Conall gave the old man’s shoulder a squeeze and then climbed out of the boat, holding out his hand to help Molly disembark. She looked up at the castle rearing above with wide eyes.
“Bloody hell,” she breathed. “It’s enormous. Do you think whoever built this was compensating for something?”
He gave a wry smile. “Aye. Perhaps they were.”
The guards formed up on either side. “This way. We’d better not keep him waiting.”
Conall nodded and he and Molly fell into step behind as Donal led them towards the large open gates. That they were being taken in this way did not bode well. As a child, he’d only ever used the smaller, less formal entrance around the other side of the keep. This entrance was used when welcoming important guests or when you wanted to intimidate your enemies.
He had no doubt which one he was.
They passed along the causeway, through the gates, across the bailey inside the high walls, and finally into the interior of the Pinnacle. Their footsteps echoed on the polished stone in the entrance hall and Conall’s reflection came back to him from the many pieces of polished silverware that stood on pedestals or in cabinets set along the walls, meant to impress visitors with their wealth. It seemed not everything had changed at the Pinnacle.
The doors to the great hall stood open and Conall couldn’t help glancing through them as he was led past. Tables filled the room just like he remembered but the tapestries that had covered the walls had been replaced with expensive wooden paneling and the open fire that had burned at one end was now encased by a large, gilded fireplace. The room was almost empty as was usual at this time of day but it would not be long before those tables were filled with the keep’s folk as they gathered in the evening to eat supper together. Soon it would be filled with the sound of chatter and laughter, with boasts and jests.
He was surprised at the sudden pang in his chest. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
Donal led them past the doors of the great hall to a much smaller, but much more ornate room. It was square, with heavy drapes at the windows and red and white tiles covering the floors. A raised dais stood at one end of the room and on it sat a single large chair that would have been called a throne if it had been in a palace. A man sat in the chair, watching as they approached. He was whipcord thin, as tough and sinewy as old tree roots, and kept his graying hair long, despite the bald patch that covered the top of his head. He wore a black velvet tunic trimmed with ermine, and the Sinclair plaid crossing his chest. The expression on his face was not welcoming.
Donall led them to the foot of the dais and gave a bow.
“His lordship, William Sinclair, Earl of Rothe, Lord of the Pinnacle and all its lands.”
Earl Sinclair leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. “So,” he grated in a voice as warm as a winter gale. “Ye are back.”
Conall lifted his gaze to meet that dark, hostile stare. “Aye, I’m back, Father.”
Beside him, Molly shifted her feet uncomfortably. His father’s gaze flicked to her momentarily before returning his attention to Conall. He felt the strength of that stare like a weight on his shoulders, trying to drive him to his knees. He’d seen many a dignitary or enemy bowed down that way, but Conall refused to be cowed.
William Sinclair said nothing. For the longest time he just stared at his son, his face expressionless, the only indication of what he was feeling, the way his fingers slowly tightened their grip on the arms of his chair.
“I was surprised when my men brought news of sighting ye,” he said at last. “Especially when they said ye were trekking overland alone but for the company of a lass. I thought if ye ever came back here ye would come sailing up to my gates on some grand ship of that Order of the Osprey of yers, with all the pomp and ceremony ye could muster. But slinking in here like this? That’s not yer style at all, is it?”
His father was baiting him, as he knew he would, and Conall refused to react. “Ye look well. It’s good to see ye again, Father.”
William snorted. “I doubt that. What brings ye here after all this time?”
“I am on business for the Order.”
“Of course ye are,” William said softly. “What else would bring ye here? And will ye deign to tell me what this business is?”
“I’m tracking raiders and bandits who have been attacking travelers in this area.”
“I see.” His eyes moved to Molly. “And who is this?”
“This is Molly Anderson,” he said, nodding to Molly who was watching his father warily. “My...associate.”
“Pleased to meet you, Earl Sinclair,” Molly said, inclining her head.
“As I am pleased to meet ye,” his father replied, sounding anything but pleased. “I canna imagine the misfortune that has ye thrown together with my son, but ye have my sympathies.”
Conall kept his face carefully neutral, refusing to respond to his father’s barbs.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Molly replied, cocking her head. “He’s not so bad when you get to know him.”
William barked a harsh laugh. “Is that so? Well, perhaps we must agree to differ on that score.”
Molly opened her mouth to respond but before she could be pulled into a verbal sparring match with his father, Conall stepped forward. “We passed by the settlement of Lanwick on our way here. It had been attacked. Do ye know anything about it?” He watched his father’s reaction carefully.
