Wal’s parents had died two winters after his return to the village, but not before getting to meet their grandchildren. Three years had passed since then, and the twins – Abigail and Ruaridh – had grown hale and hearty. Wal was eternally proud of them. Both sported his red hair and their mother’s violet eyes, and at the age of four, they were already well-spoken and hard workers.
Now, though, they clung to their parent’s hands as they approached the keep that would be their new home. Wal had received word a week ago that the Laird had died, and the clan was his. He had been reluctant to leave his peaceful life on the farm, but Yvaine’s gentle encouragement had made him realize that it was time. So he sold the farm and moved the family to the castle town of Clan McEwen, where their new lives would begin.
Scott and Mirren waited for them in the keep, taking a break from the farm to welcome them to their new home. Scott’s daughter was excited to see the twins, and the children all ran off ahead to explore the castle, leaving the four adults alone.
“It’s strange to be back here,” Wal admitted, looking around the place. “Especially knowing that me faither is deid.”
“We should have a party,” Mirren suggested. “To brighten this place up a bit and celebrate the Laird and the Lady coming home.”
And so that was what happened. That very evening, a feast was thrown. Laird and Lady McEwen sat happily at the top of the table, holding hands and just as in love as they had been five years before. Everyone welcomed them back to the clan as though they’d never left, and Wal knew that he’d made the right choice in coming here.
“I thought they’d hold me responsible for me faither’s choices,” Yvaine admitted to him. “I’m glad they still consider me part of their family.”
“They’re all our family,” Wal reminded her. “And they’re our responsibility now. It’s time we did our best.”
There were dancing and drinking, and Wal began to feel very happy about everything. His story was closed, he knew, and a new one was opening where he and Yvaine ruled the clan together. He’d been nervous, to begin with, but now he was more than ready for it.
Approaching the end of the night, a young woman approached them. She was maybe two-and-twenty, certainly no older than Yvaine had been when they first met. Many people had come to welcome them or congratulate them throughout the day, so Wal was not surprised and greeted the young lady with a smile.
“I dinnae recognize ye,” Yvaine told the girl pleasantly. “Are ye new to the clan?”
“Aye, ye could say that,” the girl said. Wal noticed with a frown that she was too thin, her dark hair a little matted. He made a mental note to ensure that she was well-fed before she left this keep.
“Well, what’s yer name?” Yvaine asked her. “Welcome to Clan McEwen.”
“Thank ye, Me Lady,” she said, curtseying a little. She’d obviously grown up poor, but she was dressed well, and she was well-spoken. “But in truth, I came here to meet Laird McEwen.”
Yvaine looked at her with curiosity, then glanced at Wal. He shrugged – he had no idea who she was any more than she did. “What’s yer name?” he asked. “Do we ken each other?”
The girl – the woman, really, but she was just so slight that Wal kept forgetting – shook her head. “Nay, Me Laird,” she said courteously. “Me name is Runa.”
A Norse-Scots name. It means secret, not so different from me. What secret does this lass hide?
“Hail, Runa,” he said. “Me name is Wal, and this is Yvaine.”
“I ken who ye are,” Runa said. “May I tell ye a story?”
Wal frowned but nodded, examining the girl. She was very pretty, with deep blue eyes and long black hair. Her skin was tanned and freckled; she was obviously used to work. With a little cleaning up, she could look as fine as any court lady. He suddenly, inexplicably, felt very protective of her. “Tell yer story,” he said.
She looked around nervously. “Have ye got anywhere private we can go?”
Wal looked at Yvaine, but he could see the curiosity burning in her violet eyes. She didn’t say anything, but he could hear her speak anyway and how she thought they should just see what this girl had to say.
***
Wal and Yvaine led Runa to the little antechamber just outside the room where the children lay asleep. It was the quietest place in the castle, and Wal truly didn’t sense any threat from her. Besides, she wouldn’t actually be near the children – and one false move from her and guards would be here in a moment.
Runa sat down on the chair they offered and then began to speak. She didn’t meet their eyes, obviously having spent a long time preparing this speech. “Me name is Runa like I told ye. Me mother was a maid who used to work in this castle before she was chased out of the clan by General Torquil.”
Yvaine gasped, going pale. “Me Faither…” she said. “I dinnae…why would he do such a thing?”
“As far as I ken, he led everyone else to believe that she was deid,” Runa said. “And then told her to leave under threat of her bairn’s life.”
“Yers?” Wal asked, swallowing. Torquil must have been more of a monster than he ever thought.
“Nae, her first child,” Runa replied. “He was yer faither, Me Lady?”
“He was. But he betrayed the clan. And he betrayed me,” Yvaine told her. “He’s been dead many years now.”
