Decisions
A flurry of missives went back and forth between the chiefs of the MacKeegan and MacRain clans in the three sennights following their arrival at Dun Scaith.
Darroch was amazed, nay gobsmacked, by the noticeable changes in his father’s demeanor—the mean-spirited auld man showed signs of turning into a polite elderly gentleman. He scowled less and allowed a trace of a smile when he thought no one was watching. He even seemed less round-shouldered.
However, the disagreement brewing over which clan should hold a banquet to celebrate the end of the feud threatened to resurrect his cantankerous nature. Darroch feared his father might do something to upset the fragile peace.
“The MacRains just want to appear to be the wealthier clan,” Stewart complained to anyone who would listen, seemingly not caring his words might offend Isabel.
Darroch sensed that pointing out Isabel’s clan probably was richer than his own would only infuriate his father more. He tried a different tack. “Remember, Rory MacRain is still recovering from his amputation. ’Twould be a difficult journey for him to come here.”
Kyla joined the fray. “Ian misses me, and Boo is homesick.”
Isabel linked arms with her father-by-marriage. “I would love to welcome ye to Dungavin,” she cooed, “and ’tis the responsibility of the bride’s family to cater the wedding feast.”
This argument resonated, and Stewart apparently missed the thinly veiled reference to the fact he’d failed to provide a wedding banquet of any sort. Darroch had resented his father for the oversight, until Isabel reminded him that auld men seldom think of such things unless a woman nudges them.
“Aye, ye’re right, I suppose we must go to Dungavin,” Stewart finally declared. “Hafta admit I’ve always been curious to see it. Get a contingent of our best men ready to march in a sennight, Son. I’ll respond to Rory’s invitation.”
Feeling vindicated, Darroch watched his father stride away. “I canna remember him acknowledging me as his son before,” he told Isabel. “He has ne’er entrusted me with such a responsibility.”
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “He has more confidence in the future now the succession is secure.”
“I was an irresponsible tearaway when I was younger,” he admitted, patting her belly.
She hugged his bicep. “I almost wish I’d met that wild young mon,” she teased. “But now ye have me to keep ye in line.”
He inhaled deeply as the soft warmth of her breasts flowed through his body, and silently thanked the Lord for his good fortune.
*
Isabel was reluctant to reveal the extent of her relief that Stewart had agreed to travel to Dungavin, fearing her husband might worry. The first few sennights at Dun Scaith had been difficult, despite Darroch’s efforts to make her feel at home.
Dealing with her father-by-marriage was akin to walking on broken glass; so far he’d been gracious and welcoming in an aloof way, but she was constantly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. Darroch had warned her of his unpredictability.
Kyla was treading the same tortuous path and Isabel did all she could to smooth the way for the grandfather to get to know and accept his grandchild. At the same time, she tried to instill discipline into the bairn who was used to always getting her own way and there’d been a few tantrums.
She was nervous about her pregnancy. Everyone talked about morning sickness being the norm but, so far, she hadn’t retched once. Mayhap, something was wrong.
It was exhausting.
For the most part, she’d been welcomed by the castle folk, though some still snubbed her. She hoped time and the final peace agreement would eventually solve that problem. Coira was also finding life in a new castle challenging and Isabel felt guilty for uprooting her.
She missed her chamber at Dungavin. The displays of numerous weapons and hunting trophies made Darroch’s chamber feel very masculine in comparison; he told her he’d never felt a fondness for his apartments—until now. He’d surprised her the night of their arrival with an enormous new bed, ordered secretly while they were still in Dungavin.
His tender and patient lovemaking went a long way to easing her homesickness, but she became preoccupied with the notion of putting her own touches on the chamber. Indeed, there were many things about Dun Scaith she looked forward to changing to make the stark place warmer, more welcoming. Tapestries, rugs, banners…
“Are ye glad to be going home?” Darroch asked as she lay sated in his arms the night before their departure.
She heard a trace of nervousness in his deep voice. “Aye,” she admitted, “but home is where the heart is, and ye are my heart.”
*
Clad in full regalia and accompanied by all the clan elders, Stewart MacKeegan led the cavalcade across the moors and over the Cuillin Hills to northern Skye. From time to time Darroch caught sight of the eagle feathers in his father’s bonnet, but he had positioned his family in the midst of the fifty clan warriors, protected by the vanguard and rearguard.
“Ye should be at the front with yer father,” Isabel admonished, but the lack of enthusiasm in her voice told him she was glad of his company at her side.
“I prefer to ride with ye,” he replied truthfully.
She was trying hard to conceal her excitement at returning to Dungavin, as was Kyla.
His daughter wasn’t happy about riding in a wagon with Coira and other servants, but she’d obeyed when Isabel insisted. He admired his wife for the way she often thwarted Kyla’s stubbornness. He’d been a parent much longer than she, but realized he had given in far too easily over the years. Isabel had not only brought light to his life, but his daughter’s future looked brighter as well. He’d been humbled by the hopes and dreams Isabel had shared with him regarding their wee lass.
Blue loped along at Storm’s heels, stopping to sniff the air now and again, as if trying to determine how many miles lay between him and home.
“He senses we’re getting closer,” Isabel jested once the Cuillins were behind them.
He worried she might not wish to return to Dun Scaith after the festivities. She’d have no choice, of course, but he longed for her to consider his castle her home, not just a place she was bound to by duty.