Chapter One #4
“You ever see a young man with really bright red hair and matching beard. Tall, skinny?”
Again, Cole shook his head. “There are a few redheads in the village, but none match that description.”
Conan looked down at the dead man and then, with the tip of his sword, adjusted the man’s filthy tartan so that he could see it better. “I don’t recognize it. Do you?”
Cole’s forehead furrowed as he bent over to take a better look.
“Nay, but there are so many small clans just south of here.” He looked over to Dugan, his commander and second in charge of clan affairs.
“You know more of them than I as you regularly ride out to our borders. You recognize either him or the plaid?”
Dugan bent over and studied the face of the man for several seconds while holding his breath.
Satisfied he had never seen him before, he took several steps back and exhaled.
“I don’t know him, and based on his size, our people would have mentioned something if they saw someone matching his description during my visits. ”
Conan grimaced. He had really thought that Cole would have at least some insight into who the man was. “What about the plaid?”
Dugan shook his head. “While there are several small clans along the coast, most have aligned themselves with us, the MacLeoid, or MacCoinnich. And you know both their colors. He’s not from around here.”
Conan nodded. The McTiernay colors of dark greens and blues accented with bright colors of gold, red, and burgundy were well known throughout the Highlands, but so were MacLeoid and MacCoinnich tartans.
All three had similar backgrounds, but MacCoinnich had no gold or burgundy lines.
Instead, the plaid had a prominent white line outlining each plaid square.
MacLeoid lines were bright red and yellow.
The man before them wore a tartan with mostly mustard and brown colors. Few clans strayed beyond green, blue, and red, and he could not recall in all his travels seeing one of this color. Who are you? Conan thought to himself.
“Might be Irish,” Dugan murmured with a shrug.
Cole nodded in agreement. “Definitely a sword for hire.”
Conan crossed his arms. “He recognized both mine and the McTiernay names. However, he was surprised to find that the man he was looking for to be me. I might just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Cole scratched his chin. “We have not had any trouble near Loch Coire Fionnaraich in recent memory, and no one goes there. It’s hard to reach, and the waters are uncomfortably cold even in the summer. I can’t imagine who he was looking for.”
Dugan’s head shot up at the mention of the small loch.
It had been some time since he had been in that area, but he used to visit it often for personal reasons.
He had not returned after discovering he was being betrayed by a certain woman.
Had she sent someone to look for him and this was simply an unfortunate case of mistaken identity?
Maybe, but Conan and he looked nothing alike and the timing was wrong.
That was months ago, so why would she send someone to look for him now?
And why mercenaries? Conan had said that they had been hired by a man, not a woman.
Dugan did not like coincidences, but there was too much to doubt that it was anything but one.
It had to be just a random, isolated incident.
“I’ve smelt enough of this ablach,” Cole said. “If his friend comes looking for him, we’ll question him and then teach him what it means to hold a sword on a McTiernay.”
Conan shook his head and crossed his arms. “The man’s a coward. He won’t show his face.”
Dugan grimaced. “I’ll go to the loch in the morning. If he shows up again, he won’t get away. I’ll also ask around and see if our people know or have heard of anything.”
Cole nodded and then slapped Conan on the back with a grin. “Let’s eat. I’m sure Elle is pacing the floors by now, getting angrier at our delay with each step she takes.”
Conan grabbed the reins of his horse and followed Dugan and Cole through what most thought was the sole entrance into the castle.
Only known to a few, the second access to Fàire Creachann had been created by Cole from a rocky cove into which a small boat could be brought on the northern side of the cliffs.
From there, a steep path wound toward a well-fortified postern gate accessible strictly from the main tower.
The small group walked along the steep path that led up to the gatehouse. Once they were past its gates, the inside of Fàire Creachann could be seen and appreciated not just for its security, but for its dramatic beauty.
The massive castle had been in near ruins when Cole had taken over and established the area as the focal point of his lairdship and the McTiernays of Torridon.
