The Promise (Highland Lairds of the Crest #4)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

When Aidan and his men crossed onto MacGreggor land, dusk was fast approaching, and was long gone by the time they’d reached the outer gates of Seagrave Castle. A celebratory flair rent the night air as they entered the bailey where large bonfires illuminated the courtyard, crackling and hissing as embers danced in the air before turning to naught. It was a sight not altogether unusual as Grey and Gwen set the firepits ablaze whenever they received guests, and as their numbers increased throughout the years—his brethren and those in their closest circles—with each successive marriage and bairns that followed, so too did their zeal for merrymaking and revelry. It was fast becoming a familiar sight and one that oft caused Aidan to ponder his future and that of his destiny and subsequent lineage.

Loath to interrupt the children, who despite the late hour were caught up in a game as they ran to and fro, Aidan stayed his horse, content to observe from the perimeter. He breathed in the welcome scent of firewood, taking note of the changes since his last visit. He sent a nod to Grey on the keep’s steps, who returned the acknowledgment, his wife Gwen tucked protectively in front of him. After the loss of a babe born without life and the difficult year that followed, it was good to see that Gwen was clearly expecting again. Gavin (Grey’s best friend and former first in command) and his wife, Isabelle (Grey’s sister) had returned to Seagrave months ago. At first, to offer their support to Gwen and Grey and later, with their impending move to Abersoch not so far away, they’d decided to stay. Aidan knew that Lady Madelyn, Grey and Isabelle’s mother, was thankful to have them all under one roof again, and although still in very good health, Aidan also knew from experience, that traveling back and forth was never what he would call easy on a body.

Turning his attention back to the young ones who were making another pass from one end of the courtyard to the other, Aidan smiled when Tristan, Gwen and Grey’s eldest boy, gasped and stopped in his tracks as he noticed Aidan atop his steed in the shadows. Aidan had a soft spot for the boy, who often sought his favor and followed him about the castle. So when Tristan jumped atop a boulder and pointedly caught his eye, Aidan knew what was coming. The boy lifted the hood of his cloak, concealing his face in shadow—a fine emulation, indeed, as Aidan was wont to observe— and spread his arms dramatically, declaring, “Keeper of the realm, the mighty bear has arrived.” Aidan chuckled, as did the other adults. As the children went back to their games, Aidan and his men saw to their horses before leaving them in the capable hands of James, Seagrave’s stablemaster.

When Aidan finally made it through the courtyard toward the keep, the children were gone and off to bed. Inside, he spotted Grey on his way upstairs and Gwen on her way down.

“Speak in the morning?” Grey asked as he turned, toddler in his arms.

“Aye,” Aidan nodded, nothing was so pressing that it couldn’t wait until the morrow.

“You’re in Callum’s room,” Gwen said. “But head to the kitchens first, Cook knew you were coming and made you supper. I’ll have Anna see to a hot bath in the meantime.”

He stopped her as she made to pass and fixed her with a concerned look. “You’re well?” He asked.

She nodded, a crooked smile tugging at her lips as her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

His heart nearly twisted clear around, “Och, Gwen,” was all he could manage.

“Don’t make me cry,” she said swatting his chest, before waving him off. “Eat. I need to find Anna.” She paused a few steps down the hallway, “And tell your men,” she said, all trace of tears gone as she pointed to Alan, Henry, and Richard, as always close behind him, “I win.”

He grinned at her recitation of the MacGreggor creed. “As always, my lady,” he conceded, with a nod.

Gwen smiled, satisfied, then continued down the hall. Watching her go, Aidan made eye contact with Grey, who’d been observing from the landing atop the stairs, grinning too at his wife’s rejoinder. While the castle might now be quiet, it was common knowledge that Gwendolyn MacGreggor was carefully guarded. And while Grey’s men might not stand the mere pace behind her as they once had, she had eyes on her at all times. Plenty more than his three.

With a salute to Grey, Aidan and his men made their way to the kitchens, toward the large corner spot where they often took informal meals. Cook beamed when she saw him—she had a soft spot for them all, but with Dar gone and Callum prospering once again at Dunhill, he knew she enjoyed his visits all the more. He wasted no time in going to her, fishing out the pouch he’d brought stuffed with herbs plucked with care from Pembrooke’s small but bountiful gardens. She eyed the contents with delight then shooed him to the table. She needn’t ask twice.

