Something more than losing a leg had changed in his father. Payton MacDonald had been a warrior who sent terror into the hearts of his enemies, but he had also been a man who showed warmth and kindness to his family.
“Give Ian the chair and go,” his father barked without looking at Niall. “Alex, get out of the doorway and come in. I must tell the two of ye of our clan’s misfortunes, for the future of the MacDonalds of Sleat rests with ye.”
CHAPTER 5
“Do ye think we should be leaving so soon?” Alex asked, as they crossed the yard to the byre. “We only just arrived.”
“We need to find Connor and Duncan and make our plan,” Ian said.
His father’s grim news had kept Ian and Alex up talking far into the night. As they had feared, Hugh Dubh and his rough, clanless men had taken control of Dunscaith, the chieftain’s castle, as soon as the men returned from Flodden bearing the body of their dead chieftain. Hugh had proclaimed himself the new chieftain. And then, the new “chieftain” had stood by and done nothing while the MacKinnons attacked Knock Castle.
Ach, it made Ian blind with fury.
“Connor said he’d come for us when he wants us,” Alex said.
“I can’t sit here on my arse doing nothing with so much at stake,” Ian said.
Besides, he needed to escape, if only for a day or two. Nothing at home was as he expected. Finding his father crippled had shaken him badly. And seeing Sileas had confused him.
“So what are ye going to do about Sileas?” Alex asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Ye think being away from her will help ye decide?” Alex asked. “Ye must know that’s utter foolishness, cousin.”
Foolish or no, that was what Ian was doing. Because he was forced to say vows when he’d committed no offense, he’d never considered keeping them. But if he took Sileas as his true wife now, that would be an entirely different matter. It would be his decision, and he would feel honorbound to keep his vows.
“I need time to decide,” Ian said.
“So ye think it’s your choice, do ye?” Alex said. “Are ye so sure Sileas wants ye?”
Ian turned to look at Alex to see if he was serious. “She’s been living with my family all this time, waiting for me.” With a grin, he added, “The whole clan knows the lass has adored me since she was a child.”
“Ach, but she’s not an ignorant child now,” Alex said over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to the byre.
Alex stopped so abruptly that Ian ran into him. When Ian pushed past him, he saw what—or rather, who—had caught Alex by surprise.
Sileas was dressed in a man’s shirt and old boots, and she was mucking out a stall with a pitchfork. With streaks of dirt on her face and bits of straw tangled in her hair, she looked more like the Sileas that Ian remembered.
Her pitchfork was half-raised when she saw them. Her eyes widened, and then, very slowly, she rested the wooden end of the pitchfork on the dirt floor.
“Do not tell me ye have it in your head to leave,” she said, looking at Ian.
“Just for a few days,” Ian said, feeling unaccountably guilty. He had every reason to go.
“Ye cannot mean it,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve seen how it is here. You’ve seen what’s happened to your da.”
“Sil, a man must do what he must,” Ian said. “The future of the clan is at stake.”
“Hugh Dubh has been sitting in the chieftain’s castle for weeks,” she said, planting one hand on her hip. “I believe we can survive another day or two with him in it.”
“Delay will only make things worse,” Ian said.
“Ye cannot spare your mother more than an evening after the poor woman didn’t lay eyes on ye for five years?” Sileas said.
Ian felt a twinge of guilt about that, but he had to go. To divert her—and because he was curious—he asked, “What are ye doing dressed like that and mucking out the stalls?”
“Someone has to,” Sileas said, her eyes sparking green fire. “Your da can’t do it. And your brother can’t do everything himself, try as he might.”
“There are other men who can do this,” Ian said.
“Do ye see any men here to help?” she said, sweeping one arm out to the side. Her other hand gripped the pitchfork so tightly her knuckles were white. “We lost some men in the battle, and Hugh Dubh has forbidden the rest from working our lands.”
Ian’s father had not told him of this insult.
“Give me that, Sil,” Alex said, using the voice he used to gentle horses. “I understand why you want to use it on him, but Ian won’t be good to anyone if you stick that pitchfork into his heart.”
When she glared at Alex and banged the end of the pitchfork against the ground, Alex lifted his hands palms out and stepped back.
“I can see,” he said in a low voice to Ian, “the lass adores ye still.”
Ian decided to try his luck. When he started toward her, Sileas braced the pitchfork in front of her.
