“Aye, Mama says you wish to go to Duart Castle,” her father said gently. “To see Dyna.”
She swallowed and nodded, her eyes flicking between him and her great-uncle.
Connor set aside his bowl of porridge. “Sela and I depart on the morrow. Care to join us?”
“You are?” The surprise lifted her voice. Fortune, it seemed, had turned in her favor.
“Aye. Spring suits travel and Mull calls to us this time of year. I’ve business to tend to. Morgan’s new fleet.” He snorted. “The lad would wed the sea if he could. He and Magni are devils upon the waves. One day the Corryvreckan whirlpool will claim them both, I fear.”
Her father chuckled. “He fears only you, Connor. No one else can rein in that wildness.”
“Alasdair, the boy tests us daily,” Connor replied. “But enough of that. We would gladly take you along, lass, if you’ve a mind.”
Ailith glanced to her father, hope plain in her eyes.
“I don’t know, lass. Allow me the chance to discuss it with your mother before I agree. It’s a long trip to Oban and then to Mull.”
Ailith wasn’t quite sure how to disagree with the man. Had she ever before? No memory fresh in her mind, she chose the easiest answer, nodding in agreement.
The door burst open, and a dark-haired lad barreled across the hall and nearly leapt into her father’s lap. Her youngest brother, Daran, flew across the hall.
“Da, we are—”
“Halt.”
The boy froze mid-charge.
“Daran,” her father said evenly, “where does your weapon go?”
The lad scowled and dropped the wooden sword, but Alasdair’s voice stopped him again.
“Where? Not on the floor.”
“Oh… pignut.” Daran scowled at his father before he retrieved it and placed it properly in the stand by the door. He spun back and launched himself at his father.
“Are we going too? I heard Uncle Connor is going to Duart Castle. Can we go along with them? Please? I’m weary of winter. I wish to ride a boat again!”
“Do you wish to go?” Alasdair asked, amused.
Daran nodded fiercely. “I’ll see Grant again? And my other cousins?”
Ailith smiled faintly. Daran, the surprise of their parents’ later years, was five summers old and full of mischief, his treasured sword a poor imitation of theirseanair’s famed blade.
Unsure of how he’d heard about it already, Ailith knew her brother was much better at convincing their father than she was. Would it work? She hid her fingers under a fold in her skirt, not wanting her father to see how they wiggled in anticipation of his answer.
Her father said, “I have to speak with Mama about this. It will be a mighty cold trip on the sea, and you know how she hates the cold.”
The door opened and their mother stood there, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. A look that told both siblings to be quiet. In fact, Daran jumped off his father’s lap and ran up the staircase.
Ailith was staying, though she said naught, catching the guilt in her father’s eyes before he covered it.
“Alasdair Grant, I am not some wee flower that will wilt in the cold. Do not make me one who suits your fears.”
Her father made it to her mother’s side in two broad steps, wrapping his arms around her to nuzzle her neck. Her mother, no wallflower who would back down to a Highland warrior, even if he was known as one of the best swordsmen in all the land, stiffened, her arms still crossed.
Emmalin MacLintock Grant, co-chieftain of Clan MacLintock, said nothing.
“Emmalin, you know how cold it will be on the ferry from Oban to Craignure.”