He joined his men, not surprised to find one of his favorite meals waiting beneath the covered platters, a dish Gwen had dubbed pot roast cooked with root vegetables and served with bread still warm from the oven. A divine repast indeed. He sent thanks Cook’s way and heartily dug in. When they finished, they cleared the table to the good-natured grumbles of servants still busy in preparation for whatever meals would be served on the morrow. Then Aidan left his men by the doors before turning to go upstairs.

The room, once occupied by Callum after his first wife Fiona passed, had later become Aidan’s when in residence. He thought back to the various stages he and his brethren had gone through over the years, all seeming at one time or another to come full circle. Having been fostered together as young boys—he, Greylen, Callum, Darach, and Ronan—their bond was as unbreakable now as it had ever been.

It mattered naught if they saw each other but once a year, which had been the case for nigh on a decade. It was a solemn observance that called them together every year, a commemoration to Allister and Fergus, Grey and Callum’s fathers, who’d each been instrumental in their development. While Lachlan had played an essential role in their training, and in all their lives, it wasn’t until later that they’d learned he was the true force behind their brotherhood. It was no wonder they all revered the man so.

Shaking off the twinge of melancholy he sometimes felt when thinking of Lachlan and Dar, Aidan unpacked his satchel, looking forward to a hot soak. Steam was still rising from the large tub which had been placed before the fire, a sure sign Anna had her hands in its timing. Aidan thought again how good it felt to be back at Seagrave, the castle bursting with life and love and joy—and sorrow, too, which had its own beauty. What these walls had seen over the years. What grand stories and displays of honor and valor. After his bath, memories of the past stayed with him as he sank beneath the linens and closed his eyes.

Aidan slept soundly, always a boon when at Seagrave, which had not only the comforts but the true sense of home. He’d just finished shaving and was running the back of his hand across his jawline when a soft rap sounded upon his door.

“Enter,” he bid with a grin, knowing it was Tristan.

Not a moment later, the boy dashed over, eyes gleaming, hand out. “May I hold your medallion?” he asked.

Aidan smiled and shook his head. “If but I had it.”

Tristan’s eyes grew wide. “What happened to it? Did you forget it? Did you lose it? Did…did someone steal it?”

The boy was so expressive, Aidan chuckled. “Nothing so wicked,” he assured him, “Save a blow to my pride.”

“Nay!” the lad gasped.

Aidan ruffled his hair. “Aye, it happens to the best of us.”

At this, Tristan seemed skeptical, which wasn’t at all surprising considering his parents.

“Truth be told,” Aidan continued, “I was felled by a wee kitten.”

“You were not!”

“I see you’ve inherited your mother’s spunk, along with her jargon,” Aidan said with a laugh.

“Don’t remind me,” Grey said as he walked in, his bluster belied by literally everything when it came to his wife. “Breakfast?” he asked reaching for Tristan’s hand.

“Papa, Aidan lost his medallion.”

Grey said naught to the boy but did raise a curious brow in Aidan’s direction as he held the door open.

Aidan shrugged it off, grabbing his cloak before following behind. In a stark, but pleasant contrast to the calm of Pembrooke, the hallway was nearly bursting, filled with squeals and chatter as everyone made their way downstairs to the great hall. A round of musical chairs later, mostly precipitated by a cherub face with serious intent, platters hit the table and another round of chaos ensued as plates and bowls were filled. Aidan enjoyed the ruckus, helping when he could by snagging a fast-passing dish as little arms reached out in vain.

A few moments later, the children finally settled to eat, and a bit of calm reigned for all of a breath until Tristan made the proclamation yet again, that of Aidan’s medallion and its missing nature. Hoping the mention would pass without fanfare amidst the crowded table, Aidan took a deep sip of Cook’s morning brew, relishing the pleasantly strong flavor as he put on a deliberate air of nonchalance. He was intent on remaining silent on the matter and was almost sure it had gone unnoticed until a head snapped in his direction and a set of eyes zeroed in on his.

“Wait,” said the culprit. It was Gwen, of course, who of all present would pick at it. He glared at her from across the table, which made her burst out in laughter. “You’ll have to do better than that, I’m married to him ,” she said with a head motion to her right where Grey sat. “Was it truly lost?” she asked.

Aidan shook his head. “Nay. I know precisely where it lies.”

“Oh. I thought maybe… ”

“Maybe, what?” he asked as Gwen trailed off. He hadn’t considered anything of the incident, at least not until this very moment.

