“I hear that Tavish Maclean is a braw one.”
She clenched her teeth. The last time she’d seen Tavish Maclean, he’d been but a lad. Likely around twelve years old. And his clan had not been their enemy then.
“I dinnae care if he is the most braw man in the whole of Scotland,” Leana muttered. “He’s still a Maclean.”
“Aye, and keen to put to rest the bitterness between the clans.”
“I dinnae know what he has to be bitter about. He’s not the one whose clan was destroyed.”
Maggie tugged her hair, making Leana wince. “Everyone would like to see the end of the feud between the clans. With the Campbells to the south, it would be a fine thing to be joined in numbers with the Macleans.”
Leana stared at her hands, her gaze lingering on the small patch of ugly red skin that peeked out from beneath her kirtle. She tugged down her sleeve. “I know.”
Maggie was not alone in her concerns. Though they had warred with the Macleans since the fire, the Campbells were a far bigger threat. They had already expanded their lands twofold in the past ten years and had grown in numbers. If the Sinclairs were to survive another ten, they could not do it alone.
But that meant forgoing the one thing she wanted the most.
Revenge.
She wasn’t certain she was willing to give that. After all these years of fighting, here was her chance to make her mark. To truly hit the Macleans where it hurt.
“Ye dinnae need to be nervous. I’ll be with ye,” Maggie reminded her. “Though ‘tis a shame yer da’s health is no’ doing so well. He’ll no’ make the journey.”
Nodding, she bit down on her bottom lip. The chief had struggled with his health the past year and was only just recovering from an illness that had kept him bedridden for over a sennight. As much as he wanted to be a part of these negotiations, he would never manage the journey, and she couldn’t bear it if she lost him. He might not be her real father but he had never treated her as anything other than a daughter. The wounds of the fire had taken longer than her arm to heal, but somehow, having Chief Sinclair helped. Together they had been strong enough to get to this point.
Strong enough to ensure she could take this final step. Strong enough to finally get the revenge their families deserved.
She rose from the chair and adjusted her plaid. Nay, she had no intention of joining with the Macleans and marrying Tavish, no matter what the benefits might be. They deserved to suffer for what they did to her clan and there was no chance she could lie with the son of their most hated enemy. There was no forgiveness to be had this Yuletide. None at all.
✽✽✽
“YE MISSED A spot.”
Bram twisted from his position at the top of the ladder and glowered down at Tavish. “If ye want to come and do it instead, yer more than welcome.”
Tavish grinned. “What would I know about decorating for Yuletide?” He stepped back to view the greenery.
They usually decorated the castle handsomely for Yule but even more effort had been put in this year thanks to the imminent arrival of the Sinclairs. The beams of the great hall were wound with plants while sprigs of mistletoe hung in doorways for luck. Branches of rowan were twined within the greenery, offering splashes of red. Tavish enjoyed Yuletide and he wouldn’t let this year be any different.
Especially if it was to be his last winter as an unmarried man.
Bram climbed down the ladder and joined Tavish. “Ye would know as much as me.” He folded his arms and gave a shrug. “Though I think I might have an eye for this decorating lark.”
Tavish clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Ye can have the job every year.”
Bram shook his head. “Nay, next year yer wife can do it.”
“Aye, if she’ll have me.”
“Why would she not? The Sinclairs are in need of kinship and the Campbells are a bigger threat than ever. Besides, yer not such an ugly brute.” Bram’s mouth curved.
“Yer too kind.” Tavish shook his head. “But if you’re done insulting me, I should see where my father is.”
“I think ye’ll find him in his quarters.”
Tavish made his way across the bailey, toward his father’s private quarters. He suspected Bram had banished anyone from helping—or more likely criticizing—as the hall would have usually been full of people. Either way, everyone had something with which to keep themselves occupied.
Members of the household and the servants hastened across the bailey, leaving a pattern of footprints scarring the snow. The warm fragrance of Yule bread reached him from the kitchens, almost conquering the biting cold of the air. Positioned high above the coastline, Blair Castle was in a prime position but it also received the worst of the winter weather.
The cold did not much bother Tavish—he could always ride or fight to keep away the chill—but he had to wonder how Leana Sinclair would find it. It had been many years since he’d seen her last, but she’d been a wee scrawny thing with reddish-brown hair and a quiet tongue.
And soon she’d be his bride if all went well.
He strode quickly up the stone steps that led up the outside of the building then shoved open the door. His father and uncle twisted to view the intruder as they remained hunched over a map. Candles and oil provided dim light in the darkened room, and the scent of the burned wood filled the room, leaving it feeling stifling.
Tavish always hated this room as a boy. It was too dark, too out of the way. He’d rather be conducting his business as laird somewhere in the main castle where he could have an ear to the ground, but his father had always declared it was better and