Being located on a rocky headland, the inside spanned nearly four acres and was much larger than most castles.
It allowed for several buildings, and instead of a garden, it had room for small crops and a few farm animals, enabling Fàire Creachann to be more self-sufficient and protected against sieges.
The large tower house included the great hall and a private chamber for Cole and his family.
Next to the tower, a series of ranges had been constructed along the northeastern cliffs, creating large and comfortable living quarters with sea views.
On the other side of the tower was the chapel, which had finally been restored, along with a storehouse, a blacksmith’s forge, and the kitchens.
The stable block ran along the southern edge of the headland.
Before they entered the tower and went into the great hall, the doors opened and Conor stepped outside.
Upon seeing Conan, he walked over and waved for Dugan and Cole to continue inside.
His face held a pensive expression, and Conan knew what his brother was about to ask.
“How’s Laurel? It was so unlike her to refuse to come north with me and visit Ellenor, Brighid, and their rambunctious brood. ”
Conor had practically growled out the description, and Conan suspected that his brother had missed Laurel’s presence in more ways than he had anticipated. She usually ran interference with Cole and Donald’s children, who were all under the age of five.
Conor considered his words carefully. “She was in high spirits when I left,” he offered.
Conan grunted. “I expect you mean angry spirits.” Conan shrugged, trying to decide what he could say that would not shift his brother’s concern to ire that was directed at him.
Conor ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what is wrong with her.
Nothing seems to make her happy, and she avoids things that she always before enjoyed.
You have no idea the fights we had when I refused to let her travel with me to Fàire Creachann in the past. For her to refuse .
. . it is just more than strange. Something is wrong. ”
Conan wanted to interrupt and explain that he, along with everyone else who lived at McTiernay Castle, was well aware of the fights between him and Laurel.
No McTiernay was good at stifling his emotions, and the angry outbursts between Conor and Laurel were the stuff of legends.
If it was not abundantly clear to anyone who ever saw them together how much they loved one another, people might have feared that their explosive interchanges would end in someone’s death.
But now, for the most part, the couple’s fights were ignored and treated by family, castle staff, and clansmen as normal occurrences.
“Have you asked what’s wrong?”
Conor issued him a disdainful look. “She only replies that she is fine, even though it is clear that she is not. I had fully expected her to be eager to come with me to see her youngest nephew.” Conan had to agree that it was odd that Laurel had elected not to come and see Cole and Ellenor’s new son.
“She loves babies. Loves to hold them, be around them. Hell, she even likes how they smell,” Conor continued.
“I would have thought she would be eager for the chance to be around one now that our children are getting older and more independent.”
“Maybe that is what is bothering her.”
“How so?”
Conan took in a deep breath and looked upward. In a few minutes, the last bits of sunlight would disappear and it would be a night sky. “I don’t know, Conor. What do I know about women and their feelings?”
Conor grabbed Conan’s shoulder with a hand and gave it a small shake. “You know nothing about them, but that doesn’t mean you don’t see what is happening around you. What did you mean?”
Conan twisted his shoulder out of his brother’s grasp, annoyed how quickly Conor agreed that he was clueless when it came to women. It was true, but he did not like hearing it. “Only what you were saying. Your children are getting older. They want and need less mothering time. They are—”
The large doors to the great hall unexpectedly opened, cutting Conan off midsentence. A second later, Cole’s wife, Ellenor, poked her head out and gave both men a withering stare. “We are all waiting for you,” she hissed.
Glad for the reprieve, Conan grinned at her and immediately headed for the very full hall.
He walked up to the main table, where Cole, his commanders, and their wives were sitting .
. . and waiting. He and Conor took a seat, and immediately everyone started to dig into the platters of food before them.
The hall was filled with soldiers, and Conan felt a little uncomfortable having made them all wait.
He had not expected such a welcome and said as much.