25
WITH NEIL holding Tarbert Castle for Bruce and Donald serving as commander of the king’s galleys, their father looked increasingly to his youngest son as his de facto tanaiste. As soon as Eoin arrived at Gylen he was beset by a multitude of problems that needed his attention, including the biggest one, John of Lorn, now Chief of MacDougall and would-be Lord of Argyll, who sure as the devil who spawned him was stirring up trouble again.
Eoin was sure he wasn’t the only one wishing Arthur Campbell hadn’t let Lorn go after the Battle of Brander four and a half years ago. Campbell—or Ranger as he was known among his fellow Guardsmen—had fallen in love with Lorn’s daughter and let him flee into exile for her. Eoin could understand the conflict perhaps better than anyone (having hoped to see his own wife’s father on the edge of his sword more than once), but Campbell’s show of mercy had been punished many times over the past few years. If Bruce caught him again, Lorn wouldn’t get a second chance.
“How can you be sure it was him?” Fin asked the fisherman who’d come to them with the latest report. “Did they identify themselves?”
Eoin tried not to grind his teeth when his foster brother spoke but failed. For the sake of his sister, Eoin had attempted to forgive Fin for what he’d done to Margaret—he’d seemed so damned remorseful and sincere in his apologies—but Margaret’s latest revelations had reignited his anger. Eoin wanted to kill him all over again, not just for touching her, but for speaking to her so crudely. He’d been having a hell of a time keeping his temper in check all morning while they gathered in the laird’s solar with the other members of his father’s meinie.
“I know it was ’im,” the old man said stubbornly, not letting Fin intimidate him—which given the henchman’s size was an impressive show of courage. Fin had added considerable bulk—most of it muscle—to his tall frame and had become the chief’s mostly deadly swordsman. “I recognized one of the men who took my catch.”
“I thought you said they were all wearing helms,” Fin said sharply, obviously trying to catch the man in a lie.
“They were, but he had a scar.” The fisherman drew a long line down his cheek and across his nose. “I could see it when he lifted his visor as they sailed away.”
Eoin gave Fin a sharp look and asked the man a few more questions before thanking him and sending him on his way.
Though a number of his father’s meinie, including Fin, thought they should wait for more “proof” than the recollections of an old fisherman, positing that the men were probably just Irish cateran, Eoin’s father insisted on sending word to Bruce. If Lorn’s men had been sighted this far north—so close to his former stronghold of Dunstaffnage—the king would want to know. When it was further decided that someone should go to Dunstaffnage Castle to see if the keeper had heard anything, his father looked relieved when Eoin volunteered.
His father was the only one at the table who knew that the keeper of the former MacDougall stronghold—Arthur Campbell—was one of Eoin’s brethren in the Highland Guard. Together Eoin and Campbell would be able to deal with any threat from the man who’d once been the most powerful in the “Kingdom” of the Isles.
The meeting broke up and the warriors left to attend to their duties. Having offered to pen the note to Bruce, Eoin didn’t notice that one had stayed behind until he spoke.
“I’ll go with you,” Fin said.
Eoin looked up, his expression a hard mask. “That won’t be necessary.”
“But what about your knee?”
“I’m taking a skiff, not running. Besides, it’s almost healed.”
“Does that mean you’ll be picking up a sword again soon?” Fin said with a grin. “I’ve been waiting for our rematch.”
Eoin gripped the quill until his fingertips turned white. Fin’s “everything is fine” attitude grated on his already stretched-to-the-breaking-point temper.
“You will have it,” Eoin promised darkly. Last time he’d held back, but this time he’d grind his friend into the dirt.
“What the hell is the matter with you? Does this have something to do with your wife? I’ve stayed away from her as you asked. I thought we were past this. I told you I was sorry. I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“How about what you were saying?” Eoin snapped. But seeing Fin’s confusion and realizing Margaret wouldn’t want him talking about this, he shook his head. “Just leave it.”
