August had come and gone, and thankfully so had the rain. September brought with it shorter days, and crisper, clearer weather.

Brogan and Mairghread had settled into a comfortable state of wedded bliss. Once they had finally gotten around to officially consummating their marriage, everything betwixt them changed. And for the better.

With each passing day Mairghread grew stronger and more determined to see her clan grow and prosper. Even more determined, however, to see her uncle get what was coming to him.

In turn, Brogan was more determined than ever to finish the bloody wall. There had been too many delays for his liking. If it wasn’t the rain, ’twas a bad case of the ague that swept through the clan. Thankfully, it had taken no lives. However, they did lose at least ten full days of good work.

The clan seemed at peace as well. Mairghread was making good progress in restoring their faith in her. Which she was going to need when she finally made a decision on whether or not to be chief.

Carefully, he had broached the subject with her on several occasions. Each time, she answered that she hadn’t made up her mind yet. Just what she needed to think on baffled him. She was, for all intents and purposes, as well as by rules of inheritance, the rightful chief.

All in all, those were the best of days. With good weather, a healthy clan, and much progress being made on the wall.

Brogan received a letter from Alec Bowie the first week of September. Their crops were coming along splendidly, as was his wife Leona. She was due to have their babe in early October. Because of that, he might have to send his cousin Dougall as his emissary. Brogan was fine with that and passed the information on to Reginald.

Reginald was happier than a pig in mud these days. While he had been gone back in August to procure more men, Mairghread — with Gertie and Tilda’s help — had moved the man’s office out of the alcove and back to where it had once been. With mayhap a little too much giddiness, the women had packed away all of Aymer’s belongings and stored them in the alcove.

Aye, things were looking up for him, for Mairghread, and the clan Mactavish.

He should have known it wouldn’t last long.

* * *

On a crisp, cool day at the end of September a messenger arrived. He was a younger lad, named Archibald. Skinny, with dark hair and bright blue eyes, he was exceedingly loyal to Mairghread.

He came thundering into the courtyard on horseback, covered in dirt and grime from his long and hard journey. He raced to the stables and asked Seamus to tend to the horse. “I have an important message fer our lady,” he explained.

With most of the men working away from the keep this day, ’twas Evelyn who met the lad in the gathering room. Quickly, he begged to see Mairghread. Evelyn rushed off to fetch her from the kitchens, leaving him alone in the gathering room.

He paced back and forth. He had been gone from the keep since the day after Mairghread and Brogan had married. Though he had no idea what the missive in his pouch said, he knew ’twas important.

“Archibald?” Mairghread called to him as she entered the gathering room. Evelyn and Mairi had come with her.

She had not seen the boy in an age. He looked anxious as well as road weary.

“M’lady,” he said as he bowed at the waist. “I was able to catch up to yer uncle.”

Her uncle? Her mind was a complete blank. She had no idea at all what he was speaking about.

“Mairi, Evelyn, please bring Archibald some refreshments,” she told them. To Archibald, she pointed to the table. “Sit, and explain what ye mean.”

He waited until she was sitting before he took a seat across from here. “I did just as ye bid me too, m’lady.”

“As I bid ye?” she asked.

“Aye, ye sent me to find yer uncle.”

Horrified, she looked at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “I sent ye to find me uncle?”

He was growing just as confused as she. “Do ye no’ remember?”

“I fear I do no’,” she said with a shake of her head. “When did I do this?”

“The day after ye married the Mackintosh man.”

Her heart seized. She could not remember much of that day, for she had been so terribly drunk. An uneasiness blended with dread began to settle in. “Archibald, ’tis the truth that I do no’ remember. There is very little of those days that I can recall.”

He sat in silence, nervous, fidgeting with the pouch on his belt.

“Much has changed since ye left,” she said. Her life had changed so dramatically these past weeks. “I no longer partake of hard drink. Thanks to Brogan, I have been able to give it up and live life with a clearer head and better heart.”

He blinked once, then again, stunned to hear his lady speaking so openly about what he thought was a private matter.

“So when I sent ye to find me uncle, what did I tell ye to do exactly?” She was afraid to know what she had said or done.

He stammered, searching for words that would not insult or offend.

“Archibald, ye no longer have to fear me wrath or anger. I be no’ the same person now, as I was then. Please, be honest and tell me.”

