The Promise of Peace (2 page)

This war with England had divided the loyalty of many highland clans. Ian had sided with his brother Angus—laird of clan Macnab—and against his son, Gordon. Gordie had died fighting with Bruce at Dalry Pass against one of their own clansmen, John of Lorne.

Angus looked around—the three Scotsmen were alone now. He said, “I'll not speak poorly about the dead. Gordie did what he felt he had to. I accept that, though I disagreed with him. 'Tis bad enough yer son defied his laird. Ye and I can't change sides now without incurring the prince's wrath, and through him, King Edward himself.”

“Which king shall we serve? An honorable Scot or a butcher and his son?”

“King Edward had nothing to do with the prince's behavior today. Clan Macnab will fight for Edward so long as I'm laird. And that's the end of it.”

Ian looked at his brother, at the deep reddish hair and blue eyes they shared. Barely a year separated them, and they'd often been asked if they were twins. But they were not alike in any other way, which meant they were oft at odds. “I'll not fight for England again after what I saw today.”

“War is evil, and sometimes the innocent pay a price, Ian.” Angus stood and faced him, then gazed about at the last of the wounded. “We've done all we can here. Let's be gone.”

Duncan moved to stand beside Ian.

But Ian didn't move. “I said nothing, fought beside ye this day despite Pembroke's lack of chivalry against Bruce's army. Treachery and war against armed men was one thing. But this savagery against women and children—that I won't abide. Not for any cause.”

Angus shoved his shoulder, trying to provoke him. “Get on home with ye, then. Ye aren't fit to be a warrior.”

Duncan wisely moved across the rock-strewn ground to stand with the fidgeting horses.

Ian stood firm and Angus shoved him, harder this time. Ian stepped back. “I don't want to fight ye, Angus.”

“Then don't disobey yer laird.”

“I'll not join Bruce. That much I promise. And I'll help ye however I can. But I'll not take up arms for the king of England again.” Ian turned to leave.

Angus grabbed his sleeve, pulling him around to face him. He let go of the cloth and poked Ian's chest with his beefy finger. “Will ye fight me, then? Because that's the only way I'm going to let ye have yer way in this.”

Ian held his hands at his sides, even though he wanted mightily to hit his brother. But he would not dishonor himself by striking his laird in anger, brother or not. “Aye, ye've wanted an excuse to fight me ever since the last time. Ye won that fight, Angus. I still have the crooked nose to prove it.”

“I didn't win and ye know it. Ye may have got a broken nose but ye still got Eveleen.”

Mustering patience, Ian said, “She didn't necessarily pick the best man, Angus. She picked the man she loved.”

Ian turned again to walk away but Angus grabbed him once more, spun him around, and struck Ian's cheek. His eyes watered from the sting of the blow, but he refused to strike back. He waited for Angus to hit him again.

“Stop it, both of ye!” Duncan yelled, coming toward them as if to calm them down.

But Ian waved Duncan off. Long-simmering animosities and buried hurts often welled up between the brothers. Trying to avoid further confrontation, Ian wiped his sleeve over his eyes to dry them. “We finished this years ago, Angus. I'll not fight ye again over Eveleen.” He stood there, daring his brother to strike him again. When the other man stood still, Ian turned and walked toward Duncan and the waiting horses.

With a roar Angus crashed into Ian from behind. Ian had no time to react and fell headlong to the ground, striking his head before Angus's body came to rest on top of him. Ian heard bones crack, then all went silent. One thought filled his head and heart before the world went dark.

Eveleen.

ANGUS SCRAMBLED OFF HIS BROTHER and knelt beside him.
“Ian. Ian, man. Wake up!”

Duncan ran to him. “He hit his head.”

Then Angus noticed the unnatural angle of his brother's neck and, at the same time, watched as Ian's breathing stopped. “Ian?” Angus felt for the pulse. “Ian! Oh, God, please no. I didn't mean it, none of it.” Angus clutched his brother's body to his chest and sobbed. He was laird; he was in fact his brother's keeper, the keeper and protector of the Macnabs. He and Ian had survived so much together, and it came to this? A freak accident, and now Angus had his brother's blood on his head.

Why had he allowed anger to overrule love? And how would he ever explain to Eveleen? Would she believe it was an accident?

