Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The first shared patrol left Dun Ard beneath a sky the color of old iron.
MacIver red moved beside MacNicol green along the outer road, the two colors bright against wet stone and winter-bare earth.
Donaldina watched the men form ranks in the courtyard while mist drifted through the open gate and settled coldly upon her cheeks.
Only a fortnight before, such an arrangement might have ended in argument before the first order was given. Now MacNicol archers stood beneath a MacIver captain, while two of Roy’s younger warriors waited for instruction from Malcolm near the eastern wall.
There were glances, certainly. Old rivalries did not vanish merely because banners had been hung at equal height. Yet the men checked one another’s weapons, exchanged route markers, and moved into position without open complaint.
Roy stood at the center of it all. He carried no helmet, though his sword remained at his side and a dark cloak hung heavily from his shoulders. A wooden board rested against one forearm, covered with guard rotations and marks Donaldina could not decipher from where she stood.
“MacNicol men ken the cliff paths,” he told the assembled captains. “MacIver men ken the inland approaches. Nae patrol is tae be formed entirely from one clan.”
One of the older warriors frowned. “Ye expect trouble from within the ranks?”
“I expect men tae learn the ground from one another before trouble arrives.”
The warrior considered that, then nodded. Donaldina felt a small stirring of approval. Roy did not command unity by pretending difference no longer existed. He placed those differences side by side and made them useful.
When the patrols began moving, he crossed the courtyard toward her.
“Ye neednae accompany me,” he urged.
Donaldina drew her cloak more closely about herself. “That sounds remarkably like an instruction.”
“It was an observation.”
“Then ye may observe me accompanying ye.”
He almost smiled, then turned toward the gate. “Keep up.”
They walked the perimeter together. The air beyond the walls carried salt from the sea and the damp scent of pine from the northern woodland.
Roy stopped often, questioning sentries, testing the distance between posts and altering the timing of rotations where the western wall could not be seen clearly from the gatehouse.
Donaldina followed the movement of men between the towers.
The shared command worked more smoothly than she expected.
A MacIver captain corrected the spacing of the archers without insulting them.
Malcolm shifted two guards toward the lower cliff path after Roy pointed out that a man approaching beneath the rocks might remain hidden until he reached the wall.
No one argued over whose authority mattered more. For the first time, Dun Ard’s defenses did not resemble two forces enduring one another. They resembled one.
Roy paused beside the outer watch platform and looked toward the treeline. The forest stood dark beyond the open ground, its branches moving in restless waves beneath the wind.
“Another pair here after nightfall,” he told the guard. “One facing north. One watching the road.”
Donaldina glanced toward him. “Ye expect an attack before the wedding?”
“I expect Cormac tae enjoy uncertainty.”
Roy made another mark upon the board. The admission should have unsettled her.
Instead, his calmness steadied something within her.
He did not dismiss the danger, nor did he allow it to grow larger out of fear.
He measured it as he measured distance between towers, finding where it might enter and placing men there before it did.
They reached the north wall shortly before midday.
Below them, mixed patrols crossed the open ground in pairs.
A MacNicol warrior pointed toward a narrow cut between the hills, explaining something to the MacIver beside him.
The other man listened rather than pretending knowledge he did not possess.
Donaldina rested one hand upon the cold parapet.
“They obey ye easily,” she said.
“They obey clear orders.”
“Men rarely distinguish between the two.”
Roy looked at her, but before he could answer, a horn sounded from the eastern watch: one sharp blast, then two more.
Breach.
The quiet order of the walls shattered. Warriors reached for swords. Archers turned toward the forest. A servant carrying water dropped the bucket, and it struck the stones with a hard wooden crack.
Donaldina’s heart lurched. Roy had already moved.
“Close the outer gate,” he ordered. His voice carried above the sudden noise without becoming a shout. “Archers tae the north wall. Malcolm, take six men below. Nae one enters the trees until the ground between is secure.”
The commands came one upon another, precise and immediate. MacIver and MacNicol warriors answered without hesitation. The gate chains groaned. Boots hammered along the wall walk. Bows rose between the crenellations as men took positions facing the treeline.
Roy caught Donaldina’s arm and moved her behind the shelter of the stone tower.
“Remain here.”
