asleep and he rose early, long before she could chance to open her eyes. She took her frustration out on the cloth she was sewing, shoving her needle furiously through the hem. There was only so much she could say, for today Lael’s daughters were all present in the solar.

  Some of the ladies in attendance were the daughters of neighboring lords. Others were the wives of Jaime’s wards. And some were lowly maids who served the lady of Keppenach. Lael seemed prepared to invite anyone within, whether or not they were ladies in truth. All were welcome in her solar, with the hearth fire blazing and the candlelight sparkling overhead. A beautiful carpet had been laid out upon the floor, with enormous, brightly colored pillows tossed hither and thither—a style, Lael had explained, was inspired by her husband’s travels to the land of the Saracens.

  “I have never traveled overmuch,” Lianae confessed.

  “Mayhap you will now that my brother is sworn to David?” Lael suggested, smiling as she worked her needle through the hem of one of Lianae’s new gowns.

  “Mayhap,” Lianae replied. Although, as of now, her husband was like to carry her back to Dunràth and leave her there evermore. Alone. “Green was the Lady Aveline’s favorite color?” she asked. It certainly seemed to be so, for nearly all the gowns she wore were some shade of green.

  “Aye, but if the color does not please you—”

  “Oh, nay!” Lianae reassured. “They are all lovely and I have never seen their like. My own gowns have always been far plainer. I am grateful for all you have done, m’lady.”

  “Mine as well,” Lael confessed.

  “And mine,” Kenna added. “But it surprises me that yours would be, Lianae.”

  “Me?” Lianae asked, with some bewilderment.

  “You are a princess!” one of Lael’s ladies interjected.

  Lianae blushed. “Ach! A princess of what? Ye must have a people to rule to be a princess, and Moray is no longer what it was.”

  Both Lael and Kenna shared a glance. “I ken what you mean,” Lael confessed with a sigh. “Neither is Dubhtolargg.”

  Lianae’s needle stilled, remembering suddenly what King David had called her husband. Dún Scoti. “Dubhtolargg?”

  Lael continued to sew, nodding, as though her revelation were ever so mundane.

  Like Lilidbrugh, Dubhtolargg was a place only spoken of in whispers—the mountain stronghold named for the murdered king of the Southern Pechts. It was said that, upon Black Tolargg’s death, his blood ran in rivulets down into the mountain streams and flowed red all the way to the mountain loch where the mother of winter lay slumbering in her cave. Drawn forth to mourn the fallen king, her tears transformed the glen into a bounteous place surrounded by the roughest terrain known to man. It was there, to that glen the last of the Pechts had flown to more than two centuries past, and there supposedly remained—in the red hills, stained crimson by the blood of Black Tolargg.

  Lael was a dún Scoti. Certainly, that would explain their coloring, for they were darker than most Scots—in both complexion and hair—and their eyes were a peculiar shade of green as well. Considering this, Lianae pushed her needle through the thick material of her gown. On this particular dress she had adjusted the neckline, so that it would reveal the moons of her breasts. Let her husband ignore her then, she thought to herself.

  Kenna cast her a knowing glance, for they were fast becoming friends, despite their adoration for the same man. No matter that she tried to deny it, Lianae could see the heartbreak in Kenna’s eyes every time she spoke of him.

  There was a sudden knock at the solar door. “Ailis?” Lael inquired of the well-rounded woman who appeared behind the door.

  “M’lady… we’ve a messenger…” But the unhappy servant refused to meet her mistress’s gaze.

  “Do we know from where?”

  The servant nodded, staring at her feet.

  “Who, Ailis? Speak up!”

  At last, Ailis met her mistress’s gaze. “I shouldn’t say, m’lady. But my laird Jaime bids ye come at once.”

  Commanding her daughters to stay, Lael leapt to her feet at once, leaving everyone staring after her as she hurried out the solar door.

  Riders delivered news of the death of a dún Scoti kinswoman.

  Thankfully Keane would not refuse Lianae the chance to stand beside him in his time of sorrow. Together, they were bound for Dubhtolargg, and from Dubhtolargg, they were meant to travel north to Dunràth in Moray. Lael and Jaime would go as well, though Jaime’s sister was asked to remain at Keppenach along with Lael’s daughters. With Elspeth gone, Lianae would sorely miss the sisterly companionship, for while Keane’s sister was kind and sweet, she was not nearly so affable as Kenna.

  The king himself intended to make the journey too, but from Dubhtolargg, he would ride south to Northumbria instead of traveling north to Moray. So whilst the king lingered to ready his troops for war and collect his remaining liegemen, he sent the grieving family ahead. Jaime Steorling remained to accompany the king into the Mounth, while Keane, Lael, Lianae, Cameron, and the messengers Fergus and Lachlann rode with all due haste.

  Lianae attributed the hurry to Keane’s and Lael’s desire to be at home with their kinsmen in their time of grief, though it was a grueling pace they’d set, putting more and more distance between their party and that of the king’s. It was as though they meant to make certain they arrived long before David mac Maíl Chaluim.