The young man cleared his throat nervously. “It be true, m’lady, ye were a bit into yer cups.”

“I was a drunkard, Archibald. I be no afraid to admit it. I was so drunk then that I can no’ remember now what happened. But continue,” she said as she offered him an encouraging smile.

“Well, ye were right angry that night. Ye had Mairi come to get me. Ye sent me off to try to catch up with yer uncle. To tell him ye were no’ goin’ to marry the Frenchman.”

Mairghread nodded as she listened intently.

“We — me and Drayton — we left that night. I did no’ want to go alone, ye ken.”

That made perfectly good sense to her.

“We finally caught up with yer uncle before he got as far as London. I gave him yer missive and message.”

Good lord! What had she written? Dread, fear, worry all mixed together in the pit of her stomach. “Did ye read the missive?”

Archibald cast her a furtive glance. “Well, no’ exactly, m’lady. I wrote it fer ye. Yer hands, ye see, were a bit unsteady.”

“What did I say?” she asked. Taking in a deep breath, she held it until he answered.

“No’ much, m’lady. Ye just had me write that ye were no’ going to marry the bloo—” he stopped, and started again. “Ye were no’ going to marry the Frenchman and that ye had married another.”

She let her breath out slowly. “Anythin’ else?”

“Nay, m’lady,” he said with a quick shake of his head. “That was all.”

Willing her nerves to settle, she asked him the most important question of all. “And what was me uncle’s reply?”

“He sure was no’ happy, m’lady. He kicked Drayton in the leg and punched me in the stomach.” Absentmindedly, he rubbed his stomach at the memory.

“Did he say anything else?”

He cleared his throat as his face burned a deep red. “Naught that I would repeat in front of ye, m’lady. But he did give me this.” Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a rolled parchment and handed it to her.

Her fingers trembled; she recognized at once her uncle’s seal. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she found her reaction confusing. This wasn’t the same anger she had been feeling toward him ever since she learned she hadn’t killed James or Connell and had definitely not stabbed herself.

This, this was an altogether different feeling of absolute fear. But why? She had never feared him before. Aye, there were times she thought him a bit daft, and did not always agree with him. But fear him? Nay, not until this moment, when she held the sealed missive in her hand.

“Would ye like me to come back, m’lady, and send yer uncle a response?” Archibald asked in a low whisper.

“Nay,” she said. I want ye to eat and rest.” She got to her feet, thanked him for his diligent work and started for the stairs. “Wait,” she said. “Where be Drayton?”

Archibald rolled his eyes. “In Edinburgh, the bug—” Once again, he stopped himself before saying something that would embarrass his lady. “He said he wanted to stay in Edinburgh a few extra days. I knew how important it was to get that,” he nodded toward the parchment in her hands, “back to ye.”

“I thank ye, Archibald. Please let me know when Drayton returns.”

And with that, she hurried above stairs to the safety of her chamber.

* * *

I be thoroughly disappointed in ye, Mairghread. I have worked long and hard to arrange the marriage betwixt ye and Claude Courtemanche. Now, I learn ye have married another? How could ye have betrayed me in such a manner? I can only assume it be yer addiction to drink that made ye act in such an illogical, rash way. Being a drunkard suits ye.

I will have to take some time to sort this news out and come up with a solution to the quagmire ye have put me in. ’Twill not be easy, but I be certain we can get yer marriage to the Mackintosh set aside and proceed forward with your union to Courtemanche. I must warn ye, he will no’ be happy to learn of your betrayal, Mairghread. He will be just as disappointed as I. Me only worry is he will no’ be as forgiving as I.

Aymer Mactavish

Mairghread read the letter three times. Now that she was sober, she was better able to read what wasn’t written. She could hear the anger in his voice as clearly as if he were standing in front of her.

In her mind’s eye, she could picture his scowl. Could see his face turning purple with fury as he yelled at her for being a fool.

Why had she not seen him in this light before? Was it simply her imagination running away with her, or was it a truer picture of him?

Brogan. She needed him now, more than ever. She raced below stairs, found Mairi and asked her to send someone for him right away. Steeling her nerves, she went above stairs and waited.

It seemed to her an interminable amount of time passed before Brogan finally came rushing into their chamber. Covered in sweat, wood shavings, and grime, she had never been so happy to see him.

