Page 73 of Highland Storm

Releasing her bridle, Aidan shared another meaningful look with Lachlann, spared a good-bye for Luc, and then he turned to Lianae. “Your father was a good man,” he said.

Lianae nodded. “He was and I thank you.”

There was sincerity in the man’s gaze. “I would that you’d come at a more pleasant time, Lianae of Moray, though we will expect to see you again soon.”

“I shall look forward to that day,” Lianae said. “And I thank you kindly for your hospitality, laird.”

Aidan reached out to pat her horse’s mane. “This was Una’s mare though she never once put her arse in the saddle,” he said. “She will serve you well.”

“Thank you,” Lianae said again, and then, “And I am sorry for your loss.”

“As we for yours.”

Tears pricked at Lianae’s eyes.

“Look after my brother is all I ask.”

No matter what tensions had been roused between them, Lianae could see the affection in his eyes. She nodded, her throat too thick to speak.

Flanked by Cailin, Sorcha, Lachlann and Luc, Lael took the lead to guide the way out of the vale and Lianae waved good-bye to Keane’s brother, and then, with a last look toward the mountain where Una met her fate, she fell in line behind them.

Chapter

Twenty-Five

Dunràth was nothing at all like the scabrous Norman creations that had risen along the southern border of Scotia. No walls surrounded this coastal city, although the tower itself had been erected upon a motte, near An Cuan Moireach, with a network of sturdy tunnels descending to the beach. Lianae knew this despite that they could not be seen. For centuries, it was the way the lords of Moray had used the coastline, much of which had been formed by the capricious North Sea.

Surrounded by mostly wattle and daub homes, with brown thatch roofs covered in snow, the hallhouse itself soared high on the hill, attached to a single tower of the type that could be found throughout much of the northlands, made of field stone and mortar.

Gold and red, David mac Mhaoil Chaluim’s lion rampant standard flew from the rooftop—one to match their own—a reminder that no matter what their history here, their future would be determined by the reigning king of Scotia.

But from the time Lianae had first learned to walk and talk, this was the land she’d called her home. She felt her strength renewed as the cavalcade came to the journey’s end.

As the mesnie rode through Dunràth, the chapel bells began to ring, luring villagers out from their homes. The people waved as Lianae passed by, or stopped and stared, and what a sight they must have presented, with three war-clad women in their midst, a burly Highlander, and a Lowlander, garbed in Norman mail.

Mingled with the salt spray of the ocean, the moorlands held the very scent of green, even beneath a mantle of snow. At this time of the year, it was not unheard of to see snow swirling in the sky, even beneath a bright blue sky. And Ailginshire was close by, not more than a half-day’s walk along the shore.

Dunràth’s thane had been a Morayman, who was loyal to Lianae’s father, but he too perished that day at the battle at Stracathro in Forfarshire. It was a kindness that fate placed her here, amidst these people who would surely welcome a daughter of Óengus.

Simple as the place might be, Dunràth filled her with awe. It wasn’t Ailginshire, but now it was hers, and in her saddlebag she held the chatelaine’s keys along with a writ from the king to command a garrison to keep her people safe.

Her people—even more than Keane’s.

Trying not to think of her husband—waging another hopeless war—Lianae took the lead now, cantering all the way up the hill. And the higher they climbed, the more of Moray she could spy. Sandy beaches. Fishing huts dotting the horizon as far as the eye could see. The rich, snow-covered moorlands, the blue-grey dolphins surfacing close to shore.

Once, when Lianae was three, they’d found a whale stranded in the shallows along the inner Moray Firth. The neighbors all shared the spoils, and the whale’s fat lit their homes for years thereafter. The sight of her home shire took Lianae’s breath away, and judging by the way Keane’s sisters all gaped, they too were instantly enamored of the place.

Neither Cailin, nor Sorcha, nor Lael had ever set their jewel-green eyes upon the great North Sea, and a sense of pride filled Lianae as the cold wind whipped through her golden hair.

“Tis the lady of Dunràth!” Luc announced to one and all. “Make way,” he commanded a wee boy with a goat.

Lianae and the dún Scoti sisters all shared a smile, for Luc had taken to puffing up his chest in a prideful manner, and, in fact, seemed quite enamored of Sorcha.

“Make way for your new lady,” he shouted as they approached the top of the hill. “’Tis the lady of Dunràth ye’d behold!”

Keane’s sisters, all three, surrounded Lianae protectively, but there was little need. Lianae was home. There were no gates to admit them, so she dismounted before the hall, where a pair of armed men stood guarding the entrance to the hall.

“I am your new lady,” she announced, addressing a tall, lean man with silk-white hair. He was not a Norman, nor was he a Scot and she recognized the auld thane’s faithful servant.