Chapter 5 #4
“We were never close. He’s over twenty years older than I.
” She paused thoughtfully. “My mother didn’t talk about him much.
I think she blamed him for something, though they reconciled at the end.
” Before she died. Flora looked down at her plate so that he would not see the emotion in her eyes.
When the wave of longing passed, she looked back up to find him still staring at her.
So he wouldn’t think her disloyal, she added, “But whenever our paths have crossed, Hector has always been kind to me.”
He looked as though he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue. “What do you want to know?” he asked.
“Why did he take your castle? Why do you hate each other so much?”
“There has been bad blood between the clans for years. I was not yet ten when my father died. Hector saw my father’s death as an opportunity to try to take the lands that they have coveted for some time.
He chose the day of his burial for an attack.
What he didn’t count on was my uncle defeating him.
Soundly, I might add.” And bloodily, she realized.
“Even though we were greatly outnumbered and admittedly ill prepared. The people blamed the curse for your brother’s loss,” he finished.
“But that doesn’t make any sense. Macleans fought on both sides. How do they account for the fact that it was Macleans who won the battle?”
He shook his head. “The invocation of the curse isn’t rational. You’ll find that it is a convenient scapegoat whenever something goes wrong. Like the unusual years of heavy flooding we’ve had on Coll.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you.”
Her observation had surprised him. He appeared almost uncomfortable. “I never expected being chief to be easy. It is my birthright and my duty.” And an integral part of his identity, she realized. “I will do anything to protect and preserve it.”
It sounded like a warning, but she let it go, returning to the feud. “And so after his defeat at the hands of your uncle, I assume Hector sought revenge.”
Lachlan nodded. “My uncle was murdered seven years later.”
“And you blame Hector?”
His jaw clenched. “I do, though I cannot prove it. But the men who were responsible for the deed were punished.”
Flora didn’t need to ask what he meant. They’d been killed. By his hand. He was watching her as if he expected her to challenge him for brutality, but she didn’t. Nor would she. Justice was justice. And in the Highlands, it was meted out swiftly and succinctly.
“And so he took your castle? But wouldn’t that be admitting complicity in the death of your uncle?”
“Hector doesn’t need a reason for treachery. But justice for my uncle’s murders took place many years ago. No, he’s raided my lands and stolen my castle to try to force me to his bidding. Something that will never happen.”
He said it with such loathing and steely determination that it took her aback, giving her a glimpse of the ruthless Highlander her mother had warned her about. Gilly’s admonition about his single-minded resolve also came back to her.
Flora felt torn. Her loyalty belonged to her brother, not to this man who’d kidnapped her. But she couldn’t ignore what she’d learned of Lachlan Maclean. He seemed fair. Except, apparently, when it came to her brother.
“Why?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t join his feud against the MacDonalds. He expected me to bow to him as chief. I refused.”
Flora wrinkled her brow. She knew enough to know that the Duart branch of the clan was descended from an older brother, the Macleans of Coll from a younger. “But he’s right. Duart is the chief branch of the Clan Gillian. It is your duty to bow to him. It’s the Highland way.”
His entire body went rigid. This time, his steely control could not mask his fury.
“And you’re an expert on the Highland way?
A girl who avoids her kin and her home? Coll has been a barony for over two hundred years.
I will not pay him calps, nor will I send my men to fight his battles.
I’m the Laird of Coll, a free baron. A chief in my own right.
I don’t owe allegiance or anything else to Hector. ”
“So you choose feudal law over the Erse Brehon Law? That is an unusual position for a Highlander to take.”
“Feudalism has been a part of the clans in Scotland for centuries. The Macleans of Coll haven’t considered themselves a part of Clan Gillian for a long time. We are our own clan. It was my father’s position. Now it is mine.”
Pride. Was that what this was about? Her mother’s words of warning came back to her: Never trust a Highlander. They are hard men with tender pride who solve problems with their swords. Was her mother right? Had there been years of feuding and killing because of pride?
“But all of this between you and Hector could be settled if you acknowledged him as chief?”
“It is more complicated than that.”
“But is it? Is the feuding worth it? Hector is one of the most powerful chiefs in the Highlands. With at least four hundred fighting men. You probably don’t have a third of that. It’s foolish to battle him. How can you think to defeat him?”
The muscle in his jaw flexed, signaling a warning. She was treading a dangerous path. “Have care who you call a fool, lass. You don’t know what you speak of.”
Her temper flared. “Perhaps not, but I can see the toll it has taken on your clan.” Her gaze swept the hall, this time ignoring the warmth of the revelers and lingering on the crude furnishings and lack of ornamentation.
“Take a look around. Your clan is suffering. If you weren’t so busy fighting Hector, perhaps your sisters could be at court. ”
His withdrawal was swift, his expression icy.
Her words had struck a blow, one that she hadn’t intended.
Too late, she realized how she must sound.
Criticism to a proud man who’d had to fight since he was a lad for survival.
But she’d been thinking only of his sisters—and the poverty of his clan.
If Lachlan Maclean had a weakness, it was his pride.
But perhaps, she admitted, it was well earned.
She put her hand on his arm, feeling the tension, the rigid muscle pulled tight as steel. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn. I did not mean to anger you.”
His blue gaze turned flinty. “Then don’t speak of matters you do not understand.”
“I only wanted to help.”
“You will.”
The coldness of his reply stung. As did the forced reminder of her presence at Drimnin. Her spine straightened. “By helping you get your castle back?” she asked bitterly.
He hesitated, leaving her feeling that there was something more. “Yes.”
“But why me? Didn’t you appeal to the king for help?”
His face was like granite. “I did. Through his Lowland toad—” He stopped. “His privy councillors.”
“Surely Hector has no valid claim to Coll—its castle or its lands.”
“No legal claim whatsoever. I took sasine to my lands many years ago, receiving the symbolic earth and stone.”
“Then the king has done something about it?”
His eyes were flat. “He has.”
Flora was relieved. King James would see justice done. “Then perhaps you will not have need of me after all?”
He held her gaze. “I need you, my sweet. Make no mistake of that.”