“Don’t ye try to tell me what a man must do,” she said, so angry that tears filled her eyes, “because the truth is ye are just playing at being a man.”
She was straining his patience now. How dare she mock him? “Protecting the clan is not playing.”
“A true man doesn’t desert his family when they need him,” she said. “And protecting the clan starts with your family.”
This time, the truth of her words burned through him.
“I’ll stay until we hear from Connor,” Ian said, and reached out for the pitchfork. “Go inside, Sileas. I’ll do this.”
She hurled the pitchfork against the wall with a loud clatter that set the horses snorting, and stormed past him.
At the door, Sileas spun around to fling one last remark at him. “It’s time ye grew up, Ian MacDonald, because your family needs ye.”
Ian and Alex went to the creek to clean up, rather than dirty his mother’s kitchen washing in the tub there.
“Mucking out the byre was not how I thought we’d be serving the clan,” Alex said, sounding amused.
“It is a waste of our talents. We’re warriors!” Ian said, Alex’s good humor annoying him further. “We should be using our claymores, fighting our way into the castle, and tossing Hugh over the wall for the fish to eat.”
“While Sileas mucks out the stalls for ye?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow and grinning. “Hugh Dubh has as much right to seek the chieftainship as Connor. We can’t just toss him in the sea, as satisfying as that would be.”
“But he’s claiming it without being chosen, and he’s no right to do that,” Ian said. “He made a mistake by not calling a gathering and forcing the selection before Connor returned.”
“I expect Hugh was waiting until he could share the sad news of Connor’s demise,” Alex said.
“It won’t be easy to convince the men to go against Hugh while he holds Dunscaith Castle,” Ian said. “We must find a way to show them that Connor is the better man.”
“I’m starving,” Alex said, tossing his dirty towel at Ian. “It must be time to eat, aye?”
“Something da said about what happened at the battle troubles me,” Ian said, as they headed toward the house.
“What’s that?” Alex asked.
“He said the English surprised him, striking from behind,” Ian said. “You’ve fought with my father—the man fights like he’s got eyes in the back of his head. How did the English get past him without him knowing it?”
Alex squeezed Ian’s shoulder. “In his prime, your father was a great warrior—but he’s grown old.”
“Aye, he has,” Ian said, his spirits sinking as he recalled his father’s sallow cheeks and graying hair. “I should have been there to protect his back.”
“How are ye feeling today, Payton?” Sileas asked, as she set the tray on the small table next to the bed.
“I’m missing a leg, so how do ye think I am?” he said.
She stopped herself from helping him sit up, knowing it would annoy him. Though she had a hundred things to do, Sileas took the chair beside him and forced her hands to be still.
“What are ye all upset about?” Payton asked, slanting his eyes at her as he lifted an oatcake to his mouth.
Sileas pressed her lips together.
“Come, Sileas, you’re so furious it’s making your hair curl.”
“Your son is an idiot,” she blurted out—and regretted it as soon as the words were out of her mouth.
“Which of my idiot sons are ye referring to?” Payton asked.
“I’ll not hear ye say another word against Niall, and ye know it,” she said. “It’s time ye stopped blaming him for doing what he had to do.”
“So it’s Ian, is it?” Payton said.
“I fail to see why this is the first thing to amuse ye in weeks,” she snapped. Despite her annoyance, Sileas was pleased to see a glimmer of his old self.
“What’s Ian done to get on your wrong side so soon?”
She couldn’t tell him that Ian had not seen fit to acknowledge her or their marriage—she had her pride—so she shared Ian’s latest offense.
“He’s no notion of what must be done with the crops and livestock,” she said, folding her arms. It was Ian’s responsibility now, and he would just have to learn.
“I raised Ian to be a warrior, not a farmer, lass. He has more important things to attend to,” Payton said, his expression turning stern. “I told him how that devil took Knock Castle.”
Sileas said nothing, knowing that the loss of her castle was a festering wound to Payton’s pride—and to the whole clan. Her step-da had bided his time for five years, then struck in the wake of Flodden when the MacDonalds were weak.
Payton set his plate on the tray and sank back on the pillows, looking pale.
“If it’s any comfort to ye, I expect the Knock Castle ghost is haunting my step-da,” she said, giving him a wink. “I doubt the Green Lady has let Murdoc have a single good night’s sleep.”
“ ’Tis a shame your ghost doesn’t carry a dirk,” Payton said in a tired voice.
“Shall I tell ye how she warned me to leave that day?” she asked.
