Page 61 of Highland Storm

Like Lilidbrugh, Dubhtolargg was a place only spoken of in whispers—the mountain stronghold named for the murdered king of the Southern Pechts. It was said that, upon Black Tolargg’s death, his blood ran in rivulets down into the mountain streams and flowed red all the way to the mountain loch where the mother of winter lay slumbering in her cave. Drawn forth to mourn the fallen king, her tears transformed the glen into a bounteous place surrounded by the roughest terrain known to man. It was there, to that glen the last of the Pechts had flown to more than two centuries past, and there supposedly remained—in the red hills, stained crimson by the blood of Black Tolargg.

Lael was a dún Scoti. Certainly, that would explain their coloring, for they were darker than most Scots—in both complexion and hair—and their eyes were a peculiar shade of green as well. Considering this, Lianae pushed her needle through the thick material of her gown. On this particular dress she had adjusted the neckline, so that it would reveal the moons of her breasts. Let her husband ignore her then, she thought to herself.

Kenna cast her a knowing glance, for they were fast becoming friends, despite their adoration for the same man. No matter that she tried to deny it, Lianae could see the heartbreak in Kenna’s eyes every time she spoke of him.

There was a sudden knock at the solar door. “Ailis?” Lael inquired of the well-rounded woman who appeared behind the door.

“M’lady… we’ve a messenger…” But the unhappy servant refused to meet her mistress’s gaze.

“Do we know from where?”

The servant nodded, staring at her feet.

“Who, Ailis? Speak up!”

At last, Ailis met her mistress’s gaze. “I shouldn’t say, m’lady. But my laird Jaime bids ye come at once.”

Commanding her daughters to stay, Lael leapt to her feet at once, leaving everyone staring after her as she hurried out the solar door.

Riders delivered news of the death of a dún Scoti kinswoman.

Thankfully Keane would not refuse Lianae the chance to stand beside him in his time of sorrow. Together, they were bound for Dubhtolargg, and from Dubhtolargg, they were meant to travel north to Dunràth in Moray. Lael and Jaime would go as well, though Jaime’s sister was asked to remain at Keppenach along with Lael’s daughters. With Elspeth gone, Lianae would sorely miss the sisterly companionship, for while Keane’s sister was kind and sweet, she was not nearly so affable as Kenna.

The king himself intended to make the journey too, but from Dubhtolargg, he would ride south to Northumbria instead of traveling north to Moray. So whilst the king lingered to ready his troops for war and collect his remaining liegemen, he sent the grieving family ahead. Jaime Steorling remained to accompany the king into the Mounth, while Keane, Lael, Lianae, Cameron, and the messengers Fergus and Lachlann rode with all due haste.

Lianae attributed the hurry to Keane’s and Lael’s desire to be at home with their kinsmen in their time of grief, though it was a grueling pace they’d set, putting more and more distance between their party and that of the king’s. It was as though they meant to make certain they arrived long before David mac Maíl Chaluim.

Along the way, Keane was far too distracted to trouble himself with their quarrels. He was neither angry, nor solicitous, but rather brooding, given to long stretches of silence that left Lianae feeling like a stranger amidst her new kin.

And yet, being ignored by Keane dún Scoti was by far a better fate than the one she might have had at William fitz Duncan’s hands. She shuddered to think what William might have done to her by now. And still… she found herself wishing Keane would only turn to look her way… if only but once. She held an apology ready in her gaze, and prayed with all her heart that he might see it.

But he did not. And the mood of the party remained glum. They made their way through pinewood forests and valleys that sliced through precipitous cliffs. As they climbed the hills at last, the hillside forest thinned, and finally, the path wandered down a hillside, into a snow-blanketed valley that was bordered on three sides by corries and on the fourth by an icy loch. As they entered the vale, the sound of a horn blast filled the air.

This, at last, was the legendary Dubhtolargg.

In the valley below, protected from the winds and encircled by bare-limbed rowan trees, sat row upon row of cobbled stone cottages topped with snow-covered thatch. Out on the loch sat an enormous wooden island, connected to the beach by a long wooden pier.

Hidden away like a precious gem, the sight of the tiny village stole Lianae’s breath away, for despite that it appeared as some visage from their past, a sense of something portentous assailed her the minute she entered the glen... something undeniably ancient and powerful.

From their vantage on the hillside, they could spy Keane’s kinsmen down below near a raging bonfire. From its center, smoke curled upward into a bleak sky. Long before they neared the village, a welcome party came forth to greet them.

With nervous fingers tapping at the inside of her belly, Lianae followed her husband to the stables, where they abandoned their mounts and then made their way toward the bonfire on the beach. Hugs were exchanged along the way, and more tears shed, but Lianae was not among the ones embraced. Her heart aching for these people, she bided her time, standing near her husband like a good and dutiful wife.

Presently, a young woman came to embrace Keane—a beautiful girl, with bright red hair. The two hugged, embracing as though the world was coming to its end.

Jealousy reared its little beast eyes, and Lianae glanced away, unable to bear the sight of their embrace. Remembering how Keane had taken her wounded feet and wrapped them with so much care, she swallowed over the loss of his affections.

What had she done?

Saved herself, in truth, but she’d made her husband cold. A sorrow to match her husband’s grief seeped down into Lianae’s bones.

After a moment, the woman broke free of their embrace and folded herself into Cameron’s arms as well, and seeing the two together, Lianae was at once reassured.

If the girl’s hug for Keane was fervent and heartfelt, her embrace for Cameron was tender and full of longing. Lianae noted the fingers that looped through the curls at Cameron’s nape, and at once she sought her husband’s gaze.

Clearly, Keane noted the gesture as well, for he turned to look at Lianae at long last, and gave her a tentative smile—the first such smile in weeks. Her heart did a painful flip inside her breast.

Judging by the look upon her husband’s face as he watched Cameron with his sister, Lianae dared to hope that he, too, craved more than the fief he would receive as payment from his king.