  Along the way, Keane was far too distracted to trouble himself with their quarrels. He was neither angry, nor solicitous, but rather brooding, given to long stretches of silence that left Lianae feeling like a stranger amidst her new kin.

  And yet, being ignored by Keane dún Scoti was by far a better fate than the one she might have had at William fitz Duncan’s hands. She shuddered to think what William might have done to her by now. And still… she found herself wishing Keane would only turn to look her way… if only but once. She held an apology ready in her gaze, and prayed with all her heart that he might see it.

  But he did not. And the mood of the party remained glum. They made their way through pinewood forests and valleys that sliced through precipitous cliffs. As they climbed the hills at last, the hillside forest thinned, and finally, the path wandered down a hillside, into a snow-blanketed valley that was bordered on three sides by corries and on the fourth by an icy loch. As they entered the vale, the sound of a horn blast filled the air.

  This, at last, was the legendary Dubhtolargg.

  In the valley below, protected from the winds and encircled by bare-limbed rowan trees, sat row upon row of cobbled stone cottages topped with snow-covered thatch. Out on the loch sat an enormous wooden island, connected to the beach by a long
wooden pier.

  Hidden away like a precious gem, the sight of the tiny village stole Lianae’s breath away, for despite that it appeared as some visage from their past, a sense of something portentous assailed her the minute she entered the glen... something undeniably ancient and powerful.

  From their vantage on the hillside, they could spy Keane’s kinsmen down below near a raging bonfire. From its center, smoke curled upward into a bleak sky. Long before they neared the village, a welcome party came forth to greet them.

  With nervous fingers tapping at the inside of her belly, Lianae followed her husband to the stables, where they abandoned their mounts and then made their way toward the bonfire on the beach. Hugs were exchanged along the way, and more tears shed, but Lianae was not among the ones embraced. Her heart aching for these people, she bided her time, standing near her husband like a good and dutiful wife.

  Presently, a young woman came to embrace Keane—a beautiful girl, with bright red hair. The two hugged, embracing as though the world was coming to its end.

  Jealousy reared its little beast eyes, and Lianae glanced away, unable to bear the sight of their embrace. Remembering how Keane had taken her wounded feet and wrapped them with so much care, she swallowed over the loss of his affections.

  What had she done?

  Saved herself, in truth, but she’d made her husband cold. A sorrow to match her husband’s grief seeped down into Lianae’s bones.

  After a moment, the woman broke free of their embrace and folded herself into Cameron’s arms as well, and seeing the two together, Lianae was at once reassured.

  If the girl’s hug for Keane was fervent and heartfelt, her embrace for Cameron was tender and full of longing. Lianae noted the fingers that looped through the curls at Cameron’s nape, and at once she sought her husband’s gaze.

  Clearly, Keane noted the gesture as well, for he turned to look at Lianae at long last, and gave her a tentative smile—the first such smile in weeks. Her heart did a painful flip inside her breast.

  Judging by the look upon her husband’s face as he watched Cameron with his sister, Lianae dared to hope that he, too, craved more than the fief he would receive as payment from his king.

  And then there was this: Any other man might have taken the king’s bribe, and in order to secure the alliance between their houses, he would have forced Lianae to lie with him by now. Keane had yet to even touch her… and even now, if she chose to, she could declare herself unwed, for she was a maiden still in the eyes of the law.

  But she wanted to be Keane’s wife in truth.

  Alas, he thought her defiled, and worse, he suspected she carried another man’s bairn. Another lie—the greatest lie of all—one Lianae longed to bring into the light.

  He stood so close now—so very close—and yet they might as well have been standing leagues apart. Longing for the merest brush of his skin, Lianae moved closer, and once the initial greetings were done, her husband drew the woman aside, introducing her to Lianae.

  “Cailin, greet my wife,” he said without flourish.

  The girl’s eyes widened. Her gaze snapped to Lianae. “Wife?”

  Belatedly, he took Lianae by the hand, but the gesture seemed perfunctory. “Lianae, this is my sister Cailin. She will see to your comfort and I will join you anon.” He bent to place a chaste kiss upon Lianae’s forehead and she pressed her face into the warmth of his lips, but he broke free and moved away, abandoning her to his sister.

  Cameron was quick to follow at his heels.

  “Where are you going?” Cailin called after them. When Keane didn’t reply, she turned to give Lianae a strange look.

  “David comes,” Lael said, and bolted after them.

  Cailin opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again and merely watched her brother and sister take their leave, seeming to comprehend something Lianae did not. Though she had the immediate sense that whatever it was… it had everything to do with David’s imminent arrival in the vale.

  Chapter 21

  Auld Fergus stood guard at the crannóg door whilst the men all circled the pit, warming their frozen fingers. The dancing flames cast a capricious light over each of the surrounding faces. In the shadows, near the long table, Lìli quietly rocked her newborn babe, listening with trepidation to their discourse. Along with the elder Lachlann, Aidan, Lìli, Sorcha, Cameron, Keane and Lael had all closeted themselves to discuss what was to come. Sorcha and Lael stood arm in arm, grateful to see one another after so many years, but their attention remained riveted on their brothers. For more than two hundred years the dún Scoti had not called attention to their vale—for a good cause—and now, the king and his men were on the way.