“Well,” Gwen started, and Aidan braced himself, suddenly knowing all too well where this was going. “It’s no secret that your medallions carry some significance. Like?—”

“Not in this case,” Aidan said quickly, hoping to staunch whatever nonsense she might weave. While Margret may have been wearing Callum’s lost medallion, and Gwen had found solace in Grey’s before they wed, there was no said significance in the case of Dar and Celeste. To further squash any forthcoming argument to her point, he added, “Let’s move on from the matter to something real. I’ve been approached to marry Judith Fitzgerald.”

At this, Grey and Gavin regarded him with utmost seriousness while the women gasped, looking horrified.

Aidan shrugged, outwardly projecting indifference, yet suddenly he felt anything but. “I haven’t yet agreed,” he said, hating the uncertainty that crept into his voice. “Though if I refuse, her brothers will not let it go lightly.”

“If not for her brothers and the men that they are, one could do worse than Judith Fitzgerald,” Grey said slowly. Nigel and Gil Fitzgerald’s reputation as brutes and bullies, at the least, was known widely, as everyone—even the women nodded at Grey’s statement. “However,” Grey continued, “to speak it bluntly—Judith is wholly of our time, is she not?” It was a question of much import, considering. “If there is anything to be gleaned from our combined experience, your match is likely to be with a lass brought here from a future century.”

Gwen nodded slowly. “You know, I’m not one to readily agree with my husband, but in this instance, I believe he’s right.”

“He’s right would’ve sufficed,” Grey suggested with a grunt.

While the two bickered about Gwen’s choice of words, Aidan silently sorted through the events that had led to the loss of his medallion. It had been a day of celebration some months ago, to mark that the construction of the Abersoch estate was for the most part complete. Struck with a bit of melancholy at the realization that this also marked nearly two years since the departure of his friend and mentor, Aidan had sought a bit of solitude and headed toward the nearby shore in the early evening hours.

He distinctly recalled the moment he nearly squashed the kitten when it darted in front of him, made all the more surprising as he’d never seen one about the property before. At the sight of it, he’d stumbled, and as he righted himself from an almost embarrassing spill, a flash of metal caught his eye, whirling through the air before bouncing upon the ground with a clack, and landing just out of sight in its final resting place. At the time, he’d chuckled at the comical display, glancing down to confirm it was his medallion that had flown through the air.

The medallions themselves, that he and his brethren each had, those carved for them when they were still young boys, had never held so much significance to Aidan—it was the real presence of his brethren he cherished. But this medallion held much significance. Lachlan had forged it himself, etching the symbol that was unique only to him (the same symbol that was now carved at the entrance of Pembrooke) on one side, and a bear on the other mere days before he left.

Eyes out in case there was another kitten of the same litter roaming about, Aidan went to retrieve it, feeling a bit emotional as he recalled the moment Lachlan had given the medal to him. When Aidan finally spied where it had fallen, he couldn’t help but chuckle again, this time at the irony of it all. He’d been just about to fetch it when Duncan, in need of assistance, chose that very moment to call out to him. Though he planned to return later that night, Aidan had yet to make it back. Seeing the stricken faces around the table now, he wondered if he’d been wrong. Was the medallion in fact, more consequential than he’d thought?

To Grey’s question about Judith, he must admit that he, too, had considered the very same when he was first approached. After all, Maggie had been at the abbey for well over a year before meeting Callum. It had been a fleeting thought, however, as was any thought of a future bride at that moment. The information that Judith was a Fitzgerald, a fifteenth-century Fitzgerald, same as her brothers (though, Aidan assumed, not just the same as her brothers, as they were an exceptional breed), precipitated another round of questions and caution, not only from Grey and Gwen, but Gavin, Isabelle, and Lady Madelyn chimed in, too. Even Anna sent him a worrisome look as she reached for a babe already in need of a morning nap.

When it became clear that Aidan had no more to say on the matter, chatter picked up around him, and Aidan was grateful when Henry interrupted their meal, a hand on his shoulder as he bent to quietly inform him of a problem with the ship’s inventory. With a brief goodbye and a nod of thanks to Cook, Aidan left the table, never happier to be flanked by his men. From the enlivened chatter he left behind him, it was obvious his presence was hardly necessary.

If only they knew the truth of it.

It wasn’t until they reached the steps that would take them out of the great room, that Gwen called out from the table. Aidan had just lifted his hood, one foot atop the stone floor of the foyer, a breadth away from freedom, and paused at the sound of his name.

“Aidan,” Gwen said a second time. “Where is your medallion? You never said.”

A smile tugged at his lips, at the irony of it all. For now, he was fully aware of the implications of that day. He turned, delivering the news with the air of intrigue it deserved. “It lies at Abersoch, Gwendolyn. At the bottom of a tide pool, to be precise.”