Chapter 11 Time for Caution
“YE SEEMED TO enjoy yerself last night.”
The edge in his father’s voice made Ailean glance up from where he’d been rubbing Piper’s belly. The Highland collie had rolled onto her back before the hearth, demanding attention. And as always, he was only too happy to give it to her.
However, when he caught the glint in his father’s green eyes, the cocoon of contentment that had wrapped around him ever since he’d slipped back into the castle from that woodland copse—following the lovely Fiona Mackinnon—sloughed away.
Suddenly, he was wary.
He often was around his father these days. They’d always had an uneasy relationship, perhaps because they were so different. Rae preferred—and understood—Lyle better.
“It was a fine evening, was it not?” Ailean replied, deliberately non-committal.
In truth, he was eager to leave his father’s solar this morning and rejoin his friends downstairs.
He’d just broken his fast with Craeg and Greig in the hall, and since their stay at Dounarwyse would be brief, he didn’t want to waste time up here.
He hoped they might be able to go out for a deer hunt.
Nonetheless, the laird had called for him.
“I enjoy a good fire festival as much as the next man,” Rae said, putting the quill he’d been using to scratch figures into a ledger back into its pot.
He then pushed himself up from his chair, turning to give his son his full attention.
“It didn’t escape me—or anyone else—that ye spent a great deal of time with Kylie’s talented young weaver. ”
Ailean’s spine stiffened.
He should have expected this. After all, he’d danced openly with the lass, flirted with her, chatted between dances. He’d been deliberately cautious at the end, making sure no one was looking when he kissed her. And they’d been discreet when they left the bonfire. But his father missed little.
“She was good company,” he replied, flashing an easy smile. “Charming and spirited.”
His father’s jaw tightened. “And pleasing on the eye as well.”
Ailean shrugged, as if such things hadn’t crossed his mind—though Fiona’s image had been branded there from the moment she entered Dounarwyse. “She is. But so are many lasses.”
Rae folded his broad arms across his chest, brows drawing together.
“I didn’t think I’d have to make myself clear …
not when ye are a grown man,” he said, his voice rumbling across the solar.
When he’d summoned Ailean, he’d thought it was to go over the accounts again—but he should have known better.
His father was about to tell him off, as if he were a randy lad of sixteen chasing skirts.
And ye’re really no better, a quiet voice whispered. Fiona had captivated him, stirred the recklessness that always simmered beneath the surface. He liked the danger. The heady thrill of getting away with something.
But as his father’s gaze hardened, Ailean realized he might have sailed too close to the wind last night.
It was time for caution.
“Ye aren’t to mess with any of my household servants,” Rae said. “And the weaver is no exception.”
“I’m not messing with her,” Ailean lied.
As the words left his mouth, an unfamiliar jolt of self-recrimination twisted in his chest. He rarely lied so baldly to his father. To meet the gaze of a man he respected deeply and be so dishonest sat poorly with him. Still, irritation rose and crushed the guilt.
Rae was speaking to him as if he were still trying to grow his first whiskers. Sometimes Ailean thought his father forgot he’d spent years fighting for king and country, that he’d returned a hero. Here on Mull, within these walls, that seemed to count for little.
“It was just a few dances and some harmless flirting,” Ailean said, letting his annoyance show.
“That’s where it ends.”
Ailean’s eyebrow cocked. “Excuse me?”
“Ye heard me, son. Ye leave that lass alone from now on. Let her get on with the work she was hired to do … and focus on building yer own future.”
Heat ignited in Ailean’s belly, irritation sliding into anger. His father was wading into matters that weren’t his to command, yet Rae pressed on regardless.
“Ye have four-and-twenty summers. It’s time ye started thinking ahead. Ye’ve shown no interest in finding a wife.” His father paused then. “And so, I have made some inquiries for ye.”
The heat flared. “What?”
“That’s right. Duncan MacDougall on the Isle of Lismore has a lovely daughter. Sorcha. I met her last year while discussing trade. Relations between our clans have been strained … and I want to repair things. A marriage between ye two would help secure lasting peace.”
Ailean said nothing. He was too busy struggling to leash his temper.