“What be wrong?” he asked with worried eyes and panic in his voice.

She rushed to him, not caring how filthy he might be, and wrapped her arms around him. “I did no’ mean to scare ye, but it be important.” She couldn’t let go, not just yet. “I have received word from Aymer.”

As she held him, she felt him grow tense. “Where is he?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“I do no’ ken. All I have is a missive.”

They sat at the small table whilst she explained to him what had transpired with Archibald earlier.

“Honestly, Brogan, I do no’ remember sendin’ fer Archibald. I do no’ remember any of it.”

Sensing her distress, he reached across the small table and took her hand in his. “Ye will no’ worry over it, lass.”

’Twas a thing easier said than done. Taking in a deep breath, she handed the parchment to him and waited. By the time he finished he was purple with fury. He shot to his feet. “Who in the bloody hell does he think he be?” he yelled. Shaking the parchment, he said, “This be a veiled threat is what it be. Set our marriage aside?” he was furious beyond imagination. “’Twill be over me dead body.”

Never before had she seen him so angry. Not even when she was still a drunkard, taunting and ridiculing him. “I be sorry,” she whispered.

“Why?” he barked. “Ye have done nothin’ wrong, Mairghread. Me anger be no’ directed at ye, but at the man who calls himself yer uncle.”

Suddenly, she felt cold and weary. Trembling, tears pooled in her eyes. “I will no’ allow him to set our marriage aside,” she told him.

“He has no basis fer it,” Brogan told her. “No basis at all.”

She could only pray he was right.

* * *

After putting Mairghread’s worries at ease, Brogan sent for the young man named Archibald. Hopefully, the lad had more information than what he had given Mairghread. Although she had initially been quite frightened by Aymer’s missive, she drew strength from Brogan.

Together, they met with Archibald in Reginald’s office. The lad seemed even more nervous in Brogan’s presence than he had been with just Mairghread. Brogan closed the door behind him and approached the young man.

“Archibald? Have ye eaten since yer arrival?”

“Aye, m’laird,” he replied. “Evelyn and Mairi fed me well.”

Brogan nodded his approval. “I am told by me wife that ye met with Aymer, just outside of London?”

“Aye, m’laird, we did. Me and Drayton.” He went on to tell him what he had told Mairghread earlier. Recounting how Aymer had taken his anger out on the two young men.

Brogan pondered several possibilities for a moment. “Did he say if he was returning to Mactavish keep immediately?”

“Nay, m’laird, he did no’. But I think he still planned on goin’ to France.”

He thought that bit of news as odd as he did curious. “Did he tell ye that?”

“Nay, m’laird. We heard him yellin’ at Dennys MacCurdy. Dennys be married to Beatrice Mactavish, ye ken. Anyways, when me and Dayton was leavin’, we heard him shoutin’ that they were still goin’ on to France, no matter what—” he stopped and looked at Mairghread. “No matter what our lady had decided to do.”

Both Brogan and Mairghread suspected that wasn’t exactly how Aymer worded it. But there was no sense in pressing for exact details.

For now, they could breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank ye, Archibald,” Brogan said. “If ye think of anythin’ else, anythin’ at all, please let us know.”

He waited until after the door closed behind Archibald before speaking again. “What do ye think? Think ye yer uncle will go on to France?”

Mairghread raised her hands, palms up. “Who kens what he will do?”

“Ye ken him better than anyone.”

“I thought I did, until lately. Now, I am uncertain. I would no’ put anything past him, Brogan. I mean, look what he did to me? To the wall? To our weapons,” she said with a perplexed shake of her head. “I mean, he used James and Connell’s deaths to turn me into a raging drunkard.”

Brogan had yet to voice to her what he felt truly happened that night. He was convinced Aymer had killed them. The deaths of the two guards was simply meant to make it look like an attack from outside forces.

“I think it be a good possibility he went on to France. From the sounds of the letter, he was verra angry. I also would no’ put it past him to bring Courtemanche with him.”

’Twas the very thing Brogan was dreading most. “I fear it as well,” he told her. The next question was what to do about it.

“Brogan,” Mairghread said, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Think ye Courtemanche will bring fighting men with him?”

