Kith and Kin
The ostler’s lads soon had their horses saddled. Ewan mounted Liath, glad to be back on his beloved grey despite the uncertainty he faced. Sitting astride an intelligent and reliable steed tended to clear a man’s mind. He felt invincible whenever Liath carried him into battle. Colin was sadly mistaken if he thought his little brother would meekly surrender Creag.
They sighted the enemy as soon as they’d galloped past the village. A row of Highlanders, perhaps a hundred strong, waited on the crest of a rise a mile distant, some mounted, most on foot.
Ewan slowed, but didn’t call a halt. “We’ll approach at a leisurely pace,” he told Walter.
“Mackinlochs right enough, I’d say,” his friend replied without a trace of apprehension.
Liath snorted and shook his head.
“He knows them,” Ewan muttered.
His feelings were mixed. Having convinced himself his father must be dead if Colin had come on the offensive, he was strangely relieved to see the cantankerous old bastard sitting ramrod straight in the saddle of his favorite horse. The three eagle feathers pinned to his bonnet paid no mind to the breeze. But what was he doing here—with a small army? And Colin.
When they came within fifty yards, he called a halt. “I’ll go on alone,” he said. “If they have war in mind, there’s no choice but to surrender. We’re ill-prepared.”
No one questioned his decision. As he rode slowly towards the rise, his father set his horse in motion until they were side by side. Duncan’s stern glower didn’t bode well.
Ewan nodded. “The Camron bids The Mackinloch welcome to Creag,” he said, extending his ungloved hand.
His father narrowed his eyes but made no effort to accept the handshake. “Ye managed it then?” he asked gruffly.
Ewan should have known better than to expect cordiality from his sire. “Managed what?”
“To wed the lass.”
“Aye. Shona is my wife,” he replied proudly.
“Sounds like ’twasna the hardship ye expected.”
Ewan couldn’t resist a smile. “No hardship at all.”
His father scratched his beard. “Now, tell me, laddie, do ye greet me on behalf o’ The Camron, or are ye The Camron?”
Ewan stiffened his spine. “Ye are addressing The Camron.”
Duncan rubbed his nose with the back of a finger, as if he smelled something rotten. “Thought as much when I saw yon MacCarron plaid on yer shoulder.” He turned in the saddle and nodded to Colin, who merely returned the nod.
Ewan gritted his teeth, bracing for the terms of surrender. He didn’t know what to make of his father’s sly smile when he turned back to face him.
“Weel,” Duncan declared, “seems we’re too late for the nuptials, and we’ve missed seeing ye be named laird o’ this misbegotten clan.” Then he winked. “However, since ye offer hospitality, the journey hasna been a complete waste o’ time, though I dinna expect Creag Castle to come up to Roigh’s standards.”
Rendered speechless by his father’s wink, Ewan let the insult slide and extended his hand again. “Ye’re right, as always, but give us time and ye’ll see.”
A beefy hand enveloped his in a manic grip. “So long as ye make sure yer new clan pays what they owe—on time.”
He might have known the talk would inevitably come round to the coin. Some things never changed. Yet, the firm handshake changed Ewan’s view of the future. It established a bond of mutual respect between two clan chiefs and communicated a father’s love for his son.
Ewan’s heart was beating so loudly in his ears, he scarce noticed Colin bring his horse alongside until he slapped him on the back. “So my little brother gets to be laird before I do. There’s no justice.”
Ewan smiled. “Weel, when ye hear of the trials I had to undergo to secure the lairdship…”
Colin guffawed. “Like bedding a comely wench, I suppose.”
Duncan frowned. “Ye canna say such things in front o’ the lad.”
Ewan was puzzled but his spirits soared even higher when Andrew poked his head out from behind Colin. He dismounted immediately and helped his grinning nephew down from his brother’s horse. “Ye’re a sight for sore eyes, wee mon,” he exclaimed, hugging the boy.
“I canna wait to meet yer bride,” Andrew admitted as Ewan remounted Liath with the bairn in his lap. “Is she bonnie?”
“Indeed, she is,” Ewan replied.
“Bonnier than Kathleen?”
Ewan chuckled. “Much more beautiful.” Then a thought struck him. “But it might be as well if ye dinna mention Kathleen again.”
Andrew beamed an angelic smile over his shoulder. “I understand, Uncle. The lasses can get a mite jealous of each other.”
Astonished when even his father smiled at that pearl of wisdom, Ewan turned his beloved grey, and proudly led his blood kin along the trail to Creag Castle.
*
Shona and Jeannie wandered from table to table in the hall, exchanging pleasantries and trying to act as if nothing was amiss. Moira did her part, mingling with other servants, enjoying their congratulations and wishes for the future.
A few disgruntled clansmen still muttered, but the whisky had quieted many. Shona’s jaw ached with the effort of maintaining a permanent smile. She hoped she would still be smiling when the Mackinlochs entered Creag. For there was little doubt they would come, either as friend or foe, and if they wished to claim her home, there was nothing for it but to surrender.
She briefly wondered if perhaps that had been the plan all along. Had the betrothal been merely a ploy to regain Creag? She was ashamed the suspicion had even entered her thoughts. Ewan had given her no cause to fear such a plot.
She grieved that his tenure as The Camron might be fleeting. The MacCarrons had much to gain from having him as their chief.
She was considering sipping a wee dram herself when Robbie’s voice resounded. “They’re coming.”
All eyes turned to the red-faced boy who’d clambered onto a table.
“I went up to the tower so I could see,” he panted.
“And what did ye see?” Kendric shouted.
Shona feared the bairn might topple off the table in his excitement. “Uncle Ewan, er, I mean The Camron, is leading the way.”
She breathed again. That was a good sign.
A murmur of relief fluttered through the hall.
“And he’s got a lad sitting on his lap.”
Curious frowns gave way to soft chuckles as it dawned on everyone that invading clans didn’t bring children on campaigns.
Gripping the table to fend off a sudden bout of dizziness, Shona declared, “We are about to host important visitors—my kin-by-marriage. Let’s show them our fine MacCarron hospitality and make The Camron proud.”
Amid the hubbub that ensued, she espied the harried cook chivvying scullery maids at the entrance to the kitchens. “I hope there’s venison left,” she shouted.
“Aye, Lady Shona,” he replied with a broad grin. “Whisky too.”
A loud cheer greeted the news.