Chapter 2
The next morning, Mariota stood outside Dunrobin’s keep with hands clasped tightly at her rapidly disappearing waist and watched her husband and his twin brother prepare to set off in opposite directions.
Stellan stood just inside the gate, dressed for several days’ ride in heavy woolen trews and plaid with a long sword slung in its scabbard on his back, boots, and a wool bonnet.
He carried more blades on his person, tucked out of sight but reachable, plus a dirk at his belt and sgian dubh tucked in his boot.
He was talking to his father and his twin, but his gaze kept lifting to her.
He’d visited the nursery first thing this morning to see their son, and had already kissed her goodbye, but still, she wanted to run after him and hold him one more time.
That she could not do, not in front of the entire clan.
Instead, she kept her chin up, held back her tears, and gave him smiles full of love and pride for the mission he undertook.
Stellan’s men were dressed and armed similarly.
Each carried packets of the herbs the MacKay healer had requested under their clothes to help them stay dry.
If anything happened to any one or several of the men, at least some of the herbs would get through.
The men waited for Stellan outside the gate with his horse, ready to ride to the northwest across Sutherland into MacKay territory.
She could see the cross-guard and pommel of another longsword rolled up in his spare plaids and topped by packages of food and skins of water and wine Cook had provided.
To Mariota, their preparations seemed excessive.
After all, she’d ventured out into the same territory from MacKay with little more than a broken-down horse and a hawk.
But Stellan wanted to ensure no trouble found them that could not be dealt with before it grew worse.
Even though it was still late summer, the Highland weather could change hour by hour, bringing rain or even sleet and snow on the higher hills. They were wise to prepare for anything.
Laird Sutherland finished speaking to his sons, came and stood beside her, outwardly calm and watchful, but she had come to know him well enough to see the tension in his shoulders and in the fine lines around his eyes.
His head turned and his gaze shifted from Stellan to Anders as the twins hugged each other, and then separated, ready to go their own ways.
Anders sketched a bow toward her and the throng milling around the bailey to watch the beginning of the race. That raised a cheer, and he grinned, waved, and signaled to the men going with him to follow him across the open ground outside the gate to the cliff stairs.
Below, on the North Sea’s shore, the Sutherland birlinn waited for them to board and venture north then west across the top of Scotland.
He and his men would sail past a narrow strip of Clan Gunn territory and a wider swath of Clan Oliphant before they passed Clan Sinclair territory, a rival of long-standing with Sutherland.
With good weather, Anders would likely reach MacKay first. But that was not guaranteed.
If they ran into trouble on the Pentland Firth, Sinclair or a small Keith holding would be their only opportunities to come ashore before reaching MacKay territory and her former home, castle Varrich, deep in the Kyle of Tongue.
Anders had chosen the more perilous journey.
His ship could face deadly dangers, a quest he would never return from.
But despite what she’d said to him earlier, she couldn’t imagine anything happening to him.
He was irrepressible. Good natured, yet as competent—and confident—as his minutes-older twin.
She told herself not to borrow trouble. She cared for him as a brother, and wished him well.
Her gaze shifted back to Stellan as he swung onto his horse to more cheers and well-wishes shouted by their people.
In addition to riding Sutherland’s borders, Stellan had made the trip from Dunrobin to MacKay several times.
Barring accident or attack by man or beast, he and his men could have the safer of the two trips, but no one had ever made it in such haste.
Mariota couldn’t help her concern for him, though surely everyone at MacKay knew that Sutherland was sending help.
She’d never found out if her tormentor at MacKay had left behind followers who might still cause problems along the route.
She consoled herself that Seamus would have mentioned any trouble within the clan caused by former friends of Alber’s and would be prepared to defend against them if need be.
Sutherland muttered, “They’ll keep safe,” surprising her. Was he speaking to dispel her fears, or his own? Her husband, father of her son and another bairn on the way, was also making a trip that could prove dangerous. Even deadly.