“Aye, I do think that be possible,” Brogan told her. He was not about to try to coat that horrid idea with sweet words. She was chief, even if she hadn’t officially taken the title. “Courtemanche is a dangerous man, Mairghread. If he thinks, even for a moment, that Aymer will get our marriage set aside, then aye, he will bring fighting men with him.”

From her fierce and determined expression, she was not about to allow either to happen. “We need more fightin’ men,” she said. “We also need a wall.”

Both of those things were painfully true.

“Unfortunately, I do no’ ken how many of our men are capable of fightin’.”

Brogan doubted there were even a handful.

“We need to be able to protect our people. James saw the need fer that long ago. He had even begun to work with the men.” She took a deep breath. “Who can we reach out to fer help?” she asked as she switched from drumming her cheek to drumming her fingers against the top of Reginald’s desk. “The Bowies? Yer brother?”

“Aye, those are possibilities,” he said.

Deep in thought, with her lips pursed together, she looked and sounded every bit a clan chief.

“I say we put all our focus on the wall. We bring in every able-bodied man, woman, and child to do it. We will bring all the horses in, fit as many as we can within the walls. Mayhap we should also rethink our deal with Alec Bowie and get more grain. I want us to be prepared for an all-out siege. Increase the patrols and if there be any sign of Aymer and Courtemanche, we will bring everyone inside the walls.”

Brogan could not resist the urge to smile. Proud, proud to his very bones, of his wife.

“What?” she asked from her seat behind Reginald’s desk.

“What ye just said, was spoken like a true chief and leader.”

Usually, when he mentioned her officially taking the roll, she would roll her eyes, pretend to be busy, and change the subject. She did neither of those things.

“I want word sent throughout our lands,” she said. “I want everyone here before the evening meal.”

Curious, he raised a brow. “Ye plan on tellin’ them about Aymer?” he asked.

“Aye, I do.”

* * *

Brogan had moved his things into Mairghread’s chamber long ago. Now, they simply referred to it as theirs. Since then, they had been using his auld bedchamber as an office, which they both shared. After putting their plans into writing, they went back to their chamber so they both could change into clean clothes.

After washing up, Mairghread changed into a very pretty gown of indigo silk. Over that, she wore the Mactavish plaid, of black, brown, and green. Styling it just as her father had worn his for all those years.

Brogan went to his trunk and pulled out a brooch, one his father had given him when he reached the age of seven and ten. ’Twas a Mackintosh plaid brooch, made of pewter, with the familiar to him cat-o’mountain in the center of a circle. Etched into that circle was the Mackintosh clan motto: Touch not a cat without a glove.

“Mairghread, I wish to give ye somethin’,” he said as she was fussing with her plaid. “It be something me da gave to me when I was a young lad.”

Stepping forward, he took her hand and placed the brooch into her palm. “It be verra special to me, as ye are.”

Her eyes grew wide when she saw the beautiful piece. “Och! Brogan, I can no’ accept this. I be certain it means too much to ye.”

He smiled, warmly and fondly. “No’ nearly as much as ye do, Mairghread.”

A heartbeat later, she had her arms wrapped around him, and he her. The kiss, one meant to be heartfelt yet chaste, soon turned quite passionate. She could not help herself, for every time she felt him so close, felt his lips against hers, she was a lost, wonton woman with only one thing on her mind; Brogan and she, naked and in the throes of passion.

’Twas Brogan who broke the kiss, “Lass, ye have people waitin’ fer ye out of doors,” he reminded her.

“Let them wait,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She noted he did not argue again.

* * *

Thankfully, Clan Mactavish was small enough, and its people not so widespread, that it made gathering them at the keep much easier.

Hundreds of her people — men, women, and children of all ages — were assembled in the courtyard. Brogan led her out of the keep and onto the top of the stairs. From there, she could see not only her people, but the wall, and land beyond.

’Twas a lovely autumn eve, with a crisp, cool breeze and clear skies overhead. In the distance, she could hear the sound of waves lapping against the shoreline. ’Twas a sound as familiar to her as her own voice.

Whispers of curious people flittered along the courtyard. They had no idea why they had been summoned here. More likely than not, they thought it had something to do with the thousands of ‘horse thieves’ heading their way.

Brogan had finally admitted to her what Henry had done. In truth, she did not care what had motivated her people. She was simply glad to have them all working together. It might not be genuine horse thieves they were bracing themselves for, but Aymer Mactavish was a thief nonetheless. Because of his greed, he had taken more than three years of her life away.