“Good,” Runa said darkly. “Anyway, me mither raised me alone. She took jobs wherever she could, but it was always just her and me. Every man she met treated her badly, so she eventually gave up on all of them. She worked as a maid sometimes, and I’d work with her too. We’d get farm work. Sometimes we even sold…”
She trailed off, looking embarrassed, but Wal was filled with horror. He could very well guess what a young, beautiful woman and her single mother had sold to keep food on the table.
Nae woman should ever be driven to desperation, such as that.
“And me faither did this to ye?” Yvaine asked in horror. “Miss Runa, I’m so sorry. If there’s anything that I can do for ye, or for yer mither…”
“Me mither died a month ago,” Runa said with a sad smile. Wal opened his mouth, but Runa shook her head. “Dinnae. I dinnae need the sympathy. She was sick for a long time.”
Despite what she was saying, there were very obvious tears in her eyes. Wal respected her request for silence, though, and did not push.
“What do ye need from us?” Yvaine asked her again. “A job? A home?”
“Nay,” Runa said, and pride glistened in her eyes. “I can look after meself. But I had to come. Me mither never stopped loving the faither of her first child or hoping that she and the bairn would be reunited someday. And then, not long ago, we received word that the faither had died. Mither was already very, very sick by then, and she kent that she’d never meet her son, but she begged me to travel here in her place.”
Wal stared at her, and Yvaine gasped. They both could tell what she was about to say, and both could scarcely believe it.
“Ye see,” Runa explained. “I didnae come here to get apologies from Torquil’s kin. I came here to meet ye, Wal.”
“Me,” Wal repeated, spellbound by her words.
Is it true? Was she alive all this time? Did Torquil take that from me?
“Aye, ye,” Runa agreed. She looked up, her blue eyes meeting his, and said, “I came here to keep me promise to me Mam. For, Me Laird, I think I may be yer sister.”
It was six months later, and Phoebe and Bernard were skimming stones by the lochside. It was fall now, the leaves turning upon the trees and the glen taking on a golden, red hue, the woodlands flushed with vibrant colors before they gave up their beauty for the winter snows. Bernard had just bounced his stone a dozen times across the water’s surface, letting out a triumphant cheer, as Phoebe took aim.
“I’ll wager ye cannae bounce yers as far as I,” Bernard said, and Phoebe laughed.
“You just wait, Bernard Moncreiffe, I will show you. I have been practicing,” Phoebe said, and with a careful aim, she skimmed her stone so that it bounced as many times as Bernard’s before landing in the water with a great splash.
“Ye have been practicing. Did my father show ye how?” Bernard asked, and Phoebe laughed.
“Your father cannot skim stones, or if he can, he has never shown me. I have taught myself well enough, and it seems that you now have competition,” she said, smiling at him.
Bernard laughed, picking up another stone, just as the sound of horse’s hooves came from the road above. Phoebe looked up to see a cloud of dust as five horsemen rode past toward the castle gates, a horn blowing, as though they were to announce some important message.
“Who dae ye think they are?” Bernard asked, and Phoebe looked puzzled.
“I do not know. Was your father expecting messengers? They look like the King’s men. Perhaps it is some important business. The affairs of a Laird are never at an end,” she said, turning to look back out across the loch.
The day was clear, and she could see almost to the tops of the high mountains, which stretched their wooded slopes down to the shore, the heathers on the upper rocks now turning a deep purple with the changing of the season. She had fallen in love with Glen Taetnire almost as much as she had fallen in love with its Laird, the landscape, and the man entwined in her affections, inseparable in her thoughts.
“When I am Laird, I shall spend all my time huntin’ on the mountainside and fishin’ in the loch. I will let Stewart make the important decisions,” Bernard said, pulling off his tunic and jumping into the water below with a splash.
He struck out a few yards, treading water and turning, floating on his back, before diving below the surface and emerging with a cry of delight.
“Your father would not like to hear such talk, Bernard. Besides, I hope it will be a very long time before you are Laird, for your father has much life in him yet. And I am certain he shall outlive Stewart, whatever you might say to the contrary,” Phoebe said.
“I didnae mean it like that, but come now. The water is still warm from the last of the summer sun. Swim out to the islands with me,” Bernard called out.
Phoebe was about to join him in the water, for despite the coming of fall, it still looked inviting. But just then, there came a shout from behind them, and she looked up to see Leyla hurrying toward them, waving to attract their attention.
“Mistress, oh, mistress, daenae let the master swim out just now. The Laird wishes him to return to the castle. I am sent to bring ye both back,” she called.
“Come on, Phoebe, dae nae listen to Leyla, she will nae catch us in the water,” Bernard said, but there was something in Leyla’s tone of voice which made Phoebe curious, and she called out to Bernard, beckoning him back to the shore.