Fin stood there a minute staring at him. “I would, but I don’t think you can. I don’t understand it. After what she did, how can you forgive her? How can you bring her back here when she betrayed you?”
Eoin’s teeth were grinding again. He knew Fin was only voicing what many others were thinking. It had taken Eoin a few days to notice the subtle coldness toward his wife by some of his clansmen. Highlanders had long memories and would not soon forget that she was a MacDowell and that she’d left him. And like Fin, a number of his father’s meinie knew that she’d betrayed him at Loch Ryan.
“The same could be said of you, and yet here you are.”
She was his wife, damn it. And his best friend had tried to have his way with her.
Fin’s face reddened and something hard flashed in his eyes. “She got her vengeance though, didn’t she? You weren’t here, I nearly lost a bollock because of her.”
“You would have lost them both had I been here.”
Fin stared at him, his jaw clamped tightly as if he were fighting to hold back something. “I told you I was drunk.”
Was that an excuse? Maybe he hadn’t forgiven him as much as he said he had. Eoin drew a deep breath. Though he didn’t owe his foster brother an explanation, he gave him one. “It was more complicated than I realized. Margaret thought she was helping me.”
Fin didn’t hide his disbelief. “So you trust her again?”
Eoin didn’t answer; he didn’t have one. “She’s my wife, and the mother of my son.”
Fin stiffened, although Eoin hadn’t meant it as a dig. Marjory’s recent miscarriage after years of not being able to have a child had been heartbreaking for all of them, but Fin had taken it the hardest. He seemed to take offense if even the word “child” or “babe” was mentioned—as if there was some implied criticism of him.
“So forgive and forget, is that it? Well, have care that the lass doesn’t learn something to betray you again. What are you going to tell her about Campbell?”
Eoin’s eyes narrowed. He knew Fin was curious about his place in Bruce’s army and all the disappearances that he refused to explain, but how much had he guessed? Did he suspect what he and Campbell did or was it just a general question? “What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Just be careful. Her father has probably joined forces with Lorn.”
Apparently it was just a general warning this time. But at others, Eoin could swear that Fin suspected the truth.
Margaret wasn’t the only one hurt by Eoin’s keeping her in the dark. It had affected his friendship with Fin as well. Maybe just as much as Margaret had come between the foster brothers, Eoin’s secret life had as well.
And that was his fault.
Margaret’s words this morning came back to him: “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us . . . It cannot work otherwise.”
Their conversation had troubled him more than he wanted to admit. He knew she was right, but what the hell was he going to do about it? How was he going to continue to keep her in the dark about his place in Bruce’s army? Secrets had torn them apart all those years ago. Were they destined to repeat the same mistakes?
Damn Bruce. How could Eoin get his marriage in order if he couldn’t tell her anything? All the other wives knew what their husbands did. Did she not have a right to as well? Could he keep something that was so important to him from her?
As before, he was in an untenable position. The difference was that this time he knew it could not work. He could not leave for weeks and expect her not to ask questions. He couldn’t expect her trust, love, and loyalty and give her nothing in return.
But could he trust her after what had happened? Surprisingly, he wanted to. Looking back, he realized that much like him she’d been in an impossible situation. He’d given her enough information to be dangerous, but not enough to make the right decision. Did he wish that she hadn’t admitted his presence to her friend? Without a doubt. He’d been clear in his instructions, but he couldn’t blame her for doing what she did—her motivations had been pure.
If anyone was to blame, it was him. He’d put her in that impossible position by not telling her what he was doing there. But his damned cousin had given him little choice.
“Let me worry about my wife,” Eoin said, guilt taking some of the edge from his words. Fin had put one wall between their friendship, but Eoin had put the other. “Besides, she doesn’t exactly have a way of contacting her father—if she even knew where he was.”
Before Fin could reply, Eoin glanced to the doorway and saw Eachann watching them. How long had he been standing there?