At the front of the mass of people were Gertie, Tilda, and Reginald. Mairghread smiled warmly at each of them before raising her hands to quiet the crowd.

“Ceud Mìle Fàilte,” she began. A hundred thousand welcomes. “I ken ye all be verra busy and workin’ verra hard of late. To each of ye, I give me thanks.” It warmed her heart to see these people assembled here. They’d come willingly and quickly. Aye, many were probably here out of curiosity, but it mattered not. They were here. That was what was important. Hopefully, they would continue to support her after what she was about to tell them.

Never before had she talked to her people like this. Assembled below, looking up at her. ’Twas the oddest of sensations. Taking in a deep breath and willing her nerves to settle, she began.

“As many of ye ken, more than three years ago, we lost four verra special people on a dark night in spring. Killed by someone whose identity to this day remains unknown.”

A hush fell over the crowd then, as they looked to each other with curious expressions.

“As ye also already ken, no’ long after, I fell into drinkin’. Day and night, night and day, I drank, because of my deep and profound loss. Not only did we lose two good and kind men that night, I lost me husband and bairn.”

She had to take another deep steadying breath. Glancing once to her left, she felt immediately at ease knowing Brogan was there. Always at her side, always supportive.

“I became a mean-spirited, ugly, black-hearted drunkard. I want to apologize to each and every one of ye fer behavin’ as I did.”

Some of the women had tears in their eyes, for they could understand how much such a loss could hurt. A few of the men simply nodded in understanding. But all were quite surprised to hear her admission as well as her apology.

“Thanks to me husband, Brogan, and me dear friends, Reginald, Gertie, and Tilda, I was able to climb out of the flagon and come back to the land of the livin’.”

Nervous laughter spread throughout the crowd when she smiled at them. ’Twas no’ easy for her to talk so openly about what her clan referred to as her troubles. But she felt it necessary to do so. “I ken that I have three years of poor behavior to make up fer, but make up fer it I will.”

Louder murmurs began to race through the crowd. Though it appeared to her they were speaking of their approval, she couldn’t quite be sure. Once again, she looked to Brogan for his silent support. He stood proudly beside her, with his hands clasped behind his back. Stoic and proud.

Understanding that she must first bring forth the matter of Aymer Mactavish before she could go any further, she took in a deep, cleansing breath. “I have, just this day, received word from Aymer Mactavish, who was actin’ chief on me behalf when I did no’ have the strength to do it meself.” She paused, looking out at her people. “Aymer was no’ happy to learn of me marriage to Brogan.” Though that ’twas an understatement, her people did not need to know all the sordid details of her uncle’s letter.

“I have learned many things recently, that make me question Aymer’s loyalty to us as a clan, and to me as his only livin’ niece.”

Concerned murmurs and whispers from the people.

“I was loyal to me uncle fer a long, long while. Unfortunately, he has betrayed that loyalty and me trust. He has betrayed me and ye.” She waited for the astonished gasps and rumblings to quiet down before going on again. This was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do.

“Aymer,” her voice caught on his name. Regret, sorrow, and anger blended together. “Aymer Mactavish lied to me and I be certain he spread that lie to the rest of ye. He convinced me that I killed me husband, James, and me son, Connell, and then tried to kill meself. I now ken, that no’ be the truth.”

Stunned silence filled the yard below her. “I believed him only because he was me last livin’ kin. I believed him because I thought he had only me best interests at heart. But that be no’ true.” She paused, waiting for what she was telling them, to sink in. “He lied because he does no’ want me to be chief. He wants that title for himself.”

Another round of gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“I ask ye this: why would a man order the removal of a wall, a wall that stood for more than one hundred years? Why would he order it removed yet never rebuild it? Why would he take all our weapons out of the armory — fer safekeeping’ — and no’ tell anyone where they were?”

On that, the crowd was in agreement. It had never made any sense to anyone. But because he had been acting chief while Mairghread and James were away, her people felt they must obey his orders.

“No good chief would leave his people as exposed as he has. It has only been through God’s divine grace that we have no’ been attacked since the removal of that wall. Had the wall been in place the night we were attacked, I believe we would no’ have lost those that we did.” She was growing angry now, just thinking about how her uncle’s foolish decision had affected her and her people. She could see, with brilliant clarity, how Aymer had betrayed each of them.

