Niall said nothing.
Both men were well aware that they had less than three dozen trained men at their disposal, compared to MacPherson’s two hundred. The castle had been taken while Aiden was locked in Lochurkie’s dungeon and Niall had been preparing to set him free. Numerous good men had died defending the keep, including the seneschal and the castle’s senior man-at-arms.
Taking it back would likely be a vain cause.
Still, Aiden could not let Dunstoras go without a serious fight. His father had built that castle stone by stone, some days with his own hands. Aiden had been born inside those walls, his father had died inside those walls, and his mother had—
“Where is my mother?” he asked, glancing about.
Niall grimaced. “Why ask me?”
“Because you know everything that happens in this camp,” Aiden pointed out.
“I’ve given my oath to protect all who dwell here,” Niall said, with a short nod. “But that doesn’t include putting myself in range of Lady Elisaid’s venomous barbs.”
Aiden’s mother had a longstanding grievance with Niall—he was the baseborn son of her husband, brought by him to live under her roof. Aiden’s father had also praised Niall’s prowess as a warrior to her face several times while implying thatherson was a weak-willed incompetent. Untrue, of course, but Aiden’s father believed that strong competition would make both his sons better men.
But Niall’s troubles with Lady Elisaid would never interfere with his duty. Aiden was confident he kept tabs on his mother... if only to know wherenotto wander.
“Where is she?” he asked again.
“Down by the burn with Master Tam.”
* * *
Aiden left the camp enclosure, descended the rocky slope, and crossed the rock-studded field to the edge of the burn, wet snow accumulating on the toes of his boots.
His mother was enjoying a leisurely stroll in the late-afternoon sunshine. Refusing to give up any of the amenities of her station, despite their current outlawed state, she insisted on a full entourage as she walked about—Master Tam held her arm and engaged her in conversation, two maids followed behind carrying the hem of her cloak, and two young pages brought up the rear, carting a flagon of wine and some refreshments.
“Aiden,” his mother exclaimed with a smile. “You’ve returned. Have you secured the ownership of Dunstoras? May we now return to our rightful place?”
He took her proffered hand and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Nay. We are still outlaws.”
She pouted. “This abode is unacceptable. Your father built me a stone castle; I expect no less of you.”
“You waited years for that stone castle,” he reminded her. “You must be equally patient now. How do we fare for stores and supplies? Are we running short?”
“Why ask me?” His mother waved a hand. “The seneschal is taking care of those details.”
Aiden frowned. “The seneschal died during the siege, Mother. You were going to appoint a new one. Have you done that?”
“No,” she said, “Nor will I, not until we are settled once more in the castle. When can we return?”
“Perhaps never,” he told her honestly. “Manage this camp like it is our true holding. If we are to survive the remains of winter, we must carefully oversee the distribution of our supplies.”
A melancholy look stole across her face, and she sighed heavily. “I miss your father.”
“You must make the best of the current situation.”
“Nonsense. If I settle for what we currently have, there’s no incentive for you to produce better. You are the chief. Reclaim our castle.”
He loved his mother dearly, but she either did not understand how dire the situation was, or she purposely chose not to acknowledge it. He was an outlaw with a price on his head. If he were caught, his head would be publicly displayed on a pike in front of the very castle she wanted him to reclaim. His priority had to be clearing their name. And keeping his people alive.
“My plans are my own,” he told her brusquely. “Do not presume to make them for me. I will see you anon.”
He nodded sharply to Master Tam and left the stream. By God, women were difficult. His life would be a good sight less complicated without them.
* * *
