Even the lovely singer had been there to witness his berserk outburst. The frightened look in her eyes flayed him severely. She was the last person he wanted to fear him.
"Chief," called a voice behind him.
He turned to find the ancient warrior, Sir Hugh MacDonald, along with another clan elder, Uncle Bhatar—Neacal's grandfather's brother. He did not know how either man had lived to be over eight decades in age. Clearly, they'd had little problem climbing the multiple flights of stairs to reach his sanctuary on the roof… although Hugh did clasp a walking stick in his gnarled hand.
"Aye?" Neacal answered.
"Are you well, lad?" Bhatar came forward, concern in his sharp blue eyes.
"Of course," Neacal said, unsure if he was lying. Either way, he had to appear as sane and normal as any other man. 'Twas the only way he could serve the clan and honor his father's memory. That was his sole purpose in life at this point. If he could make his father proud, mayhap he would forgive Neacal for the death and destruction he'd brought to their family.
"We were in the courtyard, watching." Hugh lowered his bushy white brows and narrowed his dark eyes as he scrutinized Neacal.
Annoyance twisted through him. "And?"
"You were possessed of a bloodlust of which I have not seen since I was a young man."
"Well then, you ken if we suffer another siege, I'll off a few of the invaders before they can kill me," Neacal growled, a tinge of the rage returning. Gazing out over the loch again, he drew in a deep breath and willed the dark poison of anger away.Please, God. I hate the anger.
"You're a highly skilled warrior, Neacal," Bhatar said, his voice raspy.
Neacal ground his teeth, waiting for his great uncle to continue. Was he buttering him up for some reason?
"And you're a fine chief," Bhatar went on.
"What is it you two want?" Neacal asked, forcing himself to remain patient.
Bhatar gave him a look that was both bold and mischievous. "Cha laidh na siantan anns na spéuran."The storms rest not in the skies.
"I'm well aware," Neacal snapped. He knew what the old man was saying—that conflict would always exist, and he should find a better way to deal with it.
"As part of the clan council, and your advisors, we're concerned about…" Hugh trailed off.
A long pause followed.
"What? My sanity?" The words burst from Neacal's mouth. His pulse pounded at his temples and in his ears. "Are you here to boot me from the clan?"
"Nay, 'tis not that at all," Bhatar said in a placating tone.
"Do not mollycoddle the lad," Hugh grumbled.
Trying to force the hot, turbulent anger away, Neacal inhaled deeply. "You think I'm not suited to be chief?"
Hugh tapped his cane upon the wall walk. "I'm not certain."
Neacal wanted to curse and throw things. Instead, he dug his fingers against the hard stones of the battlement and forced himself to speak with patience and control. "The clan and all of you elders agreed that I should be chief. If 'twas not so, why did you go along with it?"
"I've had concerns from the first, but Bhatar and the rest convinced me to give you a chance. I was outnumbered," Hugh said.
"And now my chance is over because of swordplay practice?" Neacal asked.
Neither man responded. In the moment of silence that stretched out, Neacal drew the cool, salty air into his lungs and thought of his da—the only reason he stood here grasping at the threads of control. The only reason he wanted to be chief… and his only reason to go on living.
"You both kenned my father well. What would he say?"
"He would wish you to be chief," Bhatar said with confidence.
"We need allies," Hugh declared in a determined tone.