“We know not when Aymer will return to this keep.” she began. The murmurs quieted as they paid rapt attention. “But when he does, we will be ready. We will never again allow a man such as he to make decisions that will cost precious lives. We will never again allow foolishness or arrogance to rule us.” The more she spoke, the angrier she felt. She refused, however, to allow that anger to make her look like a vindictive woman. Taking in another steadying breath, she went on. “When Aymer returns, he will be permanently banished from this keep, our holding, and our lands. He will never be allowed to return.”

’Twas quite apparent that her people did not know what to make of that announcement. Many looked quite pleased, but were, mayhap, afraid to voice their joy.

“Upon the death of James, I inherited not only the keep and its lands, I also inherited the title of Chief. Because of me grievin’ and sorrow and drinkin’, I was no’ able to act as yer chief.”

’Twas as if they were all holding their breaths, waiting to hear what she would say next. Casting a quick glance to Brogan, he looked just as curious and eager as her people.

“I be here this night, to tell ye that I am now ready to be yer chief.”

Gasps of surprise broke out across the crowd. A moment later, a loud cheer went up. Brogan stood taller, prouder, although he was stunned to hear her finally proclaim it. But he watched the crowd with a keen eye. He had also placed his men in varying locations, looking for any signs of dissent or people who might remain loyal to Aymer.

“With Brogan Mackintosh at my side, I ken we can make this clan as good and strong as it was when me da ruled,” the crowd quieted but only slightly. “I want to lead us into a brighter and better future. I ken I be askin’ much of ye, especially after the past three years, when the only thing I thought of was the whisky and the wine.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her palms sweaty, her voice cracking. She hadn’t told Brogan of her final decision. But she knew he would be happy, as well as proud. Standing closer to her now, he slipped his hand into hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“I give to ye this day, me promise and most solemn vow, that none of ye will have to worry ever again about me drinkin’. Recently,” she turned to Brogan and smiled at him. “I have learned that I need to live, more than I need to drink.”

He returned her smile with one of his own, as well as a wink.

She had to raise her hands again and call for quiet. Once they settled down, she started again. “I will do me best to be a good, loyal servant to all of ye. Aye, I will be chief, but I believe in me heart that a good chief understands he — or she — is no’ above his people. Any decision I will make will always be fer the good of the clan, fer the good of its people.”

Another cheer erupted, as people shook their hands in the air and called out her name. Not all, but most.

“I be no’ so naive to believe that all of ye will follow me without question. I ken that I must prove to ye that I mean the words I speak, lest they are just empty words. I will do me best to make ye proud.”

More loud shouts of approval and once again, she had to ask for quiet. “I want only what is best fer us, as a people. I will work just as hard as me father did, and with just as much conviction and honor. I will make him proud and I hope to make ye as proud as well.”

There was nothing left for her to say now. She wouldn’t have been able to anyway, for her people were roaring their approval.

* * *

Mairghread and Brogan walked back into the keep hand in hand. Though Mairghread’s hands trembled significantly. She was at peace with her decision to make the official announcement, she could only pray and hope her clan would continue to support her.

Once they were behind closed doors, Brogan wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the floor. “I be so verra proud of ye!” he exclaimed with a beaming smile. He twirled her around twice before kissing her soundly on the mouth.

“Were I a man who just announced he was chief, would ye still be kissin’ me?” she asked playfully.

He grunted. “I be no’ married to a man, lass.”

“But ye are married to a chief,” she said, painting a most serious expression on her face. “And as chief, I give ye me first order.”

He raised a brow, his expression awash in uncertainty. “And what might that be?”

She smiled then. “That ye kiss me again.”

“As ye wish, m’lady,” he replied with a grin.

’Twas a most wondrous kiss. Soft and sweet, but filled with passion and desire. It stole her very breath away, as most of his kisses tended to do.

Brogan, almost always the more level-headed of the two of them, broke the kiss. “Have I fulfilled yer order to yer pleasure, m’lady?” he asked with a most devilish grin.

“Aye,” she said breathlessly. “I have another order fer ye, that can only be done in private.”

He chuckled. “Ye be insatiable,” he told her.

