Page 42 of Steel & Surrender

“It’s the first of this year’s plum wine,” she replied, her voice husky. It always sounded strained these days.

Over three months had passed since Alistair’s body had been brought back to Duart. But his mother still grieved as if it happened just days earlier. The flesh had melted from her bones.

It was the noon meal, the day after the clan-chief’s return from Dùn Ara, and they sat at their family table next to a smoldering hearth at one end of the Great Hall. Loch’s warriors lined long trestle tables nearby. The thud of wooden trenchers and cups, the rumble of conversation, filled the space.

But Mairi barely seemed to notice. These days, her dark eyes gazed inward.

“The summer’s been poor this year,” she added. “I was worried the wine would be sour.”

Greig smiled. “It’s not.”

However, the sight of her gaunt face tightened something in his chest. He worried for her.

“And so, what’s next?” he asked, deliberately shifting his focus once more back to his father.

To his surprise, he found Loch watching him steadily, his expression thoughtful. “Mackinnon’s loyalty is assured,” the clan-chief replied. “And Bran has assured us too that, should it come to conflict between the MacDonalds and the Macleans, he will fight at our side. He sees MacDonald’s behavior as a threat not just to the Macleans of Duart … but to all of Mull.” Loch nodded then to where the Captain of the Guard sat farther up the table before he glanced Greig’s way once more. “Finn’s bringing on more warriors … and as marshal, ye are going to help train them.”

Heat ignited in Greig’s belly, and he nodded.

His father had no idea how much being included in these things mattered to him.

Over the past months, he’d fallen silent while his father and brother spoke of plans, training, and war. Of course, the future belonged to them—not to him.

But that was gradually changing.

Next to him, Davy flashed their father a hard smile. “We’ll show those bastards what happens when ye mess with the Macleans of Duart.”

Loch grinned back. “Aye, son.” He met Greig’s eye once more then. “Nothing to report in my absence, then … no trouble?”

Greig shook his head. “There was a squabble amongst the cooks that had to be dealt with, but for the most part, it was quiet.”

Loch nodded, although his attention didn’t shift from Greig, and it was difficult not to feel uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. He became aware then that the others at the table—his mother, Davy, Finn, Astrid, Maggie, and her husband—were all watching him now.

His skin prickled. Had they been discussing him when he was out of the room? He had no proof, only the nagging sense that words had been shared between them. About him.

“Ye are looking brighter these days,” his aunt Astrid piped up with a smile, shattering the tension. “There’s more color to yer cheeks. Ye take Tàirneanach out regularly now. And Davy tells me ye’re planning to swim the Sound of Mull in the spring.”

Greig cut Davy a sharp look. His brother avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the piece of bread he was buttering.

Traitor.

Greig hadn’t forbidden Davy from saying anything to their parents, but he had hoped he’d keep his mouth shut.

“I’m trying to get fitter, stronger,” he said, fighting to keep his irritation from showing.

He paused then, embarrassment prickling his skin under their stares. God, he hated being the center of attention like this. He couldn’t help it—part of him wondered if they thought his father had handed him too much responsibility. Did they believe Loch had given him the role of marshal out of pity?

His temper simmered at the thought.

Pity was the one thing he could not stand.

“I’ll also be entering the strength contests in the Harvest Games next year,” he announced then. “And climbing Ben More when I’m stronger.”

His father nodded slowly. And in the depths of his night-brown eyes, Greig thought he glimpsed approval.

“I know ye’re wanting to test yerself,” Mairi spoke up then, a groove etched between her dark eyebrows, “but promise me ye’ll be careful when ye swim the Sound. It’s a long haul. The water is freezing, and ye know the currents are dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, love … ye know the lad’s half-selkie,” Loch said, placing a reassuring hand on his wife’s shoulder. However, the worry in Mairi’s eyes didn’t soften.