When he could delay no longer, Angus motioned for Duncan to help him. With few words between them, they hoisted Ian's body over his horse, tied it fast, and made the long ride back to Innishewan.

As they neared the keep Duncan said, “I don't think yer sister-in-law can take another heartache. Would ye like for me to break the news?”

Angus, his voice choked, said, “'Tis my duty to tell her. I have caused her nothing but pain, all my life. May God forgive me.”

When they approached the castle, a cry went out from the sentry. Angus, leading Ian's horse, rode into the bailey. Shock and dismay covered the faces of those who came to greet him. They must have assumed Ian died in battle, for no one asked what happened, sparing Angus from having to confess.

Weary and dreading what lay ahead, Angus halted his horse and dismounted. “Duncan, see to Ian while I go to Eveleen.”

She wouldn't be in the castle but at the small cottage inside the walls that she and Ian called home. Angus left his tired horse and walked the short distance, dreading his task with every footstep.

She stood there just outside the cottage, her beautiful dark hair streaked with gray. Wiping her hands on her apron, she said, “What is it, Angus? Ye look as if ye've seen a . . .” She clutched the apron. “It's Ian, isn't it?”

“Aye.” He wanted to make everything right between them. Turn back the clock twenty years and start over. Would anything ever be right again?

Not if he told her the truth.

And so when he stood before the woman who'd taken his heart years ago, he couldn't bear to tell her that he'd killed her husband. “He fell from his horse, Eveleen.”

She said not a word, just stared in disbelief before she crumbled. He stepped forward and caught his brother's wife in his arms. He carried her into the small cottage she had shared with Ian and their children but couldn't think what to do. He stood there, Eveleen's weight in his arms, as his niece, Morrigan, rushed through the door.

“What have you done to my mother?” she demanded.

Her accusation stung. “She fainted.” He walked to the bed, laid Eveleen on it, and then straightened to face Morrigan. Working one-handed because of the wound on her arm, she stalked to a bucket of water and dipped a cloth into it, squeezed it out, and returned to sit beside her mother.

Laying the cloth on Eveleen's forehead, Morrigan said, “Why did she faint, Uncle Angus?”

He didn't answer. Didn't know what to say. He'd already lied to Eveleen. “Where's Keifer?”

Morrigan made a dismissive wave with her hand. “He's at the castle playing with Owyn. What happened to my mother?”

“Your da is dead.”

“Dead? How can he be dead?” Morrigan stared at him. “He was fine this morning. I don't believe you!”

Angus wiped his hand across his face, felt the sweat on his brow, felt the pain of his own denial.

He would have to talk to Duncan, convince him to back up Angus's story. No good would come of everyone knowing. It had been an accident—whether he fell from his horse or tripped on a rock, what difference did it make? Ian was dead.

“I'm sorry, Morrigan. 'Tis true.”

Morrigan had faced death in battle, had fought beside him and Ian more than once. She was stronger than any woman Angus had ever known. To see the tear that traced her cheek nearly undid him.

“What happened, Uncle? I came home and told Mother that Da would be along shortly, and then you bring him to us dead?” Her shoulders sagged. “Gordon is barely cold in his grave. How are we to bear this?”

Angus repeated the lie, hating himself but knowing he couldn't suffer Eveleen knowing the truth.

Eveleen's eyes opened, and she reached for her daughter's hand. Morrigan's tears dropped onto their clasped hands. Eveleen sat up, and the two women held each other. Angus knelt and offered his arms for comfort, but neither woman accepted his solace.

Seeing that they wanted nothing to do with him, Angus pulled back, still on his knees. “I'm as sorry as I can be, Eveleen. Morrigan. What ever ye need, I'll see to it. Ye won't suffer for lack, I promise.”

“Aye. All I'll lack is my husband,” Eveleen whispered. “Go away, Angus. Go home to your wife. I cannot look at you.”

Stung, heartbroken not only in the loss of his brother but also the loss of the esteem of the only woman he'd ever really loved, Angus rose and left the cottage.

Though he would not dishonor his wife by breaking his marriage vows, he could still love Eveleen and see to her welfare. 'Twas the least he could do.