“’Tis entirely all yer fault,” she told him.

“Mine?” he asked, incredulously.

“Aye,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “Were ye no’ so good at lovin’, I would no’ be askin’ fer yer favors as oft as I do.”

How could a man argue with that?

* * *

When they sat down to sup — after stealing away to their chamber — Mairghread felt invigorated. Looking out at the tables of the gathering room she saw many familiar and devoted people. But it seemed to her more were in attendance this night. Many had quit attending the evening meal ages ago, no doubt due to her drinking. She was glad to see their return.

On the morrow, she would select a few members of her clan to act as her counsel. She would begin meeting with her people twice a week, as her father had done. Settling disputes between clansman, offering her help wherever she could, had always been easy for her. She could only pray ‘twould be the same now that she was chief.

“Brogan, I would like to put ye in charge of training our people to fight,” she told him.

“Do ye think it best we finish the wall first?” he asked as he began offering her food from the platters.

“Be there a way to do both?” she asked, politely declining the pheasant with a shake of her head.

“I suppose, with the extra men we have now,” he said. “Mayhap we could start with just a few afternoons a sennight.”

She was quiet for a long moment, deep in thought. “We do no’ stand much of a chance against any trained warriors Courtemanche might bring with him, do we?” Suddenly, she did not have much of an appetite.

Brogan let out a quick breath. “I think ye have set a good plan in place, Mairghread. If we can gain reinforcements from me brother and the Bowie, and if we get the wall finished in time, then I would say we have a good chance.”

She trusted him to be honest with her in all things. ’Twas a promise he’d made long ago. Still, doubts sometimes lingered. “Ye would tell me the truth, would ye no’?”

“Of course I would, Mairghread,” he said as he set his eating knife down. “There be too much at stake no’ to tell ye the truth.”

She could not help but smile at him. He was a good and decent man. “Mayhap it be the doubt in meself I be feelin’.”

“Remember that I will always be at yer side. If I feel ye be makin’ a mistake on a matter, ye can be assured I will voice me opinion.”

She patted his hand and thanked him. “I be verra glad that I married ye,” she said. “I do no’ ken if I have told ye that before.”

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Ye may no’ have told me with words lass but ye have shown me. And I be right glad I married ye.”

It hit her then, a realization so bright and brilliant, and catching her so unaware, that she gasped. Deep in the pit of her stomach, fluttering out like a thousand butterflies to her fingers and toes. I love him.

“What?” he asked as his brow wrinkled in confusion.

She couldn’t say the words aloud. Not here, not now. She thought of lying to him, making up some story about how she forgot to do something important. But she could not do that to him. “I will tell ye later,” she whispered as she fought back tears.

She couldn’t have told a living soul why she cried. Her emotions were a jumbled mess at the moment. Tears of regret, remorse, happiness and joy? How could such a thing be?

“Be ye certain?” he asked, still looking quite concerned.

“Aye, Brogan, I be certain.”

They ate the rest of their meal with Mairghread half-listening to anything Brogan said. All she could think of was the promises she had made to James and Connell at their graves. Sorrow crept into her heart, leaving her unable to eat more than a few bites of food. She could barely think a clear thought.

’Twas an inner battle between past and present, one that made her head ache and her tongue fair itch with a need for just a wee dram.

Knowing well now that a wee dram of anything was akin to suicide — albeit a long, ugly and dark death that would be years in the making. She knew what she must do and she needed to do it this night. And without Brogan. Nay, this was something she needed to do alone.

“Brogan,” she began, her voice unsteady. “There be somethin’ I need to do before we retire fer the night.”

“Verra well,” he said as he removed himself from the table. Extending his arm, he smiled down at her. “What do we need to do?”

Distractedly, she shook her head. “Nay, ’tis naught fer ye to worry over,” she told him. “I will be above stairs shortly.” Scooting away from the table, she declined his proffered hand.

Ignoring his questions, she fled the gathering room and keep without looking back.

* * *

Not far from the keep, near the forest, behind a low stone wall, was the Mactavish cemetery. More than a hundred years old, with countless graves, ’twas a well-kept, serene and peaceful place.

Mairghread brought no flowers with her, just her memories, her sorrow, and a lighted torch. The wind whipped through the tiny glen, wrapping her skirts around her legs, bending the tall grass. Betimes, it sounded as though the trees were moaning, grieving.