“You do not wish to anger your father, Bernard. Come now, show your obedience. We shall return to the castle. The loch will still be here when we have heard what your father has to say,” she said, as Bernard swam reluctantly to the shore.
“Ye are nay fun, Phoebe. I will push ye in next time,” he said, grinning at her as he pulled on his tunic.
Together, they followed Leyla back to the castle. The gates were open, and there was much milling around and excitement amongst the clansmen, the messenger’s horses standing patiently, as they were groomed by the stable boys.
“Hurry now,” Leyla said, “the Laird is waiting in the great hall.”
Phoebe and Bernard followed her inside, exchanging puzzled looks as they went. Diarmad had made no mention of any visitors, let alone ones delivering an important message which they both needed to hear. As they entered the great hall, Phoebe could see Diarmad standing by the fireplace, deep in conversation with the men who had ridden past them on the lochside a short while ago. Now, Diarmad turned, beckoning them over, as the five men turned and bowed.
“Lady Moncreiffe, Master Bernard, it is an honor to greet you in the name of his majesty,” one of the men said, removing his hat with a flourish.
The five of them were each young, dressed in colorful uniforms; swords slung at their sides. Each wore a beard, and Phoebe thought she recognised them from amongst those men who had come to their aid at the Ralstone castle all those months ago.
“Englishmen? It is an honor to welcome you to Glen Taetnire and to my husband’s hall,” Phoebe said, glancing at Diarmad, who nodded and indicated for her to be seated.
“We have received word from his majesty, Phoebe. Important news that ye must hear. But ‘tis news most especially for Bernard, and that is why I have called ye both here,” Diarmad said.
“Me? But what could the King want with me?” Bernard asked, glancing nervously at Phoebe, who looked as puzzled as he.
The man who had first spoken now reached into his tunic and drew out a parchment of paper, unfurling it with a flourish and glancing at Diarmad, as if seeking his permission to continue.
“Please, let the lad hear his happy fate,” Diarmad said, and the man began to read.
“His imperial majesty James, by divine providence and right King of England and Scotland, defender of the faith, Lord protector of his sovereign realms and territories, to our beloved in Christ Bernard Robert Taetnire Moncreiffe. We do hereby commend to you our most noble and good intention, that you, at the right coming of age, shall henceforth be known as Laird of Glen Roche, master of the Ralstone clan, its territories, and lands. From which you shall pay due right and obedience to us, your King and ruler. Furthermore, we entrust to your keeping the hereditary rights of the Moncreiffe clan that you and your sons to come shall be Laird in that place too and pay due right and obedience to us. Give and sealed at our court of Saint James, London, 1611 Anno Domini,” the man read, and gave a second bow, as he handed the parchment to Bernard for inspection.
Bernard looked astonished, and he turned to Phoebe, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“Is this true?” he asked, and Diarmad nodded.
“Of course, it is true, Bernard. By happy fault, ye are the grandson of Hamish Ralstone, who, havin’ nay children of his own, except yer mother, has forfeited his lands to his descendants. That is how such things work. The King is makin’ ye the Laird when ye come of age, and until that moment I shall act in yer stead, though I shall ensure that ye learn all that ye must know before the burden of responsibility is yers. His majesty also reminds us that one day ye shall be Laird of two glens, though I hope it will nae be for many years to come,” Diarmad said.
“But what of Hamish? The man who calls himself my grandfather. What has become of him?” Bernard asked.
Diarmad sighed, turning to the messengers and raising his eyebrow.
“Does the Laird still lay claim to his lands?” he asked.
“No, Laird, the King was emphatic upon that point, and Hamish Ralstone resides at his majesty’s pleasure in the gaol in Edinburgh. He will not trouble you or anyone else again. His supporters are scattered, and those clansmen who remain have sworn allegiance to the King and to the one appointed lawfully to oversee them,” the man said, turning to Bernard and bowing once again.
“Then I am to be Laird,” Bernard said, his voice sounding awfully small and timid.
“And you will be the very best of Lairds, of that I am certain,” Phoebe said, putting her arm around him.
Just as she did so, she felt a pain in her side, which caused her to wince and let out a groan. She staggered back as Diarmad rushed to her side, catching her before she fell.
“Phoebe, what is wrong? Are ye all right?” he asked, and again she clutched at her side, a terrible pain shooting through her.
“I … I cannot stand,” she said, collapsing onto a chair.
“Fetch Leyla. Tell the servants to have water heated and a fire stoked. We must get Phoebe to bed,” Diarmad cried, and Bernard ran off to see to his instructions.
“We shall ride to Drumkiel and bring one of the physicians from the garrison,” the messenger who had read the declaration said, and the five of them hurried from the great hall, just as Leyla came running.
