“Meet me after ye speak with your father, and we will investigate the chambers in the tower, aye?”
Sawny walked backward out of the kitchens. “Aye, Mother,” he said before turning toward the doorway leading to the hallway.
His father’s study was off the kitchen before the archway of the main hall, behind a low curved door across from the tower stairwell. Sawny rapped on the door.
“Enter, lad,” his father’s rich tone called out.
The giant hinges squeaked as Sawny entered his father’s surprisingly small study. For a man who was brother to Laird Coll MacDonald of Keppoch, Bruce MacDonald’s private space was little more than a glorified pantry.
Then again, Keppoch MacDonalds were not known for their studious natures.
And from the look on his father’s face, anything the man might have been studying did not agree with him. Sawny groaned inwardly before putting a pleasant smile on his lips.
“Ye wanted to see me, Father?”
Bruce crumpled the parchment he held in his fist and waved his eldest son toward the threadbare chair near his desk, which was tidy to the point of spartan. Very unlike the rough man sitting behind it. For all his mother was a statuesque model of nobility, his father was a braw barbarian through and through.
His heavily bearded face lifted to Sawny, and he shook the balled-up parchment in his paw-like fist.
“Och, Lachlan MacIntosh has his head so far up Slippery John’s arse, he canna breathe naught but shite.”
Sawny’s jaw worked, uncertain whether to laugh at his father’s turn of phrase or scowl at its meaning. As of late, he had presumed that the feud between the Keppochs and MacIntoshes over Keppoch land the MacIntoshes believed they owned had died down after the Battle of Killiecrankie. The Camerons were supposed to be a buffer between them, and other than reiving cattle and a few skirmishes that amounted to little more than scrapes and bruises, nothing had transpired in almost a year.
Sawny had liked the quiet. It gave him time to focus on Adaira, even with the lingering threat of the Oath of Allegiance to King William and John Campbell, the Slippery John his father spoke of and Earl of Breadalbane, breathing down their necks to have the powerful MacDonalds stand down in their support of the rightful King James.
“What was in the letter?” Sawny asked, even if he did not want to hear it. He jutted his chin toward the balled-up parchment.
“’Tis a note from the Earl of Glengarry to the MacDonald chieftains. Coll sent it to me. He has suggested that if we canna find this cursed letter, and if James does no’ get off his arse and make his claim for the throne, we might have to agree to sign the feckin’ Oath.”
Bruce slammed his fist on the desk. “An oath to a feckin’ Hanoverian! Sign over our rights and powers to a usurping foreigner!”
Sawny waited several moments for his father’s face to resume its typical pale hue from the bright red that presently colored his cheeks and forehead.
“And what does this have to do with me?”
“The MacIntoshes surely already know this and will use our signing of the Oath or no’ to pursue their claim against our lands, as they have so little land to call their own.”
At this, Sawny straightened in the chair. More conflict with the MacIntoshes on the heels of his wedding?Och, nay!“But we have until the end of the year to sign that Oath. And if James decides to return . . .”
Bruce huffed out a low growl. “Ifhe ever decides. ‘Tis the problem. Alistair of Glengarry is sending missives to the king across the water to learn of his intentions in this regard. We may have to put up a guise of signing this Oath to save our own hides.” Bruce then focused his intense green gaze upon his eldest son. “Which brings me to ye. The MacIntoshes will surely use this information to their advantage, stealing crops, reiving cattle, and attacking travelers across our lands. We can hold our own — Keppoch MacDonalds always have — but I fear their reprisals may take a more serious turn.”
Sawny leaned forward. This news was tinged with excitement. Free reign against the MacIntoshes? ‘Twas like a dream come true after years of minor back-and-forth feuding.
“Take your brother, your cousins, any Keppoch kin, and patrol our borders, our roads, and our farms. We canna permit the MacIntoshes to get a toe-hold, else they will overrun us with full permission of the Campbells and the pretender King, and we will have no say in the matter.”
Sawny placed his forearm on his father’s desk and leaned in closer. “Are ye telling me I have your blessing to hunt MacIntoshes?” He tried not to speak the dark words with a smile on his face, but his lips did not obey. They curled against his cheeks and he probably looked as sinister as he felt.
Bruce pursed his lips briefly before speaking. “On our lands only. Ye canna go into their lands or Cameron or, Christ forbid, Campbell lands to give chase.” Bruce dropped the ruined parchment on his neat desk and moved his face near Sawny’s and pointed at him. “But if a single MacIntosh dog sets foot on our lands, he’s fair game, aye?”
One bushy brown eyebrow rose on his father’s face, and Sawny nodded.
He understood exactly.
“Aye, Father,” Sawny told him and rose with a flourish to leave.
“Och, and Sawny,” his father called out, and Sawny paused by the doorway. “This means your wedding to the Glen Coe MacDonalds, the Glenachulish lass, must happen. We need their support and backing more than ever, theirs and Glengarry’s. Dinna get yourself killed before the wedding, aye?”
Marrying Adaira was something he would make happen, even if he had to crawl on his hands and knees from the edge of death. The smile Sawny had tried to hold back won and he grinned widely.
