Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Niall arrived shortly before noon with twelve armed men and the expression of someone attending a wedding feast rather than entering a castle preparing for war.
Colin watched from the steps as the riders crossed the courtyard. Their cloaks were dark with rain, and their horses streaked with mud from hard travel. Guards closed the gate behind them at once.
Niall swung from his saddle and looked up at Colin.
“I hoped marriage might improve yer welcome.”
Colin descended the steps. Niall’s amusement faded as he studied the healing wound beneath Colin’s coat and the hard set of his face.
“How bad?”
“Three men dead at the northern passage. One wounded.”
“And the feast?”
“More dead. More injured.”
Niall’s jaw tightened. “Munro.”
“Aye.”
“The Crown agrees?”
“The Crown hasnae yet discovered courage.”
“Ah.” Niall handed his reins to a waiting stable lad. “Then naething has changed in Edinburgh.”
Elspeth emerged from the keep before Colin could answer. She wore deep green wool, with her hair braided loosely over one shoulder. The cut at her ribs still made her movements careful, though anyone who did not know her might have mistaken the stiffness for dignity.
Niall bowed with his usual exaggerated grace. “Lady Elspeth.”
“Laird Niall MacLeod,” she replied. “I see nay one has yet corrected yer habit of arriving where ye havenae been asked.”
His face brightened. “She remembers me.”
“It is difficult tae forget a man who introduces himself while another holds a blade beneath his jaw.”
Colin looked at Niall. “I should have pressed harder.”
“There,” Niall said to Elspeth. “That is the gratitude I receive for saving both of ye from a damp night in the woods.”
“I recall ye providing directions and insulting me husband,” Elspeth said playfully.
“Both essential services.”
Her mouth curved. Something in Colin eased at the sight, though not enough to be trusted.
Niall noticed. Niall noticed far too much.
Fortunately, the sound of another horn rose beyond the gate before he could make use of it.
Domhnall arrived less than an hour later.
He brought twenty men, two wagons of supplies, and his wife.
Margaret descended from the carriage before Domhnall could reach her door.
She was dark-haired, warmly dressed, and possessed the calm confidence of a woman long accustomed to ignoring her husband’s instructions when they were inconvenient.
Domhnall followed her with a look of resignation.
“I told ye tae wait.”
“And I told ye the courtyard isnae a battlefield.”
“Present evidence suggests all MacKenzie land is a battlefield at this time.”
Margaret turned to Colin and embraced him before he could prepare a suitable defense.
“Ye look dreadful.”
Colin endured the embrace with what he considered uncommon patience. “It is good tae see ye as well.”
Domhnall clasped Colin’s forearm, avoiding the injured shoulder.
“I leave ye unattended fer one wedding,” he spoke amusedly, “and ye begin a war.”
“It was a poor wedding.”
“So Niall claims. He also claims the bride threatened him with a dirk.”
“She was armed,” Niall confirmed from the steps. “And magnificent.”
Elspeth narrowed her eyes. “I am beginning tae regret allowing ye inside.”
Margaret looked between them, then smiled at Elspeth with immediate warmth.
“Ye must be Lady Elspeth.”
“Only when Colin wishes tae command me in public.”
“So constantly, then.”
Elspeth’s expression changed. It was a small thing, the easing of her shoulders, the surprise of finding another woman who understood the particular burden of marrying a Highland laird. Margaret took her hands as though they were already acquainted.
“I am Margaret,” she introduced herself. “And I assure ye, they become only marginally more sensible after marriage.”
“Margaret,” Domhnall warned.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Am I wrong?”
Domhnall considered the gathering of men.
“Nay. But loyalty requires me tae resent the accuracy.”
Elspeth laughed. The sound moved across the courtyard, light and unexpected among armed men, closed gates, and guards along the walls. Colin looked away before anyone saw what it did to him.
Ruaridh’s message arrived with Domhnall. Colin opened it about an hour later in the study while the others stood around the map table. The letter was brief, written in Ruaridh’s hard, narrow hand.
He found out that Isobel was well but remained with child. With attacks spreading and roads uncertain, neither of them would risk travelling. Ruaridh had doubled his border patrols and placed fifty men under orders to ride the moment Colin called for them.
The final line read:
Dinnae mistake absence fer hesitation. Send one word, and I come.
Colin folded the parchment.
“He is ready?” Niall asked.
“Aye.”
Domhnall nodded. “As are we.”
Colin looked at the men gathered around him. Niall leaned against the table with rain still dampening his fair hair. Domhnall stood opposite, broader and more solemn, though the old irritation of being near Niall had already returned to his face. Breac and Murdoch waited nearer the hearth.
