Chapter Seven
“I dinna ask for this,” Alex complained, pacing the length of his father’s solar. The council had gathered in private to discuss the clan’s future with him. “Why do ye think I’d want to be laird?”
“What in God’s name ails ye? Tis the natural order of things. Ye are Laird John’s brother—yer sire’s last son.”
Alex eyed the older man sitting at the head of the table, Mathe MacIver, a lifelong friend and distant kinsman from his mother’s side of the family. “And what great things did my brother accomplish that ye would find it necessary to choose me as the next laird?”
Mathe rubbed his bearded chin, looking to his left and right to get answers from the other men.
“He kept the peace,” one offered.
“Peace?” Alex was tempted to laugh. “Shall I recite the missive my brother sent? Relay the desperation he expressed?”
Mathe slammed his hand down on the aged wood, obviously offended by Alex’s questions. “Did ye ever consider yer brother would do anything to get ye back here because he had the foresight to understand he might not survive a battle against the Sutherlands? That pleading and begging wasn’t beyond him if it meant protecting the clan?”
“I guess we shall never know, my friend. John is dead, And I have a ship waiting.”
“Curse those heathens,” Mathe said. “Blast that damned vessel—may it crash and sink on the first wind—ye with it, if ye dare abandon us again.”
Alex’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. “If ye weren’t a trusted kinsman…”
“What?” Mathe shot up from his chair. “Tell me.”
“I’d drive my blade through yer gullet.”
“Ye speak against yerself, Laird Alex.”
“How?” He locked gazes with his formidable cousin.
“My words should mean nothing if ye doona have interest in this clan’s future success.”
“If I dinna care, old man, I wouldna be here.”
“Good.” Mathe reclaimed his seat. “Have the heathen ways so polluted yer Christian heart?”
Alex relaxed his stance, removing his hand from his sword. “Depends on the man asking.”
Mathe arched his brows. Everyone in the room knew him to be a devout follower of God. Nothing could tempt him away from his steadfast faith, like nothing could force Alex back into it.
“What happened in the desert, Alex? Why do ye shun yer responsibilities so easily?” Jamie asked.
Nothing bad had happened. He’d welcomed the change, perhaps too eagerly, shedding his tartan like a viper shed its skin. “Stop the asking.”
“Is it the lass?” Mathe pressed.
“Return her to Laird Oliphant. He’ll see her punished and wed to the type of man who will lock her up so ye never have to set eyes upon her again,” another council member offered.
The idea of another man touching Keely, bedding her, and filling her belly with his unborn babe made Alex angry. Though he despised the lass for what she’d done, he couldna abide the thought of her being married off to a stranger. But that’s what would happen if he sent her home. No father would keep a daughter that brought shame to her family and clan. Keely had done so by seeking refuge with the Sutherlands.
His only recourse was to find a MacKay to marry her. “The lass isna going home.”
“What?” Mathe asked.
“Ye heard me.”
Jamie pretended to clear his ears of something. “But I dinna.”
Alex met his cousin’s hard stare. “Aye, ye did.”
“The MacKays need an heir,” Mathe said. “And though the lass is treacherous by nature, she is young and beautiful–perhaps worth keeping.”
Alex’s jaw clenched instantly. Just because he refused to let her go dinna mean he wanted her for himself. “I doona need ye to play matchmaker for me.” He shook his head at Mathe. “In order to right the dishonor she brought on this clan, Keely must be married to a MacKay. A man up to the challenge of bedding the wench.” Alex turned his attention on young Jamie. “One with plenty of experience where women are concerned. One who can guarantee Keely won’t want to escape their bedchamber.”
The council members chuckled, except for Jamie.
“My brother, God keep him, was not the sort to cavort with women out of wedlock. His inexperience dinna help where Keely was concerned. She’s a spirited lass.” Spirited. Passionate. Beautiful. And a damned liar.
“God bless, Laird John.” Mathe crossed himself, his sadness palpable.
“Aye.” Jamie crossed himself, too.
“Before I had a chance to suggest what man I thought should be the next laird, ye elected me.”
“Yer dissention doesna matter, Laird Alex. Ye canna undo what has already been decided. And we’ve all taken the knee—pledging our allegiance to ye.”
Alex’s gaze slowly crept over the four men at the table. Each nodded in agreeance. Curse his misfortune. But, there was another solution, one that crossed his mind out of desperation. His family’s branch of the MacKays was one of several independent clans. If the council voted to dissolve their branch and joined forces with the main clan, the Sutherlands wouldn’t be so quick to attack again.
Or, as laird, he alone could make that choice. But something so underhanded would count as the ultimate betrayal. As much as he dinna want to be laird, he would never deceive his kinsmen. “There is another choice.”
Mathe studied him suspiciously, and Jamie just gaped at him.