’Twas a cool night, growing, it seemed to her, cooler with each beat of her heart.

James and Connell had been buried side by side in a spot at the rear, reserved for clan Chiefs and their families. Not far from them was the eternal resting places of her entire family.

Cautiously, she made her way to her husband and son’s graves. One large, stone cross, and a smaller one, marked their places. It had been more than three years since the one and only time she had been here. But someone, more likely than not Gertie and Tilda, had tended to these two places with great love and care. Not a weed grew on either spot, and bless them, they had recently left flowers.

Slowly, she sat down betwixt the two graves, her skirts spilling all around her, and jabbed the torch into the ground between their stones.

“All the way here, I thought of what I would say to ye,” she said, choking back tears. “But now it seems I be at a loss fer words.”

Taking in deep breaths, she sat for a long while, just listening to the sound of the wind. She had hoped, she supposed, to hear the faint echo of James’ voice, or mayhap even Connell’s sweet baby sighs. But all she could hear was the beating of her heart, the wind, and the moaning of the trees.

“It has been a long while since last I was here. I should no’ have deserted ye as I did, but I see Gertie and Tilda took good care of ye.” One lonely tear fell down her cheek. How many had she shed over the years? Enough to fill a loch, she supposed. “I have no’ come here to say goodbye to ye. I came, I suppose, just to talk to ye. I could no’ do that before, ye see, fer I was simply too drunk, too overcome with grief at losin’ ye.”

Wiping away the tear, she took in a deep breath and held it until she thought her lungs would burst. ’Twas the only thing she could think to do to keep from breaking down completely. Finally, she let go that breath, as she willed her heart to settle its frantic beating to keep it from breaking completely.

“I loved ye both, ye ken. More than I have ever loved anyone in me life. ’Tis why I took yer deaths so hard. ’Twas why I could no’ come visit ye before now. ’Tis the most unimaginable hurt a body can ever go through, losin’ ye as we did. ’Tis the truth that I did no’ want to live. I could no’ imagine goin’ on with the rest of me life, while ye be stuck in the cold, dark ground. It did no’ seem fair.”

That deep pain, the agony, that was what first had her reaching for the flagons. The belief she had ended these lives she held so precious, was what send her tumbling into the abyss.

Focusing now on little Connell’s grave, she swiped away more tears. Oh, how she missed that sweet, sweet babe. The way he smelled, the way he would smile in his sleep, how warm and light her heart felt whenever she held him.

“I will no’ give ye excuses fer why I have no’ been here. I can only give ye reasons. ’Tis true, ye see, that I turned into an ugly, black-hearted drunkard. For a long while I thought ’twas because I killed ye, even though, deep in me heart I knew I could never have done such a thing. But Aymer, may he someday burn in hell fer his sins, he convinced me I had done just that. I can no’ reason out why I believed him. Mayhap me guilt was so deep that I could no’ save ye from him.”

All at once she knew. She knew, deep in her bones, the horrid, sinister truth. ’Twas just a flash of a memory that assaulted her, just as quick and as fierce as lighting cutting through the sky. Just as powerful and deadly.

Sick to her stomach, her heart so cold she was certain it stopped beating for a moment. But then it beat again, thundering, pounding against her breast, blood coursing through her veins, cold and unmerciful.

“Nay,” she whispered as she struggled to her feet. “Nay, nay, nay!”

Her world was spinning out of control, making her feel dizzy and nauseous. More flashes of memory raged on. Gruesome, horrid scenes, tiny moments, blazing, flashing all around her. ’Twas as if she were no longer in her body, but staring down at it from above. Screaming, bleeding, begging for mercy, begging him to stop, unable to believe what she was seeing. The dirk, the long, weighty dirk, slashing through the air, through skin, flesh, and bone. Over and over again.

Struggling to get on her feet, her skirts tangled around them and sent her face first into the soft, cold grass with a grunt and a curse. ’Twas then she realized the lightning was real, spidering out in a sky that had grown dark without her realizing it.

Screaming as loudly as she could, she fought once again to get onto her feet. Her throat began to feel raw, her breaths coming in brutal, harsh bursts.

A heartbeat later, terror seized control of her heart and mind when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her torso and lifted her up.