These men had ridden without being summoned.
Friendship was a word Colin distrusted because it invited expectation, and expectation gave loss somewhere to strike.
Yet as Niall reached across the table to steal the cup of whisky Domhnall had poured for himself, Colin felt the old shape of them settle into the room.
“Ye have yer own cup,” Domhnall objected.
“Yers was nearer.”
“It was in me hand.”
“Closer still.”
Domhnall looked at Colin. “Why did we keep him?”
“We were young,” Colin shrugged playfully.
“And charitable,” Niall added.
“Nay,” Colin corrected. “Only young.”
For the first time in several days, Breac laughed. The sound surprised everyone, including Breac.
Outside the study, the castle had begun to change.
More horses filled the stables. Strange tartans crossed the courtyard beside MacKenzie black.
Men who had spent days speaking in lowered voices now exchanged news, insults, and cups with newcomers who had brought more than swords.
They brought proof that the castle had not been abandoned to Robert’s mercy.
Colin felt no relief. Relief was merely vigilance resting at the wrong moment.
Yet when he crossed the upper gallery that afternoon, he found Elspeth walking with Margaret below, and the sight held him.
The women moved slowly through the inner courtyard.
Margaret had one arm linked through Elspeth’s, matching her careful pace without making the accommodation obvious.
Elspeth was speaking with unusual animation.
Colin paused near the stone rail.
“Domhnall believes silence is evidence of wisdom,” Margaret spoke.
“And is it?”
“Nay. It generally means he is deciding how best tae be unreasonable.”
Elspeth smiled. “Colin daesnae require time fer that. He possesses a natural gift.”
Colin’s brows drew together. Domhnall came to stand beside him.
“They have kent each other less than an hour,” he observed.
“Margaret is insulting us.”
“Aye. That is how she expresses affection,” Domhnall chuckled.
“Elspeth uses several methods.”
“I have noticed.”
Colin looked at him. Domhnall’s expression became innocent with such poor skill that it amounted to mockery.
Below, Margaret said something quieter. Elspeth’s amusement softened. She looked toward the walls, where guards paced beneath a low sky. Margaret squeezed her arm.
Colin understood then what her presence offered. Elspeth was no longer the only woman seated among men discussing blood, borders, and vengeance as though fear were an inconvenience. Margaret knew what it meant to love a man whose duties regularly invited death to the door.
Colin disliked the thought of Elspeth loving him.
He disliked more how fiercely he wanted it to be true.
Dinner began with Niall insulting the ale.
“This is what ye serve guests?” he asked, holding the cup toward the fire as though poor light might explain the contents.
“This is what I serve men who arrive uninvited,” Colin replied.
Domhnall drank from his own cup. “It is better than what Niall serves.”
“That is slander.”
“It is memory.”
“Memory is notoriously unreliable after yer third cup.”
“At least I can reach a third cup without losing consciousness.”
Niall looked toward Elspeth. “He once slept beneath a table during a royal supper.”
Domhnall set down his cup. “I had been poisoned.”
“By wine.”
“It was French.”
Margaret leaned toward Elspeth. “They have told this story for ten years. Each time, Domhnall comes nearer tae death.”
“In another decade,” Elspeth replied, “he will have been buried and miraculously restored.”
Domhnall pointed at her. “At last, a reasonable woman.”
“Dinnae become attached,” Colin said. “She is rarely reasonable.”
Elspeth looked at him over the rim of her cup. “And yet ye appear remarkably attached.”
Silence claimed the upper table for one dangerous heartbeat. Niall lowered his gaze to hide a smile. Domhnall did not bother. Colin reached for his wine.
“Eat,” he ordered.
“How fortunate,” Elspeth said to Margaret. “I feared marriage might deprive me of instruction.”
Margaret laughed. The lighter mood travelled down the tables.
It did not erase the empty places left for the dead, nor the guards standing at every entrance, but laughter returned in cautious measures.
Men spoke of roads and hunting. Margaret asked Elspeth about the castle, while Niall informed Murdoch that the northern whisky required urgent rescue from MacKenzie ownership.
For a little while, the hall remembered how to live.
Then Murdoch spoke. “Robert willnae stop until blood answers blood.”
Conversation thinned around them. Murdoch sat below the dais with Breac and the senior councilmen. Firelight caught the scar at his jaw as he leaned forward.
“He has lost men at the cathedral, the feast, and the passage,” he continued. “Each failure will make him bolder. Men such as Munro mistake restraint fer weakness.”
“Then we remove the mistake,” Domhnall said.