His father had no right to broker his future without so much as a word.
Rae watched him closely now, waiting for a challenge, for proof that his son wasn’t up to one day stepping into his boots. Stubbornness rose in Ailean, and he refused to give him the satisfaction.
“We’ve been invited to Castle Coeffin,” the laird went on. “Ye and Sorcha will meet. And if she pleases ye—and she’s willing—we’ll arrange a betrothal.”
Ailean’s pulse quickened.
A year ago, he’d felt smug watching his friend Craeg struggle under sudden responsibility. Now, he understood. It was his turn. The walls were closing in. He couldn’t breathe.
When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped and cold. “So, ye’ve planned my future without consulting me?”
“Left to yer own devices, ye’d never settle,” Rae replied. “Ye care little for consequences. A wife will do ye good.”
“But I’m not ready.”
Rae cursed softly, raking a hand through his hair. “None of us ever are. I was barely sixteen when I was handed Dounarwyse … seventeen when I wed yer mother.”
Christ—not this again. How many times had he heard this tale over the years? Sometimes his father battered him with it.
“I know all this,” Ailean snapped. “Ye’ve sacrificed much. But ye’ll rule for years yet. What’s the rush?”
Rae’s disappointment was palpable. “When I go, I want Dounarwyse’s future secure.”
“And it will be.” Ailean rose to his feet, ignoring Piper nudging him. “Ye can’t control everything, Da. Sometimes we must choose our own paths.”
“If I let ye be, ye’d burn yer life to ash,” His father shot back. “And it wouldn’t just be ye who paid for it.”
The silence stretched. A battle of wills.
Finally, the laird spoke one more. “We sail for Castle Coeffin at the end of June. And until then” —his voice hardened— “ye keep away from Fiona Mackinnon.”
“I am sorely vexed that I missed Bealtunn.”
Arabella sat by the window, cross-faced, as she untangled a basket of emerald yarn.
“I’m sorry ye missed it too,” Fiona replied, flashing her a sympathetic smile. “The eve was lively. Ye would have enjoyed it.”
Arabella huffed, sniffed, and pulled a scrap of linen from her belt to blow her nose. She still hadn’t fully recovered from her cold. Her eyes were watery, her nose red, and she looked thoroughly sorry for herself. “Did ye dance?”
“A bit,” Fiona replied vaguely.
“With whom?”
Fiona’s stomach sank. “A few different lads,” she said lightly. “I don’t remember their names.” She forced a smile. “It’s the mead and the honey cakes I love most about Bealtunn.”
“Did ye see anyone slip away to go green-gowning?” Arabella asked, eyes gleaming.
Fiona stiffened. As sheltered as she was, the lass knew about that tradition. Indeed, many a bairn was born nine months after Bealtunn, as couples forgot themselves.
Just like ye did.
Aye, she didn't need her conscience pricking her, reminding her. She was only thankful Ailean had withdrawn in time. Disaster had been narrowly avoided.
“I didn’t see,” she replied, focusing on the shuttle sliding through the weft.
The tapestry was coming alive now—the sea, the rocks, the castle’s base emerging stitch by stitch.
“Oh, ye’re no fun,” Arabella complained. “Grace scolded me for asking. She says I’m too—”
A knock sounded on the door then, interrupting them.
“Come in,” Arabella called.
Carrie entered with a tray of honey cakes and watered wine. “Lady Kylie sent refreshments.”
Arabella beamed and relieved her of the tray. “Wonderful. Please, join us.”
Carrie hesitated, but Arabella insisted, waving her over to the chair next to her by the window. “What was the dancing like?” she asked eagerly.
“Lively,” Carrie replied.
“And with whom did ye dance?”
“Rowan.”
Arabella squealed. “I bet he’s a good dancer?”
“Fine enough.”
Carrie’s attention shifted to Fiona then. Usually when their gazes met, Fiona detected warmth, laughter, as if the two of them were sharing a secret. But this afternoon, Carrie’s gaze was veiled, almost cold. “Fiona danced all night with Ailean,” she said after a brief pause. “Did she tell ye?”