“Da, what isit? Wha’ has happened?” Deathan moved to the fire, still dripping water from his hair and clothing. The most surprising thing about the battle that had just taken place, other than its sheer unexpectedness, was the fact that the two men would break it off with no winner, and no loser.
And with their raised voices, did they not think they would disturb Mother where she lay in her bed, in the next room? For Da and Rohr, rough men that they might be, and Deathan himself gave every due consideration to the woman they all adored. Mam had been sick a long time and bedridden these many weeks, too frail to be up on her feet. Deathan’s older sister, Kearana, already wed and gone off with bairns of her own, had paid a visit only last month and wept in Deathan’s arms before she departed again, afraid it would be the last time she would see Mam alive.
“I canna bear it. I canna,” she had sobbed on his shoulder.
None of them could. Aene MacMurtray was a gentle, sometimes otherworldly woman nevertheless able to tame the men in her life with a look or touch. None of them could face the prospect of life without her, nor would they choose to upset her in any way.
This must be grave business, indeed.
Deathan kicked a log into the open fire and turned to face his father. “Wha’ has happened?”
Herve MacMurtray dragged his fingers through his hair and made a visible attempt to discipline his emotions. He cast Deathan a look before turning away. “Yer brother is gey upset.”
“I could see that much. Why?”
“There is no choice in it. Why should he protest so much? ’Tis an honor, is it no’, to tak’ a bride o’ the king’s choosing.”
Bride?
Before Deathan could speak, Da went on, “After all, it means we ha’ the king’s notice. He considers us among the strongest clans here in the western Highlands. And he wants his new country joined in peace. This—this is how he thinks to achieve it.”
“What is?” A patient man, Deathan nevertheless grew weary with asking the same question.
Da turned to face him. His blue-green eyes, the same color as Deathan’s own, looked weary in the wake of the quarrel, and deep lines bracketed his mouth.
When had he aged so? A vigorous man with a strong hold on the leadership of his clan, it had seemed to Deathan that Da would carry on forever. They might lose Mam, aye. But—
“Ye ken fine that the king, MacAlpin, has taken a Caledonian wife. To unite the country, so it canbea country, it was. And put an end at last to the warring.”
“Aye.” Since time out of mind, when Deathan’s ancestors had first sailed from Ireland to stake their claims here in a kingdom they’d called Dalriada, they had fought the people already here. Those who called themselves Caledonian.
Now Kenneth MacAlpin thought to unite all into one country under the banner of Scotland.
Deathan had his doubts. He knew his countrymen. They might pay lip service to the king, but nay, that did not mean they would quit with fighting.
“Wha’ has this to do wi’ abride, Da?”
Herve swung to face him. “The king has decreed that the strongest clans among us shall follow his example. That unions like his own should be formed throughout the land, uniting Gael and Caledonian. A young woman has been chosen and will travel here. To wed wi’ your brother.”
If someone had thumped Deathan hard on the chest, he could not be more surprised. He backed up and sat on a rug beside the fire.
A crowd of questions filled his mind. He chose one. “Why us?”
“As I say, ’tis an honor. The messenger who came last month—”
“Last month? And—ye did no’ tell Rohr then?” Clearly his brother had been taken unawares, the source of at least some of his anger.
“Aye, well”—Herve frowned prodigiously—“’twas the height o’ the training season and yer ma had only just taken to her bed. I thought there was no’ sense in putting it to yer brother then.”
“So ye announce it now?” Deathan’s mind reeled.
“I had another messenger this day. The woman in question will arrive soon. For the wedding.” Herve looked at Deathan implacably. “So I had to tell yer brother, did I no’?”
“Well—who is she, then? This bride.”
A dreadful parody of a smile stretched Da’s lips. “She is said to be a young woman and reputed to be bonny, so yer brother should no’ complain too much, should he? She is a princess.”
“Eh?”
