5. Too Much and Too Little
Too Much and Too Little
Isaid too much, Catriona thought, biting her lower lip until it stung. Too much and too little. I’m a fool.
She had expected Niall to go striding ahead, letting her follow him or not as he willed. Instead, he shortened his stride to match hers, the two of them walking together as if they were equals. Companions, even.
We are equals, she reminded herself grimly. No matter what he thinks.
“I learned to spar from my father and from men in my village,” she blurted out, pointedly not looking at him.
“Our village sits on the edge of MacLeod lands, and there have been raids in the past. Most women learn to hold their own at least a little with a staff or a sword. I just took my learning a wee bit further than most.”
“Ye strike me as a woman who takes many things a wee bit further than most.”
She eyed him for a long moment. “I cannot decide if that is a compliment or an insult.”
“Well, I intended it as a compliment, but take it how ye wish. So, what is it that ye hide in yer pocket?”
She flinched, swallowing. Together, they climbed the wide stone steps that led up to the Keep itself. A few more minutes, and she could in all conscience part ways with him and avoid answering any uncomfortable questions.
And yet the words started to come anyway, welling up inside her.
“My mother’s ring,” she stated. “It’s mine, I came here with it. It’s not stolen.”
He shot her a quick, surprised glance. “I didn’t say that ye might have.”
She cleared her throat. “Accusations can be made.”
“Not by me. I’m glad ye said that it was yer mother’s. I might have thought that it was a gift from a suitor.”
“Hardly,” she muttered dourly. “I don’t have time for that.”
“Ye surprise me, lass.”
Abruptly, she scuttled ahead of him, turning to face him and forcing him to come to a stop.
“I’d be grateful if ye did not mention the ring to anybody. Or my knowledge of sparring,” she said bluntly, catching his eye and holding it.
He stared right back at her, lips pursed.
“If ye wish it,” he said at last, shrugging. “I’m no gossip.”
She let out a long, slow exhale, a little surprised at just how relieved she was. She didn’t really think that Sukie would accuse her of stealing the ring, but if somebody else took it…
A lump lodged in her throat at the thought. She bit her lip, glancing away.
“Thank ye,” she managed. Thanks was in order, surely.
Niall nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on her. She wished he wouldn’t stare quite so intently. It sent a prickle down her spine which left her unsettled.
“Think nothing of it,” he answered brusquely, and abruptly stepped around her, striding away down the hallway towards a half-opened doorway. He stepped inside, ducking his head to avoid knocking his forehead on the doorway.
Catriona swallowed thickly, glancing up and down the hallway. Then, when she was sure that nobody was watching her, she followed.
What would a laird do to an eavesdropper? Nothing good, I’m sure.
Had Da—her true Da, that is—ever dealt with spies or people who listened at doors? Probably. And what had he done with them?
She couldn’t remember. Any incidents like that would have been kept from her, surely.
It wouldn’t be good, though. She could be sure of that.
Holding her breath, Catriona pressed herself against the side of the thick doorframe. Hidden in the shadow, she wouldn’t be easily seen from the hallway beyond, although if somebody walked right past her they would see her.
If somebody yanked the door open unexpectedly, they’d see her, too.
From her vantage point, she could peer straight into the room. The council room, apparently. A circular table dominated the room, and she looked inside just in time to see Niall stride towards the table. A man sat at the opposite end, and there was nobody else in the room.
“Father,” Niall said, his voice more clipped and terse than it had been when he spoke to Catriona outside. “Here I am, as ye requested.”
When was the last time I saw a laird in the flesh?
She conjured up an image of Da. Of Laird MacAlpin. Everybody talked about his strength, his size, and his skills on the battlefield. As a child, he seemed to be a giant, but not a frightening one. No, he was just Da, huge and smiling and safe.
This man had to be different, though.
Catriona angled herself a little better so as to get a good look at the man in question.
She blinked, frowning. Surely this man couldn’t be Laird MacLeod?
Oh, it was clear that he’d once been tall and broad like his son, but now his shoulders were wide but thin, his chest sunken, and the skin on his neck loose.
A wispy beard clung to his chin, and hair that might once have been as golden as Niall’s was white as snow.
There were lines around his eyes. How old was he? Sixty or sixty-five, at least.
But his son is so young. No more than twenty-three, I’d wager.
“Ye came, but ye missed my summons the other day,” Laird MacLeod observed, straightening up a little. “I am never sure whether ye plan to obey me or not.”