  “How many ride with him?”

  “Five hundred, now.” It was Cameron MacKinnon who provided that information. “He intends to meet another two once we leave the vale, and the rest will join us in Northumbria.”

  Keane more than anyone understood the coming confrontation in Northumbria was not Aidan’s primary concern. “Five hundred of the king’s men will convene here?” his brother asked, his tone clearly displeased. His gaze narrowed on Keane, clearly holding him responsible.

  “I encouraged him to forgo the journey,” Keane said. “He insisted. What would you have had me do?”

  The two brothers locked gazes, Aidan furious and Keane unflinching. He well knew his brother’s fears, but after all was said and done, what difference would it make now?

  “We all ken David mac Mhaoil Chaluim isna come to pay respects,” Aidan suggested. “So, tell me, what does he want?” He was angrier now than Keane had ever heard him be—more so than he was on the day Lael rode out from the vale. The fact that his voice was calm did not conceal his fury. It was there in the glint of his steely eyes.

  The only man Keane had ever knelt before was his own brother, but not today. Unaccustomed to Keane’s diffidence toward anyone, and sensing a row, Cameron moved to diffuse it. “I believe he means to ask you to join the campaign. If we are to succeed in Northumbria, we need all the men we can get.”

  Aidan’s pupils dilated as they met the MacKinnon’s cousin, until his green eyes were overshadowed by the black. “We?” he asked carefully.

  “Aye,” Cameron said.

  His brother’s temper was barely contained. “Northumbria is not my concern, it is not my war,” he snapped.

  For all the talk he’d heard from outsiders—that Aidan coddled their women too much—Keane had never met a man yet who wasn’t ready to piss himself when faced with his brother’s wrath, including King David himself. But for the first time in all the years they’d known each other, Cameron MacKinnon stood his ground, straightening his spine, facing Aidan squarely. “Neither is it the MacKinnon’s fight, and yet I am told he will join.”

  Aidan took a step toward Cameron. “Regardless, you have no business in my council, Cameron MacKinnon.”

  “Aidan,” Lael interjected, moving between them, and splaying a hand upon Aidan’s chest to shove him back. “Come now,” she said. “He is our guest and we have lost too much already. Let us not fight,” she pleaded.

  It took Aidan a long moment to compose himself, but when he looked again at Cameron, there was new respect in his gaze. “Chreagach Mhor lies in ruins,” he informed him, somewhat more calmly. “It will take months to rebuild what they have lost.”

  “Even so, Aldridge Castle lies vulnerable now that FitzSimon is dead, and I dinna believe my cousin will allow his wife’s patrimony to be so easily remanded. He will come.”

  “Aye, well, whatever Iain MacKinnon does is Iain MacKinnon’s concern. I will not lend good men to defend a crown we have not supported in more than two hundred years.”

  “And we are in mourning,” Lìli interjected from her seat by the table, her tone fraught with worry. She rocked her babe, eying Keane pleadingly, as though he were the one now at fault. But there was more, and there was no sense in putting off what must be said.

  “I mean to join him,” Keane a
nnounced.

  Every pair of eyes snapped to meet Keane’s. He felt them more acutely than he did the heat of the fire pit. Brother stood glaring at brother, green eyes clashing over the dancing flames. Only Lael had ever defied Aidan so, ten years past, and she alone could comprehend what Keane felt as he stared Aidan down, more than prepared to stand his ground.

  He had given his word to David, and despite that he was a dún Scoti long before he was a king’s man, he had long suspected that auld slab of stone hidden in the belly of their ben would prove a curse to his kin—as much as it was a curse to men. It was a slaughter waiting to happen—a fly in the web. If Keane had had his druthers years ago, they would have buried that rock so deep beneath the mountain that no man would ever lay eyes upon it again. That the gods themselves had seen fit to do so was a blessing in disguise.

  The silence endured.

  “And… I have taken a wife.”

  Silence.

  Uncomfortable with the growing tension, Cameron MacKinnon crossed his arms, peering down at the floor, and his sisters and Lìli all remained quiet as well.

  Aidan allowed him to continue without interrupting—or mayhap he was simply too angry to speak. “In return I swore David my fealty,” Keane said.

  The separation between them had never been more palpable.

  Keane measured his words carefully. “I have not come to fight, Aidan.”

  The muscles in Aidan’s jaw twitched as he, too, crossed his arms as though to temper his reaction to the news.

  “What did you come for?”

  “Una. She was my kinswoman, too.”

  And again there was silence, along with a tension so heavy one could slice it with a blade. His brother eyed Sorcha meaningfully, nodding subtly toward Cameron.

  She caught his meaning at once and took Cameron by the arm, pulling him away from the pit. “Come,” she said sweetly, “I have news to share…” And she drew him out of the room, speaking in gentler tones once they were out in the hall. Keane heard them exchanging words as they walked away, but Aidan had yet to utter a sound.