Struggling with Demons
Darroch didn’t have to tell Isabel of his disappointment that there was no one to welcome them. She sensed his anger. Stewart MacKeegan’s stance left little doubt he wasn’t going to make things easy though his steely gaze lingered momentarily on Blue.
In the long run she’d have to dig up the root cause of his animosity. In the short term, she refused to be intimidated. She was the daughter of a chief, wife of a future chief and the man’s daughter-by-marriage. What’s more, she was carrying a bairn who might be the next chief after Darroch.
Her husband squeezed her hand and nodded to his sire. “Father, may I intro…”
“Ye’ve come home at last, have ye?” his father snarled.
Blue growled.
She twirled her finger in Darroch’s palm and whispered, “Stay calm.”
He cleared his throat. “Please do my wife the courtesy of allowing me to introduce her,” he said in an authoritative voice that eased her nervousness. He, too, recognized who held the advantage.
The chief raised an eyebrow. “Grown a backbone have ye? About time. I bid ye welcome, Isabel MacKeegan. Are ye carrying my grandchild yet?”
Blue bared his teeth.
While it was good he’d recalled her name, Isabel was nevertheless taken aback by his question. However, it provided an opportunity to perhaps give him pause. “I am, my chief, and I thank ye for yer welcome. I look forward to learning about yer castle and yer clan.”
Some of the rigidity went out of his stance. He unfolded his arms. “Aye. Weel. I ken all about the treachery that brought about the confusion over the wedding. Yer father sent me a missive. I trust his arm is healing?”
She and Darroch exchanged a brief glance. He seemed as surprised as she that her father had written to Stewart. She decided to test the waters. “His body is mending, but the wounds Ghalla’s treachery caused will take a long while to heal.”
He rose to the bait. “’Twixt father and son, ye mean?”
She merely inclined her head in reply.
Stewart clenched his jaw and she fancied she could almost hear his teeth grinding. “Ye’ve done weel, Darroch, to find such a sensible wife. But if ye think yon mute bastard…”
“I’m nay mute, Grandpapa,” Kyla protested.
Darroch’s father suddenly looked like he’d been struck by lightning. The color drained from his face as he gaped at Kyla who executed an almost perfect curtsey.
Darroch sucked in a breath.
The chief frowned. “Aye. Weel. Good,” he stammered. “But I’ll nay have…”
“If she goes, I go,” Isabel stated flatly.
She wasn’t certain how long the silence lasted. It seemed like an hour before he replied. “Aye. Weel. If that’s how ye feel…”
“It is. Kyla is part of our family, and a loyal member of this clan.”
“Aye,” Kyla confirmed.
The corners of Stewart’s mouth twitched as he fought against a smile.
Satisfaction surged as Darroch pressed his thumb into her palm. They’d won the first round.
*
Pride swelled in Darroch’s heart—for his spunky daughter and his incredibly canny wife. For the first time in his life, he held the power in Dun Scaith. “We’ve had a long journey, Father. With yer permission I’ll take my family to my chamber for a wee nap, then we’ll return to the hall for the evening meal.”
Their gazes locked. They stared at each other for long minutes as his father swayed and dithered—then looked away.
Confident they’d carried the day, Darroch strode to his sire, hand outstretched. “’Tis good to be home. Will ye nay give Isabel a kiss o’ welcome as her new chief?”
To his surprise, his father accepted his hand and shook it vigorously. “A wee nap, my eye,” he chortled with a wink, elbowing Darroch in the ribs. “Ye think I dinna ken why ye want to get yer wifey to bed?
“She’s welcome as my daughter-by-marriage. Took ye long enough to show some sense in yer choice o’ women.”
Darroch deemed it prudent not to mention that Isabel hadn’t been his choice originally.
Keeping a wary eye on Blue, his father hopped off the dais with a spritely step and strode to Isabel, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on one cheek then the other. “Yer da said ye were special,” he declared loudly. “And he spoke true about yon dog. I didna believe a hound could be blue.”
He chuckled, his face reddening when she hugged him in return.
Apparently emboldened by this rare display of bonhomie, Kyla asked sweetly, “Do ye have a kiss for me, Grandpapa?”
*
Isabel kept the smile on her face while Stewart MacKeegan struggled with his demons. His eye twitched as he stared at Kyla.
If he refused to acknowledge his granddaughter, Isabel would have to make good on her threat to leave Dun Scaith—an impossibility given her marriage vows and the prospect of a life without Darroch, something she couldn’t bear to contemplate.
If he decided to reject the bairn’s overture of peace, she might fall on him like some demented creature and tear him limb from limb.
Kyla perhaps sensed his indecision. She extended her hand like a noblewoman who knows her worth and said, “I alone ken the whereabouts o’ Clan MacRain’s famous Faerie Flag.”
The MacKeegan frowned, arching a brow. “And ye’d be willin’ to share the secret?”
It was hard to tell if the shocked expression on her face was real or feigned. “Oh no, Grandpapa. I swore to keep the secret, and a MacKeegan ne’er breaks her word.”
Her grandfather chuckled as he took her hand and bent to brush a kiss across her knuckles.
Blue stood, wagged his tail, went up on his hind legs and planted his front paws on the MacKeegan chief’s shoulders as he straightened.
“Dinna be afraid,” Kyla reassured him as he staggered to retain his balance. “Boo just wants to love ye.”