“I’m sorry,” the boy said. “The chief”—he’d thus far refused to call him Grandfather—“said the meeting was over. I can come back if you want to play another time.”
Damn it, the game! Eoin had almost forgotten. “Nay,” he said quickly—and probably too eagerly, “We are finished here.”
The missive to Bruce could wait.
Fin nodded to Eoin and then greeted Eachann with a smile and cheerful hello. But Eoin didn’t miss the flash of pain—and something else?—that crossed his face when he first saw the boy standing there.
There was an awkward moment of silence after Fin left, where Eoin tried to figure out what to say. He didn’t want to say anything wrong or come on too strong. The lad was as skittish as a foal where he was concerned.
He wasn’t the only one. Bloody hell, how could a five-year-old have him so tongue-tied?
The boy shuffled his feet, and Eoin realized he was staring. He stood and went to the sideboard to fetch the set. “Your mother said you were a good player.” He tucked the board under his arm and gathered the pieces in his hands. “She said you can already beat her.”
When Eachann didn’t say anything right away, Eoin turned to find him apparently mulling his words. “Aye, but . . .” He let his words fall off. “She can add more sums than me in her head. I can only remember five or six. She can do up to ten.”
Eoin grinned. His son had the makings of a fine statesman. He put down the board and started setting down the pieces. “I don’t think your mother really ever took to the game.”
Eachann met his gaze conspiratorially, and the tentative smile he gave him a moment later made Eoin’s chest squeeze as if it were in a vise.
“She’s too impatient,” Eachann said. “And—”
“Always wants to go on the attack,” Eoin finished for him.
Eachann’s tentative smile turned into a full-blown grin, and Eoin felt like he’d just swallowed a ray of sunshine.
“Mother made you a set, too?” Eachann said, picking up one of the beautifully carved and painted pieces.
“Nay, I found it in . . .” Oban, he finished to himself, as the truth hit him. He’d seen the set in a shop in Oban about six months after Margaret left. It was the only one of its kind, the owner had said. A priest had brought it in to barter for some goods.
That’s how she’d left, he realized. He’d always wondered how she’d found the money to leave so quickly.
Eoin picked up one of the pieces, seeing every loving stroke that she’d put into it, feeling his throat tighten.
“Aye,” he said gruffly after a long pause, noticing that Eachann was watching him with a puzzled look on his face. “She made it for me.”
He’d just never been here for her to give it to him.
“Is something wrong?” Eachann asked.
Eoin took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to clear the emotion from his lungs and throat. But the regret burned. He wondered if it would ever stop. “Nay, now are you ready to show me what you’ve got? I won’t go easy on you.”
A countenance that was every bit as grave as his own looked back at him. “I won’t go easy on you either.”
Eoin grinned. “Good to know. I guess I’ve been warned.”
After a dozen moves, Eoin realized it was a good thing, and he’d better focus if he didn’t want to be trounced by a five-year-old.
“The linens are changed on Fridays and washed on Saturdays,” the maidservant said unhelpfully. “They’ll be checked for tears and mended then.”
Margaret tried to rein in her temper, but why must every request—no matter how small—be met with resistance?
She smiled. “I just thought that since I noticed a small tear in the bedsheet, I might borrow some of the thread that matches and tend to it now.”
“Today is Wednesday,” the woman said obstinately.
Margaret gritted her teeth, her smile faltering. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Is there a problem?”
Both women jumped a little at the sound of Eoin’s voice behind them. He’d seemingly materialized in the corridor out of nowhere.
She frowned at him for sneaking up on her, but then noticed his expression. Putting a hand on his arm, she silently begged him not to interfere. “No,” she said brightly, glancing at the flushing servant. “No problem. Morag and I were just discussing the linen schedule.”
Clearly Eoin wanted to say something more, but with a furious tightening of his mouth he deferred to her wishes. He nodded, which Morag took as a dismissal, scurrying down the stairs as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“I think you frightened her,” Margaret said wryly.
