Anger flashing through her, she swung her open palm at his face. He caught her wrist and squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt, but she could not draw her hand back.
"Turn loose," she hissed.
"When will you learn I don't take orders from you?"
"Bastard."
That derogatory term twisted through Darack like a huge rusty corkscrew. People had been saying he was a bastard since he could remember, and he had been for the first ten years of his life. They claimed his father hadn't married his mother before his death, but he had. He remembered their wedding ceremony at the wee kirk in the wood. 'Twas to protect his mother and him in the event his father never came back from the battle with Clan Colquhoun. Darack would be his heir as long as his parents were married, no matter how late. But not many people knew of the secret wedding. There were documents proving it, but many said they were falsified after his father's execution in Edinburgh so that the clan would one day have a chief.
"What is wrong with you?" Mairiana demanded, yanking at her hand.
He released her and turned away, then paced to the hearth. He knelt down and stirred the glowing coals with the poker. "I'm not a bastard," he said more calmly than he felt. "My mother and father were married."
"'Tis not what I meant," she said, sounding more reasonable now, contrite even. "I only wanted to insult you so you would turn me loose. I don't know anything about your parents."
"Aye, well, they married when I was ten years old. Late, but not too late. 'Twas just before his final battle and his execution. Not many people know he has a direct, living heir. Lot of good it does me now though; there is no longer a clan. And the king granted the castle to another clan."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, sitting down on her pallet.
Annoyance grated at him. "I don't want your pity."
"'Tis not pity. I simply wish things could be much better for you and your clan."
He nodded, appreciating the sincerity of her tone. "The MacGregors' battle skills were too good. They defeated the Colquhoun clan so thoroughly the king felt a need to wipe us from the face of the earth."
"I have always wondered about the lads," she said.
He turned to her. "Which lads?"
"The schoolboys who stopped and watched the battle? 'Tis said the MacGregors murdered them outright."
"Some said 'twas Da's half-mad, foster brother who did it, acting alone. Others said the few remaining members of the enemy clan killed them to make the MacGregors look even worse. Either way, the students' murders were not a part of the charges brought against my da and my uncles."
He couldn't sense whether she believed him or not, but he knew his father wouldn't have killed the unarmed youths. When she didn't respond, he went on. "My father was a fierce warrior, but he was also kind. Even before he married my mother, he visited me often and gave me things. He had me come to the castle for sword practice."
"What was the cause of the battle?" she asked.
"Two MacGregors had been traveling for a long while and were passing through Colquhoun territory in winter. They were, no doubt, near starving, but the Colquhouns refused them basic hospitality and food. The two MacGregor men killed a sheep to eat; 'twas either that or starve to death. Once the Colquhoun chief learned of it, he had the MacGregors arrested and executed. When my da heard what happened to his two kinsmen, he was furious. 'Twas murder, pure and simple. If the Colquhouns had followed the Highland code of hospitality, none of it would've happened. 'Twas a matter of honor and justice that Da and his garrison marched against them. 'Tis said the Colquhouns and their allies outnumbered the MacGregors and their allies two to one in Glen Fruin. But Da was intelligent, cunning in battle. Too smart in dividing his forces, one to meet the attack head on, and the other to circle around and attack from the flank. Though carrying out the king's orders to suppress us, the Colquhouns were ill prepared, and they underestimated Da. But the MacGregors should've seen their fate coming, as well. Though they survived the battle, most of them were executed by the king's order."
"I'm so sorry. Were you there… during the battle?" Mairiana asked quietly.
"Nay, I was only ten, and small for my age besides. My mother kept me well hidden and once we heard the news that my father had been arrested, she secreted me away to her clan in a different part of the Highlands. She told me we were to never speak of her marriage to my father. We were no longer MacGregors. We were Grants and we didn't know who my father was. To pretend such lies… I felt she'd abandoned and betrayed him. But when he was executed…" Darack shook his head as the grief and devastation once again stabbed through him. "Ma cried for days… weeks. That was when I knew she'd loved Da. She had not betrayed him; she'd been protecting me. She wanted no one to ken I was the heir to the MacGregor chief, for if they did, I would've been killed, too. King James was so bent on wiping out every speck of MacGregor blood, he might have had me executed, or at least imprisoned. Even to this day. Who knows? He certainly wouldn't want a new MacGregor chief rising up to cause trouble."
"Would you… cause trouble? Would you want revenge for the wrongs done your clan?"
He placed the fire poker aside. "Nay. The clan is flung to the far corners, some transported to the colonies. To gather the ones left in Scotland together in one force would be suicidal. King James still rules and if a MacGregor clan suddenly appeared on the scene, he'd send every last soldier he has to hunt us down. 'Twould be a blood bath." Darack shook his head, fully realizing—as he did near every day—that even though reuniting his clan would be his dream come true, it was impossible if they wished to live. "One day, mayhap we will be pardoned and allowed to claim our name and our heritage again, but for now we must pretend to be a part of other clans and try to survive as best we can."
"Do you see your clansmen… the ones who don't live with Clan Grant, I mean?" she asked in the quietness.
"Aye. I travel through to check on them sometimes, and they give me a place to sleep for a night. If they need something, I try to help them get it."
"You are their chief," she whispered with calm certainty.
He stared down at the shadowed ashes beneath the coals, feeling unworthy of the title… though he wished he could be. 'Twas his birthright but he could never claim it. Not if he wanted his remaining clansmen and women to live.
"Do they call you chief?" Mairiana asked.
He swallowed hard. "Some of the old ones do, aye. In whispered tones."
