Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Gower indicated the box on a small table before the hearth. “I used some of it to test that it was in fact a dried destroying angel mushroom. It takes about a week to kill, depending on the strength of the victim and how much he ingested.”
Cyrus looked at the offending mushroom on the table. Gower would know for certain. He glanced back at his father. The mighty Hamish Mackinnon already looked like the corpse they would put into the ground. There was no saving him.
Cyrus walked out into the empty hall and across the corridor to look out the window that let in daylight. Through the wavy glass, he watched the trees along the forest line, their leaves already coloring with autumn.
The knot in his stomach twisted as Laria’s words tangled with his father’s.
She had heard the venom in his mother’s voice back at Scorrybreac and had heard Kenan and Rory speaking of alliances through his marriage.
Even his nearly dead father had twisted a blade in him as he’d reminded Cyrus to act like a chief, like Patrick.
To lead with his head so that he didn’t fok things up for Clan Mackinnon.
Was believing Laria, being with her for more than blissful nights, foking things up?
He grabbed the back of his neck, rubbing at the ache that now seemed a permanent part of his body. Footsteps made him turn to find Kenan and Rory walking toward him.
Rory glanced toward the door and back to him.
“Nay, he’s still alive but not for long,” Cyrus answered the unasked question. “Gower has the mushroom in there. ’Twas tied with a green ribbon.”
“Winnie Mar.” Kenan scowled. “She’s a dangerous person with no problem killing people with poison. Proud of her vileness, in fact.”
“As soon as my father passes and we have the swearing of fealty, we’ll go to Dunscaith,” Cyrus said. “She might be going after Gilbert next.”
“Why would she bother?” Rory asked. “She could get caught there, and he’s no threat to her.”
Cyrus crossed his arms. “If Winnie is working for Iain to get his hands on Clan Mackinnon, she will want to be free to wed again if something happens to my sister.”
Cyrus wanted to scream. His parents thought he was too weak to lead their clan. Grace was married to a man who might have ordered his own mother brutally killed and wanted to take over Clan Mackinnon.
“Laria’s right,” Rory said.
Cyrus looked at him. “About what? Was she talking about me?”
Rory’s brows drew together. “Nay, just about Grace being clever. I think she can take care of herself until we get back up to Staffin.”
“So…” Kenan said, drawing out the word. “What is going on between ye and Laria?”
Rory crossed his arms. “Ye two run hot and cold.”
Cyrus leaned against the wall, his back to the window.
“She heard my mother’s horrible words at Scorrybreac.
I think they’ve festered in her, and the fact I haven’t asked her to wed or…
anything more than tup has turned her away from me.
” He pointed to his father’s door. “And my father basically told me that I’m a foking failure.
And that since I’m the only son left to lead the clan, I’d better marry well and make the clan strong. ”
“Nice parting words,” Rory said with dry sarcasm.
His two friends stared silently at Cyrus for a long moment, probably thinking about their own brutal sires.
As they’d planned within the dank walls of Carlisle Dungeon, they were now in charge of their clans—despite being the unwanted sons who were sacrificed for those now dead or unable to function.
Kenan inhaled, as if shaking off thoughts he’d rather leave buried, and looked at Cyrus. “I think ye should wed Laria Macqueen.” He crossed his arms.
Cyrus’s breath caught, and he rested his gaze on Kenan. “Ye’re the one with the bloody list of ladies I should wed. And she’s not on it.”
“Ye practically admitted to Kenan that yer push to wed each of us to some lass with armies and gold was wrong,” Rory said with a shrug.
“I never said we should marry for armies and gold,” Cyrus said, his voice like a growl. “Just that it would be advantageous if we happened to marry to form alliances.”
Kenan made a calming gesture. “Nae need to get warlike.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Cyrus said. “Laria doesn’t want to have anything more to do with me. She told me last eve on the ship.”
“’Tis because ye didn’t propose,” Kenan said, shaking his head. “I told ye that ’tis very important to a lass. My little sister says she dreams of it.”
Rory frowned, his stare intense on Cyrus. “Why doesn’t she want to have anything to do with ye anymore?” Before Kenan could open his mouth, Rory’s voice rose. “And ’tis not because ye didn’t get down on yer foking knee.”
Cyrus ran both hands down his bristly face. “I called her ‘lass’ when I spoke about her to my mother.”
Rory and Kenan looked at each other blankly. Kenan shrugged. “And…?”
“I didn’t call her my bride or love or…” Cyrus threw his arm out in frustration. “Nothing more than an ordinary lass. Not even ‘lady.’”
“So call her ‘love,’” Rory said.
Kenan shook his head. “I cannot bloody believe we are telling Cyrus Mackinnon how to woo a female. They flock to him.” He hit Rory’s arm with the back of his hand.
“Ye should see the mountain of tribute that the lasses from Staffin Village have brought to the tower trying to get him to pick them to wed.”
Rory pointed at Cyrus. “Ye need to talk to her without being naked. Tell her how ye feel about her.”
“How do ye feel about her?” Kenan asked.
Cyrus ran his hands through his hair. “I feel sick anytime I think of her with someone else.”
Both men nodded, and Kenan beckoned with his hand. “Keep going.”
“I want to be with her. I like to hear what she says, and how she smells of fresh water and some type of flower and cedar trees. And her hair is the softest.” His brows rose.
“And she’s the bravest lass. She swam in the dark, freezing ocean to reach my ship and was clever enough to hide in the mast top. ”
Cyrus met their gazes. “And she’s loyal and willing to give her all to help those she loves, like her brother, Erskine, and her group of exiles.”
With each thought about Laria, more were born as he remembered the way her eyes widened when she teased him, how she made sure everyone had a blanket, and how she’d encouraged her brother to lead when all his life he’d been told he was beneath everyone.
His chest tightened with a jolt of emotion somewhere between panic and a need to run to find Laria immediately. “Bloody hell,” Cyrus said. “I love her.” He raked his hair again. “I’m a bloody idiot. I didn’t want to let myself admit she’s not mad, because doing so would mean Grace is in jeopardy.”
“Grace can handle herself,” Rory said.
“I believed yer sister when she threatened to hang me by my ballocks,” Kenan said to Cyrus.
Rory tipped his head toward the door. “And we all had arseholes for fathers who just wanted war. They knew nothing of love and lasses. They thought marriage was only for alliances, even though peace can be destroyed when the two wrong people wed. So ye shouldn’t wed for that.”
Kenan crossed his arms, his face darkening. “We learned in that hellhole at Carlisle just how precious happiness is. If ’tis in yer reach, Cy, ye better grasp it, or ye’re a fool.”
He was a fool, because his father’s words still swayed him.
The man had never believed he was worth much, and yet he was letting his words push him toward a different path.
He’d been raised to believe that a strong clan was the only way to live, the only way to be successful.
With England threatening, he must keep Clan Mackinnon strong, not with love but with armies.
If he could help Erskine become chief of the Macqueen Clan, would Laria agree to marry him? Bloody hell, he’d be overthrowing his own sister.
The door opened behind them, and all three men turned to the physician.
His tired eyes met Cyrus’s. “Chief Hamish Mackinnon has died.”