His marriage to Isabella had been nothing more than a means to an end. He’d barely known the woman, but the act had allowed him to become the MacGahan laird without a battle, without any loss of life. He’d even done everything in his power to see Isabella off on the road to her own happiness, but as it turned out, that wasn’t meant to be. The guilt over her death had hung heavily on his shoulders since the moment his riders had returned with the fateful news.
“She has the look of her daughter about her, does she no?” Patrick, his brother and trusted second-in-command, approached from the corner of the room. “Though there’s something about that woman . . .”
Patrick’s words hung in the air between them, sending a prickle of discomfort down Malcolm’s spine.
“Something? You think she lies about who she claims to be?”
Patrick shook his head slowly back and forth, his gaze fixed on the doorway. “No. I feel no sense of deceit about her. It’s more of a . . .” His eyes tracked at last to meet Malcolm’s. “I canna say what it is, Colm. Only that I’ve an unsettled feeling in her presence. She’s trouble, that one.”
Silence filled the room, pressing against Malcolm’s eardrums as he considered the possibilities.
“Could there be any truth in the old stories, do you think?”
They’d both heard the rumors before they’d come here last year to claim what was owed them by the old laird of the MacGahan. Rumors of the old laird’s granddaughter, Isabella, having been born of a Faerie mother who’d long since disappeared from this world.
In spite of those rumors, Malcolm had journeyed here to demand that which he was owed, the holdings of the MacGahan in payment for the laird’s debt to his own clan. After the old laird’s mysterious death, Malcolm had married Isabella to peacefully secure his place as the new laird. That the marriage to him had not been Isabella’s choice was only one complication.
Patrick shrugged and dropped into the nearest chair. “There’s no one left from those days to speak on the truth of it, brother. And, whether or no, you’ve more pressing worries on this day than an aggrieved Elf in yer guest room.”
Malcolm couldn’t agree more.
“Have you decided what to do about Torquil’s demand?”
Torquil.
Malcolm claimed the chair facing his brother, closing his eyes as he sat.
With their father’s death, their elder half brother had become the new laird of the MacDowylt. And with his new title, Torquil now demanded homage and fealty from Malcolm. No matter that their father had given to Malcolm for his own all that he was able to collect from the MacGahan. No matter that he’d become the MacGahan laird with his father’s blessing. As far as Torquil was concerned, all of it belonged to the MacDowylt clan and to him as the new MacDowylt laird. He saw Malcolm as little more than a caretaker and Castle MacGahan as nothing more than a source of silver for his coffers.
“Castle MacGahan can ill afford to pay homage to Torquil. We’ll be lucky to feed our people through this winter as it is. And it should come as little surprise that I’ll no be pledging my loyalty or my men to our brother’s service.”
His relationship with his elder brother had always been stormy. Unfortunately, it appeared his father’s death had done nothing to calm those waters.
“And Christiana? Would you leave her fate to such as Torquil?” Patrick spoke calmly, only his eyes betraying his emotion. “He’s neither the patience nor the understanding she requires. Her gifts confound him, and we both ken that forcing her into a marriage or sending her off to a convent will be naught but a disaster for all.”
His younger sister’s abilities to read the runes didn’t confound Torquil. They made him drool with envy. Patrick knew that as well as he did. As well as they both understood what might happen if Torquil couldn’t force Christiana to use her gifts for his benefit.
“We’ll bring her here, where we can protect her.”
Across from him, Patrick snorted his disbelief.
“Have you gone daft? You ken as well as I do he’ll no let her come to us. No willingly. No here, where she might decide to use her gift for your benefit. She’d no be under his control and he’ll be having none of that. I can scarce believe he allowed Dermid to journey here.”
Their youngest brother’s arrival had surprised Malcolm as well. Granted, someone had to deliver news of their father’s demise and present Torquil’s demands. But it seemed entirely out of character for Torquil to have sent Dermid.
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed, frustrated at his own inability to interpret his elder brother’s intent. “It’s no like him to give up any pieces on his chessboard.”
Whatever the new laird of the MacDowylt schemed, it made little difference. Malcolm’s course was all too clear. He could no more leave his sister in Torquil’s clutches than he could have turned Elesyria out into the cold this night.
“No matter the cost. We bring Christiana here.”
Patrick nodded, rising slowly to his feet. “In that case, it’s best I pay a visit to the MacKilyn. We’ve no enough men on our own to confront Tordenet Castle.”
“Wait.”
They would need help, no doubt. And Patrick was correct in wanting to ensure that the only remaining ally to Clan MacGahan supported them still. As much as it galled Malcolm, there was no option but to court the favor of Angus MacKilyn, as fickle an old man as ever walked the land.
But not by sending Patrick. He needed his brother here to keep watch over Elesyria until they could determine why she had come and what she wanted.
