Then Caitlin had walked in. How lovely she had looked! Rhys had had to quell his natural instincts to admire her beauty because she was a McClearey, but it was clear that she stood apart from other women. He tried to give her the cold shoulder as she spoke, but she was so insistent and charming that eventually he had given into conversation. The night was long and he didn’t think he could go the entire time without talking to her. And then came dancing…oh, how Rhys had dreaded that moment! How he had looked over to his father for some respite, only to see Malcolm slapping his thigh as he told a bawdy joke about a maiden and a mule. But Caitlin had encouraged Rhys and allowed him to save face. She had shown him that dancing wasn’t all that different from sword fighting, and in the end, he had learned that, actually, he was rather good.
And then she had left him with a kiss. It was just a simple kiss, a mere brush of the lips against his own, but it was a kiss that was filled with promise, a kiss that would echo into the future.
He went to sleep with a full belly and thoughts on the future, trying not to think about the deadly plot that his father had designed. He would never doubt his father of course, but after spending an evening of revelry with these people he started to feel uneasy about the situation. After all, as he looked around the hall he didn’t see much difference between the two clans. They shared the same food, danced together, and joked together. Yet one side was plotting destruction while the other was in blissful ignorance. One thing Caitlin said had struck him—that the party seemed to prove the two clans could get along, and why couldn’t they do this all the time? There was so much bad blood between the clans that oftentimes it seemed impossible to think about them being allies, but nights like these were the kind of nights that could change a man’s opinion.
Not that Rhys was going to spend too much time thinking about that. It was just one night after all, and it couldn’t erode so many years of threats and crimes committed by the McCleareys.
But it did make one think…
Rhys was awoken early in the morning by Malcolm bursting into his room, not bothering with the decency to knock, but then his father had always been like that. He saw everything in the world as his own right, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything less than what he thought he deserved. He stroked his beard and didn’t look any the worse for drinking and eating heavily.
“Say what ye want about the McCleareys, but they know how to put on a feast!” he declared, and closed the door behind him to ensure that nobody could hear what they were saying to each other. Rhys yawned and rubbed his eyes, and then sat up. The blanket fell off his body as he swung his legs out of bed and had some water to help himself wake up.
“Aye, it was a fine night,” Rhys agreed.
“And none of them suspected a thing! Aye, I tell ye Rhys, they’re not as clever as they think. What did ye think of yer future wife?”
“She’s pleasant,” Rhys said, deciding to keep his true feelings a secret.
“Oh aye, pleasant is a way tae describe her alright. I’m guessing ye’ll be wanting tae keep her around? A lass like that…ah…she deserves a better name than the McClearey one! Ye did well though Son. I dinnae think anyone suspected anything, certainly nae her. Ye actually looked as though ye enjoyed dancing like a fool.”
Rhys blanched a little. He rose from the bed and turned his back on his father so that Malcolm couldn’t see how his cheeks reddened. “Aye, it was nae hard tae fool them,” Rhys lied.
“Ye had a better night than I did. I had tae sit with that fool Bryn and try tae pretend all night that I was nae thinking of slitting his throat!” Malcolm paced around the room and placed his hands on his hips, puffing out his chest. “But this keep is mighty fine. It’ll make a good addition tae our territory when we capture it. This is gaeing tae be a glorious beginning, a new chapter in the history of the Frasier clan! With more land, we can become stronger, and all those who laugh at us will be silenced.” The humor suddenly disappeared from his voice. He cast his gaze out of the window into the distance. His eyes narrowed and his face became pinched with tension.
“Aye, all of them will face the wrath of my war hammer, and by the time I’m done, the Frasier clan will be the most feared clan in all of the Highlands. It’ll be a name that strikes terror into the heart of anyone who hears it.” He turned to face Rhys. “And ye, my eldest son, will have a greater inheritance than anyone who has gone before ye. I will give ye the world,” he said. Rhys gulped. His father’s ambitions were great, but also high.
“I hope I can be worthy of ye Father, and worthy of our name.”
Malcolm strode across the room and flung his arms around his eldest son, pulling him into a tight embrace. Rhys was enveloped in a bear-like hug, a hug that smelled of mead and ale and meat from last night’s feast. The hug was so tight that breath was driven from his lungs, and when Malcolm released him, he staggered back.
“Now then, are ye