She might ordinarily have objected. The look in his eyes stopped her.
He placed her where the wall would protect her while still leaving her free to see and be seen by the men. Donaldina pressed her back against the cold stone. Beyond the open field, something dark moved among the trees.
The archers lifted their bows.
“Hold,” Roy ordered.
The movement vanished. Wind passed through the pines, making the branches hiss together. For several breaths, nothing crossed the open ground. Then the dark shape appeared again, jerking strangely between two trunks.
Roy narrowed his eyes.
“Malcolm,” he called down. “Dinnae pursue. Circle west and approach from the lower bank.”
Malcolm lifted one hand in acknowledgment. His men divided without speaking, half disappearing behind a rise while the others remained visible near the road.
Donaldina watched Roy. He stood exposed at the parapet, every part of him still except his eyes. Men waited upon his next word. The castle itself seemed to have drawn tight around his attention.
Minutes passed, then Malcolm emerged from the lower bank with a length of dark cloth in one hand. He crossed the field slowly, irritation plain in the set of his shoulders. Behind him, two warriors dragged a severed branch bound with rope.
The cloth had been tied around it in the crude shape of a cloak. A thin line disappeared through the undergrowth, allowing someone farther within the trees to pull it between the trunks.
“There are tracks heading north,” Malcolm called. “One man, perhaps two. They left before the horn sounded.”
Misdirection.
Donaldina let out the breath she had not realized she held.
Roy did not relax.
“Send nae pursuit beyond the marker stones,” he ordered. “Record the tracks. Double the eastern watch and move the next patrol out early.”
The gate remained shut until every section of the wall had been checked. Only then did the archers lower their bows. The alarm passed, though its tension lingered in the air like the metallic scent after lightning.
Roy returned to the wooden board. He crossed out two names, adjusted the eastern rotation, and added a patrol under Malcolm’s command. His hand remained steady.
Donaldina studied his face. There was no triumph, no satisfaction in being obeyed. He was already moving beyond the alarm toward whatever weakness it revealed.
“In moments such as that,” she said quietly, “yer authority is absolute.”
His quill paused for the smallest fraction of a breath. Then he shifted the evening patrol forward by half an hour.
“Two men at the eastern tower instead of one,” he told the waiting captain. “And nae horn is sounded again until movement is confirmed from a second post.”
He offered no answer to her observation. Yet Donaldina saw the faint color rise beneath the scar along his jaw before he bent more closely over the orders.
The first wedding guests reached Dun Ard before the morning mist lifted from the sea. They came with gifts, armed escorts and careful smiles. Dun Ard received them beneath the joined banners of MacIver and MacNicol.
Donaldina stood beside Roy near the entrance to the great hall. The first delegation bowed before them.
“Laird MacIver. Lady Donaldina.”
“We welcome ye tae Dun Ard,” Donaldina replied. “Yer chambers have been prepared in the western tower. The hearths should already be lit.”
The young MacRae heir glanced between her and Roy before inclining his head. “Ye receive us together, then.”
The remark appeared harmless. Roy heard too many harmless remarks spoken before bloodshed to mistake it for one.
Donaldina smiled politely. “It would seem discourteous for either host tae remain absent.”
The young man bowed more deeply. Roy said nothing.
They continued through the arrivals in the same manner.
Donaldina remembered names, old disputes, and which elderly chief required a room without stairs.
Roy noted how many armed men each guest brought, where their horses were stabled, and which envoys looked toward the joined banners before offering their greetings.
Some arrived sincerely pleased. Others came to witness whether the alliance would endure long enough to become useful or collapse before the vows were spoken.
Laird Eòghan of Glen Torra was among the latter. He was perhaps five years younger than Roy, fair-haired and finely dressed, with the pleasant confidence of a man whose battles had mostly been fought by older relatives. He kissed Donaldina’s hand with ceremonial care.
“Lady Donaldina,” he smiled. “Dun Ard appears more beautiful each time I see it.”
His gaze lingered upon her a moment too long before moving toward Roy.
“And tomorrow two powerful houses become one.”
“Two houses remain two houses,” Roy corrected. “They merely stand together.”
Eòghan’s smile sharpened slightly. “An important distinction.”
“Aye.”