Aye, Eveleen would come around once her grief diminished.

STORM-TOSSED LEAVES covered the ground around the Macnab graveyard at Innishewan. Damp dripped from the trees, but Morrigan's eyes remained dry. She had no more tears left to cry. How she wished her older brother was here to tell her what to do! But Gordon lay nearby in a grave covered by new spring grass.

Two men with shovels dropped rain soaked ground onto the casket, the mud splattering as it hit the wood. Morrigan held her little brother's hand as the grave was filled, shovel by shovel. A few feet away stood her mother, leaning on Morrigan's younger sister. Opposite them stood Angus Macnab with his mousy wife and son, the only one of the couple's children to survive infancy. He was small and wiry but healthy.

The boy, the same age as Keifer, would one day be laird of clan Macnab.

Morrigan knew the story well of how Angus and Ian Macnab had both courted Eveleen MacTaggert. In the end she had not chosen the laird but his younger brother. Morrigan wasn't sure if Angus had ever forgiven Eveleen or Ian. But Angus's grief at his brother's death seemed real, palpable even.

Angus came over to Eveleen and once again assured her he would take care of her and Ian's children.

“I'm sure ye would do well by us, Angus. But the children and I are moving to Inverlochy to be near my family.”

“But ye belong here. Ye are a Macnab now.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “I belonged here while Ian lived. Now I want to go home.”

Morrigan hated to leave the relative safety of Innishewan, but her mother didn't want to stay. Morrigan didn't have the heart to argue. Too many bad memories here. And Uncle Angus—well, Morrigan had never trusted him. Best to leave as Eveleen wished.

“Morrigan, can ye not reason with her?” Angus beseeched.

“I will do as my mother wishes, Uncle.”

Shaking his head, the man walked back to his family.

Morrigan would grieve the loss of her father. How much worse must it be for a boy to grow to manhood without his father to guide him? As she stood by her father's graveside, she vowed to see that Keifer received the training Ian could no longer give. And when the time was right, she would join Bruce's army and fight against her uncle and his English king.

Morrigan looked down at her two-year-old brother. He must have sensed her glance, because he looked up. So forlorn, his expression! She held her hands in invitation, and he darted into them. She picked him up and he put his arms around her neck, clinging so tight she had to loosen his hold so she could breathe.

Still, the small wooden horse in his hand—a toy that Da had whittled for him—dug into her back. A trickle of wetness rolled down her neck and under her tunic. She felt the boy's shuddering breath.

“Hush now, wee one. Hush.” She patted his back, offering solace. The priest had finished speaking and the mourners were beginning to leave.

Her father's cousin, Duncan, came over to pay his respects. When he saw Keifer's tears, he said, “You take care of yer mother, Keifer. Ye're the man of the house now.” He stared at Morrigan and seemed about to say something more when he glanced up at Uncle Angus. Duncan didn't make eye contact with Morrigan as he said, “God bless ye, Morrigan.” Then he spun about and left them.

Her da would have made a better laird, Morrigan thought, unable to control her bitterness. Angus inspired fear where Ian had gotten people to see things his way with persuasion and charm.

Morrigan gathered her family and they returned to the cottage to finish packing their belongings. Keifer, silent all this long day, sat by the fireplace playing with his wooden horse figurine.

Morrigan looked at her mother, who picked up the only book they owned—a beautifully copied collection of the Psalms. Eveleen's eyes shone, and she looked almost happy.

“What is it, Momma?” Morrigan asked.

“I will see your father again, Morrigan. The thought relieves my grief—'tis the only way I can get through this.”

Keifer stopped his play. “Papa coming home?”

Distracted, her eyes staring off in the distance, Eveleen replied, “Aye child. We'll see him again.”

“Gordon?”

“Aye. Gordon too.”

Keifer said, “Good.”

He was too little to understand what his mother meant. And what could it hurt if the child hoped for a reunion with his father, no matter where it would take place?

ONE

Dunstruan, Spring 1315

F
ROM BEHIND A HIGH SPOT on the parapets, Keifer Macnab watched the activity below in Dunstruan's bailey. Today he was to leave here to foster with the Mackintosh laird. The horses were nearly ready, but Keifer was not. Angrily he forced back the tears that threatened.