She glanced aside at him, reluctant to take her gaze from the retreating figure of her husband, but needing to determine if his father’s attention had truly strayed from his sons to reassuring her.
His gaze followed Anders, shifting briefly to Stellan before he disappeared around the corner of the Dunrobin tower, headed inland.
He looked at Anders again as he disappeared little by little down the cliff steps.
So he’d spoken to put his own mind at rest. She didn’t like the sense of disquiet that radiated from him.
“Aye, they will keep safe,” Mariota assured her father-in-law just as softly, hoping to ease both their fears.
If Laird Sutherland heard her, he’d know she’d heard his words.
She hoped he would accept her encouragement as much as she longed to accept his.
She had to believe he spoke truly. But she didn’t like the concern in his tone.
Was this leave-taking so different from when the clan went to war?
For many years, the Sutherland laird had lived with the reality that many men lost their lives in such battles.
Did he ever come to accept it? She didn’t know how to ask him, and while watching both his twins leaving, this was certainly not the time.
Mariota dreaded the day she watched Stellan ride into battle.
She loved him, and loved her life at Sutherland.
She couldn’t imagine going on without him, raising their wee son without him, or the bairn she had yet to give him.
The very thought of losing him made cold chills run down her spine.
She crossed her arms and hugged her middle.
Nay, she would not think that way. Stellan would return home, and so would Anders and all their men.
Mission accomplished, medicinal herbs delivered to MacKay’s healer, fastest route determined for once and for all.
No other possibility was acceptable. Or imaginable.
A few hours later, Anders took a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the tang of salt in the fresh breeze, the warmth of the midday sun on his skin, the surge of the tiller against his hand and the slap of oars as the men rowed through calm seas.
Summer was moving past its height. Though the longest days of the year were waning, they’d made him eager for new horizons and new adventures.
Fair weather always tempted him to travel.
The call from MacKay and the way Sutherland chose to answer it had come at a perfect time.
He’d been too long at home. Posturing by Domnhall and Mar over Ross territory had abated to the point that Sutherland had not felt the need recently to send him traveling around the Highlands to see what news he could carry home.
Or what trouble they needed to prepare for, including whether Islemen or Royalist troops were on the move again.
Instead, he’d watched Stellan settle into blissful married life with Mariota, the birth of his heir Beathan and their anticipation of a brother or sister for him.
Anders had played the conversation he’d had with his twin at Stellan’s wedding over and over in his mind, including the vow he’d made never to settle and to find a bride he could love as Stellan loved Mariota and she loved him.
A bride he could bring home so that he and Stellan could rule Sutherland together when the time came, as they’d vowed to each other when they were nine years old and about to be fostered away from Sutherland and away from each other for the next seven years.
The frustration of sitting at home, tempted by the same lasses he’d known all his life, but knowing none of them were his Mariota, made him eager for any change. Stellan had found a bride at MacKay. Perhaps he would, too.
At the very least, this quest got him away from home, away from the all-too-familiar aspects of his life, and fed his need for new horizons.
He expected the run across the Pentland Firth would be as much adventure as any man on this birlinn needed.
Beyond that, he would take what came and hope for the best.
Which was why he was on this birlinn, sailing north, testing the more hazardous route while his twin rode hard to the northwest, trying to beat him to MacKay.
The sun glinted on the ripples that disturbed the smoothness of the North Sea.
This near the coast, he could see the shore break, white with foam, at the foot of cliffs interspersed with rolling hills that sloped gently down to the sea.
“We need more wind if we're to win yer wager,” Tomas commented from Anders’ side at the stern. “We canna match the speed of a good blow by rowing.”
“Aye, ’tis a long way to row,” Anders agreed. “We didna bring enough men to row the whole route. But I’ll wager once we get up the coast a wee, we’ll have all the wind ye want. And more than ye want once we get to the Pentland. Have a care what ye wish for.”
“Aye, and I ken it.” Tomas scanned the sky in all directions. “’Tis calm now, but ’twill change soon.”