“What are ye suggesting?” Mathe queried.
“Join forces with a larger branch of the MacKays.”
The room grew silent, and Alex knew the answer—they wouldn’t do it.
“Yer sire would be ashamed of ye!” Mathe chastised him. “Give up our lands, our independence? For what? To become the chattel of a stranger?”
His brother had said something similar when they’d met on the beach. “I could negotiate the terms, assure that ye and the other captains retain yer positions and wealth.”
“Cuimhnich air na daoine às an tàinig u.” Mathe shook his head in disgust.
Alex remembered well enough who he came from and dinna need the captain to tell him so. “I am my sire’s son, make no mistake, Mathe. But I am a man without roots—and in good conscience, canna claim what rightfully belongs to another.”
Mathe cast his gaze downward, his expression one of deep disappointment.
Diplomacy wasn’t a gift Alex possessed. He always spoke bluntly, preferring truth over softening the blow of what he had to say. “If ye willna join forces with another clan, then elect Jamie as the new laird.”
“Jamie, Graham, and Dag, will ye give me time alone with Alexander?” Mathe asked.
The council members dinna need any encouragement to take their leave. One by one, they exited the solar, avoiding Alex. Once the door closed, Mathe turned to Alex.
“I dinna know what happened to ye during yer travels. Maybe ye’ve shed too much blood, killed too many men and fooked too many women to know the difference between right or wrong. But I will tell ye now, whether ye wish to hear it or not, if ye abandon us again, it will destroy any hope yer people have for a secure future.”
Alex walked to the closest wall and rested his forehead against the rough, gray stones. “My father loved ye.”
“Aye,” Mathe said. “And he loved ye—more than ye know.”
Alex grunted in doubt. “My sire dinna know me.”
“Ye’re wrong, Alex. The day he realized ye weren’t coming back, it broke his heart. And John’s, too.”
His last claim made Alex whip around. “Doona lie to me.”
“Lie?” Mathe stood up and walked around the table. “Gaze upon these ancient stones, lad. Imagine how many generations of MacKays have stood in this same chamber revealing secrets unknown to the clan. If these stones could talk, what do ye think they’d say?”
Alex ran his fingers over the wall, in awe of the men who had cut the rocks so perfectly, then fit them together to form the great keep that had provided shelter for his family for seven generations. “I doona ken.”
“Clean the sand from yer ears, boy, and listen to me. See with yer heart, not yer eyes alone. Ye fear the unknown, nothing more. If ye truly wanted to go, ye would have never raised the sword in defense of our clan against the Sutherlands. And that woman—Keely Oliphant—she wouldna be here, either. Ye’re afraid of what the future holds—yet willing to hold on to the past.”
Alex was silent for a moment. “Ye’re a fool.”
“Nay. I’m a MacKay.” Mathe thumped his chest. “And so are ye.”
“Not by choice.”
Mathe stood directly in front of him now, his eyes narrowed.
Alex’s heart hammered as Mathe gripped his shoulders. “I doona know what gods ye worshipped in the heathen lands—what men ye served, but ye’re here now. Called home by the Almighty. Dinna ye see that, lad?”
See what? The remnants of his father’s life that was unfairly cut short? Or his brother, Laird John, also known as Gentle John? What legacy would Alex leave behind if he were laird of the MacKays? None. Because Alex wasna meant to be laird. He was a ruthless mercenary interested in one thing—gold. “I told ye before, old man, I’m a sellsword, not a bloody laird.”
Mathe raised his hand and slapped Alex’s cheek. Shock and rage swirled within Alex’s gut. The lingering sting from Mathe’s calloused hand deepened his anger. Their gazes locked, and Alex beat back the urge to retaliate. No man, not even his sire, had ever assaulted him so shamelessly.
“I am prepared to die.” Mathe dropped to his knees and bowed his head, pulling the length of his gray-streaked hair to one side, revealing the back of his neck.
“Why did ye strike me?” Alex growled.
“I acted on behalf of yer da. For never has a son of the Highlands acted so wretchedly. Ye are a selfish, lad, Alexander Joseph MacKay. I’d rather die than live to see the day this clan is destroyed from the inside-out.”
Alex huffed out a frustrated breath. Curse his birthright. Damn the Highlands. And to Hades with the beautiful past that sat abovestairs awaiting word on her future life. “Keep yer head, old man.”
Alex pivoted, taking in the details of his father’s solar—the hearth and mantle, shelves packed tight with manuscripts, the wood benches, padded chairs from Italy, the weapons hanging on the wall, and his ma’s tapestries. Nothing had changed, only him. He strode to the door, forced it open, and headed out of the keep. The only cure for his rage? A heedless mount unafraid of galloping blindly across the rock-ridden terrain Alex once considered home.