Ruaidri: The Sword and the Spirit, Book Four

Chapter One

Castle Cathan

Easter Sunday

30th March, Year of the Lord 1309

“Marriage.”

“Aye.”

“To Lachlan Ranald’s daughter.”

Ruaidri gave Ewan a sardonic look. “I doubt he’d be offering me the hand of his son. To his lass, aye. Màiri Beth.”

Ewan grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “And you’ve been aware of this since you got the invitation to the gathering.”

“Aye.”

“A month ago.”

“Aye.”

“And you didnae mention it till now because?”

“Because I wasnae quite decided.” Ruaidri shifted in his chair and regarded the missive, which lay, unfurled, on the desk before him. He didn’t need to read it to remind himself of what it said, but his gaze skimmed the words again anyway. At least, those that were currently relevant.

‘The friendship between our families goes back many years. A marital union twixt MacKellar and Ranald will only serve to strengthen the alliance we already share. Màiri Beth is a bonny lass. Bright, too. A wee bit headstrong, like her mother, but a man in her bed should settle her down.

For now, I request only your discretion on this matter. We can discuss things further after your arrival at Roscraig. May God guide and keep you.’

Lachlan Ranald

“And you’re decided now?” Ewan asked.

“Aye, I believe I am.” Even as he spoke, a familiar worm of doubt wriggled in his gut. He’d become used to it and ignored it, as usual. “I need an heir, Ewan, and to obtain one, I’ll need a wife.”

Ewan’s eyes narrowed. “But?”

Irritated by his brother’s apparent insight, Ruaidri shifted again. “But nothing. I told you. My mind is made up.”

“Aye, bollocks.” Ewan grabbed the chair at the front of Ruaidri’s desk, swung it around, and straddled it, arms folded atop the back. “You might have convinced yourself, brother, but you havenae yet convinced me. How old is this lass?”

“In her eighteenth year.”

“Bonny?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By Lachlan.” Ewan looked unconvinced as he glanced at the missive. “So, a biased opinion. It could well be that the lass has a face like a… like a…”

“Pig’s arse?”

“Aye.”

Ruaidri winced and sat back. “Odd. I had this conversation, or something like it, once before. ’Twas on the day I left for Dunraven believing I was going there to wed Elsp…” A sudden dryness came to his throat, and he reached for the goblet on his desk, silently cursing the slight tremble in his hand as he took a mouthful of wine.

“Elspeth MacAulay,” Ewan finished.

“Aye.” Ruaidri cleared his throat and set the goblet down. “’Twas one of the last things Morag said to me before I left. That I deserved a bonny lass, both in looks and character.”

“Which she is. Elspeth, I mean.” Ewan waggled a brow. “And I’d venture to say the lass is smitten with you, and has been for a while, judging by what—”

“She’s a MacAulay, Ewan. Alastair’s kin.” Ruaidri’s lip furled. “I dinnae care if she’s the bonniest lass this side of Heaven. I’d rather wed a woman with a face like a pig’s arse than marry a lass with accursed MacAulay blood in her vei—”

“You’d best stop right there, brother,” Ewan said, anger clearly simmering beneath his softly-spoken advice.

Ruaidri groaned. “I wasnae referring to Cristie, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m obliged to give you yet another reminder.” Ewan narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “Alastair MacAulay is dead, Ruaidri. Dead, as in no longer alive, no longer breathing, no longer a threat, his accursed blood long since turned to dust. Brochan MacAulay, by all accounts, is nothing like his dead elder brother. He’s a reasonable man and a worthy laird. Still a wee bit wet behind the ears, perhaps, but he’s gained the respect of his clan and those beyond it. Elspeth, from what I’ve seen, is a bonny, strong-willed Highland lass with a gentle heart. There isnae a trace of accursed blood in either of them.”

Ruaidri reached for his goblet again. “That may be, but I cannae—”

Ewan held up a hand. “Cristie and wee Kennet are also MacAulay kin, so I’d rather you keep your prejudice confined to the only one who merits it. Cristie is caught in the middle here. She understands why you feel the way you do toward Alastair, but cannae understand why you resent Elspeth and Brochan. I cannae understand it either. They’ve done naught to merit your intolerance.”

“I dinnae see Cristie as a MacAulay, and never have,” Ruaidri replied, ignoring the familiar, bitter taste of guilt. “If not for her courage, I wouldnae be here.”

“Aye, but Elspeth also played a part that night,” Ewan pointed out. “’Twas her idea to take the boat, otherwise Cristie would never have got to Ravenstone in time.”

“Maybe, but we’ll never know for sure, will we?” Ruaidri took another mouthful of wine and then frowned into his goblet. “Besides, one might ask why Elspeth never went with Cristie that night.”

“Given what Alastair did to Tasgall, ’tis maybe just as well she stayed behind. Who knows what he might have done to the lass when she returned?” Ewan got to his feet and swung the chair back to its former place. “In any case, when it comes to wedding Màiri Beth Ranald, I wouldnae rush intae anything.”

Ruaidri raised a brow. “I dinnae see the point of waiting, so why should I delay?”

Ewan cocked his head and gave Ruaidri an appraising look. “Because I’m of the opinion that my stubborn-arsed brother deserves a marriage based on more than diplomatic alliances and politics. No one can question your loyalty and sense of obligation to clan and country, Ruaidri. In all the years since our father died, when have you ever put yourself first? Not once, I warrant, and I reckon it’s time you did. That noble heart of yours has a God-given capacity to love and ’twould be a shame—nay, a sin—to deny it that chance. Be sure to love the lass you marry and to marry a lass who loves you back.”

Ruaidri kept his gaze locked with Ewan’s, but stayed silent, his thoughts drifting back to the moment when he’d first learned of his brother’s return. “It wasnae Cristie,” he said. “It was you.”

“Me?” Ewan shook his head. “I dinnae understand.”

“If you hadnae come home when you did, I’d no’ be here now. Whatever devilish plan Alastair originally had in mind never came to pass, because everything changed when he found out you’d returned. Cristie played a part, aye, a huge part, in saving my life.” Ruaidri rose, wandered over to the window, and looked out across the distant mountains. “But if you hadnae come home, brother, my bones would be laying out there somewhere and Alastair would be standing here instead of me. As for Morag, I cannae begin to imagine what would have become of her. Forced into a hellish marriage, I should think.”

“You may be right,” Ewan said, “but, to quote your previous opinion, we’ll never really know for sure. In any case, it’s all in the past. We need to be looking forward, Ruaidri, not back.”

“Which is what I’m trying to do by agreeing to Ranald’s offer.” He turned and regarded his brother. “The offer you’re telling me to refuse.”

Ewan shook his head. “I didnae say to refuse it, just dinnae go rushing into it. Is this potential agreement ’tween you and Ranald to be kept secret, by the way?”

“I’d prefer it be kept between us for now, aye,” Ruaidri replied.

Ewan gave a nod and turned on his heel. “Right, then.”

Ruaidri huffed. “Which means you’re off to find Cristie to tell her all about it.”

Ewan chuckled. “There are no secrets between us, true enough,” he said, over his shoulder, “but dinnae fash. She’ll keep it to herself.”

“Ewan?”

“Aye?” He paused at the door and looked back.

Ruaidri smiled. “I’m glad you came home.”

Ewan straightened a little. “So am—”

Three loud raps at the door cut off Ewan’s remark. He stepped back as the door swung open and Duncan all but fell into the room.

“Laird MacKellar, Morag sent me to fetch you,” the man said, breathing hard, “’Tis Father Iain. He’s taken a turn for the worse.”