“Good,” he said with a dark glare down the stairwell, where Morag had disappeared. His gaze turned back to hers. “They really were horrible to you, weren’t they?”
It wasn’t as much a question as an acknowledgment.
A half smile turned her mouth. “I grew a thick skin. It was easier once I realized they didn’t hate me—they hated that I was a MacDowell.”
“You were my wife,” he said bitterly.
It hadn’t been enough—then. “It’s better now. Your mother is making an effort for Eachann.”
“And for you.” He paused. “I wasn’t exactly happy when I learned you had left. When she suggested that maybe it was for the best, I let her know in no uncertain terms just how wrong she was.” He shook his head. “Christ, I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t want to believe it. Hell, maybe I couldn’t believe it.”
Her brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I had so many things pulling me the other way, how could I have left you? I needed you to be somewhere where I thought you were safe.”
So he could concentrate on what he needed to do. Strangely she understood. “It’s different now,” she said. “Eachann will help. We both just need to give it time.”
He seemed to understand that she was asking him not to interfere. He nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“Speaking of our son,” he said. “You were right about his skill with a chessboard. It’s remarkable for one so young.”
“Did he beat you, too?” She couldn’t hide her delight at the prospect.
He lifted a brow. “Of course not. But I did have to pay attention.”
“Which is more than you can say for me, is that it?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that would have made her breath catch, if she wasn’t so outraged.
“I didn’t say that.”
She scowled. “But you were thinking it.”
He just shrugged and his grin broadened. “He liked my chess set. Actually, he said it looked like his.” He pulled something out of his sporran and handed it to her. “Does it look familiar?”
She froze, staring in astonishment at the painted figure he’d given her. It was a piece from the set she’d worked so hard on for him all those years ago. “Where did you get it?”
“In town. A priest had given it to a shopkeeper to sell. I thought it was magnificent. I can’t believe you did this, Maggie. The craftsmanship is extraordinary.” He took the piece—the king—and held it up, twisting it in his hand. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “I should have known there was a reason the queen has red hair.”
She laughed. “I wanted to make sure you knew who was in charge.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Is that right?”
She nodded, and he covered her mouth in a long kiss before releasing her.
“Hmm. We’ll have to see about that. You can show me tonight. But first there is someone who I think will be eager to see you.”
Margaret couldn’t think of anyone on Kerrera who would be eager to see her. Even when he led her to the stables and told her to wait, she didn’t guess. So when he led out the big black stallion, her knees wobbled and the blood slid to her feet in absolute shock. “Dubh?”
At the sound of her voice the horse’s ears perked up. She rushed forward and threw her arms around the startled animal. She murmured soothing words against his silky coat to calm him—and herself. When she finally lifted her face to meet her husband’s amused gaze her eyes were damp. “You kept him?”
“Actually, Fin did.” That didn’t surprise her. Fin had made no secret that he wanted the animal. “He gave him back when I returned.”
“You mean when the MacDougalls were defeated, and he changed allegiance to Bruce?”
He nodded, and Margaret let the matter rest. She didn’t want to talk about Fin or his opportunism. She was too happy to have her horse back.
“Should we stretch his legs?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Your knee is strong enough?”
“You’re as bad as Helen.”
She arched a brow. “Is that an answer?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. I promise to take it easy.”
She held him to that.
It was a perfect afternoon. They rode to the north end of the island and sat on an outcrop of rock for a while watching the fishing boats pass on their way out to sea. For the first time, she saw the prettiness of the isle. Whenever they passed someone on the road, Eoin made a point of stopping and introducing her as his wife. With the tender look in his eye and the tucking of her hand into his elbow, he was making sure there was no doubt about her importance to him.
They were laughing as they climbed the stairs to their tower chamber to change for the evening meal—Margaret was teasing him about the suddenly sore knee that was to blame for his losing the race back to the castle.
It was Margaret who pushed open the door, and thus it was she who let out a cry with what she saw on the bed.