Page 30 of Highland Storm

She was dressed like an Englishwoman—or at least a Scot under the Scot’s king’s banner. But she’d called herself a maid of Moray… not de Moray, in the Norman fashion as was de rigueur these days. At first hearing the small distinction might not mean overmuch, for only a highborn woman would intentionally style herself de Moray. As a commoner, she might easily say she was a maid of Moray and yet… as a highborn, to use Norman distinction—or not—was quite telling. With the death of Óengus of Moray, William fitz Duncan had attempted to adopt the title of Mormaer, but the people revolted, despite that Fitz Duncan was a Morayman by blood. His father was the King, deposed by MacBeth. By all rights, the throne of Scotia could have been his for the taking, and yet he’d aligned him with David instead—a move that had made him wildly unpopular in the North and led to a revolt, five years past—a battle Keane had refused to enter, for he considered the men of Moray to be his kindred far more so than any of the tribes of Scotia.

Keane was a man of few words, as his men could attest, but he was also quite keenly aware that silence spoke volumes. They rode in silence now, whilst he contemplated the subtlety of words… those spoken and those unspoken as well.

Chapter

Ten

It was not Aidan’s way to rush straight to the uisge, but Lìli understood why he did so today. She had a mighty yen for it herself.

He was not pleased.

She was not pleased.

“She’s but a child,” Lìli argued.

“Her name is Constance, Lìli, and they are nearly the same age.”

Her mood soured even more. Rarely did her husband ever speak her name, not like that. She was most often his sweetling—never Lìli with that horribly impatient tone.

They had returned from Chreagach Mhor, with a surprise en tow. Her husband and son were home in one piece—thank God—but her son Kellen had brought along with him a wife.

A wife!

To Lìli’s way of thought, this was taking charity a bit too far. They’d gone merely to carry supplies to an allied clan, and she had supported this rare show of solidarity in her husband, but this was not what she had anticipated when she’d agreed he should leave the vale so close to the birth of their new bairn. “That is not the point,” Lìli argued, as Aidan poured himself a dram.

Already, her son had been deprived his birthright with the enfeoffment of Keppenach to Jaime Steorling—not that she begrudged Jaime the keep. Her son would not have been old enough to accept his patrimony for many, many years, and in the meantime, the demesne would have remained unsecured or fallen to ruin. But she’d had modest hopes for Kellen’s future, and now they were all dashed. Someday, her father would die, and as yet Padruig had begot himself no heirs. It seemed that God had cursed him for his evil ways, and made him barren as a brick. Because of this, Kellen should have married well enough to put him in a position to inherit what Lìli could not. Her father might loathe her still—he might even count Lìli amongst his greatest enemies for what he had considered a betrayal—but she was still a child of his blood. She was a Caimbeul whether he liked it or not.

But of course, she was content here in Dubhtolargg. It wasn’t that. It was merely that a man without a demesne was ever destined to serve others, and even where there was no greed, or ambition, it undermined the relationship even so. Much as she loathed the truth of this fact, she saw the way it had separated Aidan and Keane—brothers who had once been inseparable. A boy could not become a man until he left his father’s house and someday Kellen must make his own way, whether Aidan agreed or not.

At any rate, Dubhtolargg was no longer the safe haven it once was. Slowly but surely the world was encroaching upon them—more surely than only a few weeks before, for here, now, was yet another mouth to feed.

But a new bride?

Did Aidan truly mean to gift them Lael’s cottage? Outside the protection of the crannóg? Already Cailin had insisted upon her own home. Next it would be Ria and then the babe, and then she and Aidan would inhabit the crannóg all alone. It was far too cavernous for just two people!

Aidan lifted his tankard to his lips, quaffing the uisge down, his body tense. Lìli felt the tension as well—in her belly, wherein she ought not feel it right now. They rarely ever argued. That she must needst greet her husband with harsh words, especially now when she was so grateful to see him, upset her more than he could know.

Out in the hall, her son sat cooing over his sweet new bride. She was lovely, in truth, but the thought of Kellen bearing bairns of his own—well, he was only a boy!

“Why di’ ye not say nay, Aidan?”

His stark green eyes begged her to understand. “The evidence was indisputable, Lìli, particularly since Kellen admitted to the deed wi’ his own two lips. Would ye have me begin a feud with the MacKinnons?”

“Well, nay,” Lìli confessed. “Though ye should ha⁠—”

“I should have what? What choice did I have, my love?” Once again, his gaze begged her to understand, and Lìli’s shoulders fell despondently. Tears pricked at her eyes. She moved backwards and sat on the bed, feeling weak in the knees as she tried to make sense of all she’d heard. Her son was found in the arms of a girl—both cuddled together in a loft atop the MacKinnon’s stable. Hair mussed, clothes full of bits of hay. They’d been left all alone to fondle each other, and who knew what more!

But who had been watching them all the while? No one, this much was clear! And yet… it was true… he was not a wee bairn to be coddled all the time. She must confess at least this much. “What if she is already pregnant?” Lìli worried.

Her husband tilted her a sympathetic look, appealing to Lìli’s sense of fair-mindedness. “Then we will have a new grandson afore long.” His beautiful, full lips turned up at one corner, as though to wrest a smile from hers.

Feeling cantankerous, Lìli’s hand went to her belly. “Ach, Aidan! We will have a child and a grandchild both nearly the same age.”

Aidan shrugged. “Surely we will not be the first?”

Defeated by her husband’s sense of reason—and the soft lilt of his gentle words—Lìli lay back upon the bed, with one hand splayed upon her belly, surrendering to the facts. “But he is not ready to be a father,” she whined.

Her husband’s tone was calm and reassuring. “Kellen is a fine lad. He’ll make a good husband and a verra good da.” And then he reminded her, “He is only two years older than I was when I became laird of this clan.”