There was an edge to his voice that belied his frail appearance.
Not in his dotage yet, then, Catriona thought, with a wry smile.
“I was otherwise obliged. I apologize. But I’m here now,” Niall responded, and this time there was some softness in his voice.
“If I asked ye to come to the council meeting, would ye?”
“Ye didn’t ask.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
A tense silence spread through the room. Niall had his back turned to the door, so Catriona could not read the expression on his face, but she could trace lines of tension in his back and around his shoulders. He kept his spine ramrod straight, like a soldier standing at attention.
Perhaps that’s exactly what he is.
Laird MacLeod let out a long, rattling sigh, which turned into a cough halfway through.
“I am an old man,” he remarked, reaching out one shaking hand for a goblet of water.
“I waited too long to sire an heir, against the counsel of others. I am not a wise man. There is nothing I can do to change either of those things. My counselors think I should step down before I become truly frail to prevent the pressure of a lairdship from driving me into a grave sooner. I am beginning to think that they are right. If ye had attended any council meetings in the last year,” he added wryly, “ye would know this.”
Did Niall look surprised? Surely not. It wasn’t uncommon for old or sick lairds to step down in favor of younger, stronger heirs. Not uncommon, but not usual, either. Power was probably a difficult thing to give up.
Judging by the glint in Laird MacLeod’s eyes, he was a man who was used to lots of power. Used to wielding it, too.
Or is that yer imagination? He’s not Da, ye know.
Swallowing down her own strange thoughts, Catriona inched closer to the gap in the door, straining her ears.
“Ye are not a stupid man, Niall. Never have been. So, I’ll not treat ye like one. I must step down soon, and everybody knows it. I’m willing to do so. But then, there’s the matter of my heir.”
Catriona frowned. What matter? Niall was his heir. He was the Laird’s son. The Laird’s son became laird, everybody knew that.
Niall said nothing and did not even twitch a muscle to indicate that he’d heard.
“Yer cousin Kenneth has gained the council’s trust,” Laird MacLeod continued heavily. “He will ask… He will ask…” Sighing, the old man drained his goblet of water and reached for a large jug to pour himself another. His hand shook, struggling with the strain of lifting the jug.
Wordlessly, Niall stepped forward, taking the heavy water jug out of his father’s thin hand. He poured a generous gobletful of water, replaced the jug, and stepped back. He returned to the exact spot where he’d been standing, and straightened his spine again. At attention once more.
Laird MacLeod cleared his throat, giving his son a brief nod of thanks.
“As I said. Kenneth has gained their trust. He will ask to be made laird in my stead. The council may well see fit to grant his request. If ye resist, it will be war. I don’t need to tell ye about war, do I?
Real war, the sort of murderous bloodshed that tears a clan in two.
By stepping down, I will have condemned my people to more misery and danger than if I had clung on to the bitter end. ”
A long silence followed this speech. Was it her imagination, or had Niall’s posture somehow grown even stiffer?
“What are ye saying, Father?” he said at last, voice tight.
Laird MacLeod leaned forward. “I am saying that if Kenneth seeks to be laird and ye oppose him, there’ll be a division.
He wants war, and he’ll have war. He’ll ally with Fraser and Farrish and go up against MacAlpin.
Ye know the horror of war, lad. Ye despise it, but Kenneth craves it.
Before I step down, I want to give ye one last chance to reconsider.
Kenneth is willing to go to war over this.
What’s more, he plans to declare war on the MacAlpins. ”
There was another silence. Niall let out a long, shaky breath and turned aside, striding over to the window. This gave her the chance to see his profile, with that strong, long nose and sharp chin.
If he glances this way, he’ll see me, she thought, with a sudden rush of panic, and leaned back until she could not see him anymore.
“I have no taste for politics, Father,” Niall whispered at last. “I despise it. It was war and politics that killed Mother, remember?”
“I remember, lad. As if I could forget.”
“And if Kenneth takes the lairdship and I do not challenge him, will there still be war?”
Laird MacLeod blinked. “What?”
“Ye heard me, Father. If I let him take the lairdship…”
“Yer birthright!”
“If I let him take it, he’ll be a fine politician. He’ll manage things.”
“No downside?” Laird MacLeod spluttered. “Ye were born to be Laird! It’s yer birthright. Ye could shape the clan into whatever ye liked. Don’t ye understand, lad?”
Niall let out a long sigh. “Aye, Father. I understand perfectly. Which is why I’ll not be fighting Kenneth for the lairdship.”