“Oh, mistress, what is the matter?” she cried, as Phoebe again winced with pain and let out a cry.
With some difficulty, Diarmad, Leyla, and several of the servants carried Phoebe to Diarmad’s chambers. She was growing weak, and it seemed as though a fever were taking hold, her whole body wracked with sweats, the pain in her side almost unbearable. As she lay upon the bed, Leyla mopped her brow, soothing her with quiet words, a glass of wine brought to soothe her nerves, as the fire was stoked, and blankets brought.
“Phoebe, have ye some relief from yer pains?” Diarmad asked as he kept vigil at her side, the evening now drawing in.
“I think so, but it came so suddenly, and I cannot imagine what is wrong,” she said, as he took hold of her hand and raised it to his lips.
“Whatever is wrong, I am here, and I will nae leave yer side until ye are better,” he vowed, as Bernard entered the room and came to the bedside.
“I have brought some dried lavender. They say the scent has medicinal properties,” he said, as the sweet scent of the plant-filled the room.
“Thank you, Bernard. You are very kind,” Phoebe whispered, letting out a deep sigh and closing her eyes.
She felt overwhelmed by exhaustion, unable to understand the sheer force of the fever which had come upon her. It was unlike anything she had experienced before, though the pain had now subsided, and she felt as though she might sleep forever and never wish to wake, so great was her fatigue.
“Try to drink a little more; it will dae ye good,” Diarmad said, but Phoebe could only manage the tiniest of sips, her head falling back upon the pillow, as her waking thoughts turned to sleep.
***
It was the sound of the door opening and hurried footsteps approaching the bed, which woke her. For a moment, Phoebe was unsure of where she was, her whole-body aching, as she struggled to sit up. Gradually, her senses returned, and she blinked in the daylight streaming through the windows. How long had she slept, she wondered? A man now approached the bed, looking her up and down and smiling.
“Phoebe, this is the physician, one of the finest in the country,” Diarmad said, for he was sat by the bed, as though he had not moved since she had fallen asleep.
“How long have I slept?” she asked, and Diarmad smiled.
“‘Tis now the afternoon and ye were asleep by the evenin’ of yesterday,” he said, as the physician knelt at the bedside.
“My name is James Archibold. I am the King’s physician in Scotland, but his majesty is in the south at this moment, and so, by a happy chance, I was able to ride here when I received your husband’s message. Might I be permitted to examine you?” he asked, and Phoebe glanced at Diarmad.
“Ye may make any examinations ye see necessary,” Diarmad replied, and the doctor began his task.
Phoebe lay rigid, wondering what fate he would describe for her. Surely this was something serious, something from which she may not recover. It pained her deeply to think that the happiness she and Diarmad had come to experience might so cruelly be snatched away by the hand of fate. But, if she were to die, Phoebe knew that she would do so in the arms of the one she loved, a man whom she knew would stand by her until the bitter end.
As the physician concluded his examinations, he paused for a moment, as though choosing his words carefully. Phoebe found herself praying, muttering familiar words from childhood, in a last vain effort at hope. But to her surprise, the man smiled, turning to Diarmad and nodding his head, as her husband looked at him with an equally puzzled expression upon his face.
“Whatever sad words ye are about to speak, make them quick,” Diarmad said, but the physician shook his head.
“Not sad words, Laird, but happy. Your wife is with child. The pain she experienced is quite normal in the early stages of maternity. It is that which has confined Lady Moncreiffe to her bed, nothing more. I should say another four months, and the baby will be born. There are further examinations to make, and it would be wise to seek the services of a midwife, a local woman wise in such matters, but I am confident that all will be well. Indeed, the Queen herself experienced such pains during her own term. You are in excellent company, Lady Moncreiffe,” he said, as Phoebe let out a cry of delight.
“But I had no idea. I was showing nothing,” she gasped. “Oh, Diarmad, we are to have a child. Oh, what a joyous day this is,” she said, as he threw his arms around her.
“I feared for the very worst,” Diarmad said, as he kissed her, placing his hands upon her stomach, a broad smiling spreading across his face.
“And now the worst is turned to the very best. Oh, we must tell Bernard the happy news. The whole clan will wish to hear it,” Phoebe said, and she attempted to struggle to her feet.
“It is not always obvious that a lady is with child, especially if she does not have experience of the signs in the early stages. But a moment, please, Lady Moncreiffe. You must rest, for the child will continue to kick, and you will no doubt experience these pains again. Caution must be observed in all things,” he said, and Phoebe nodded.
“Of course, I will do nothing to endanger the child, but I am overjoyed by this news, for I have always wished for a child, one to call my own … our own,” she said, looking up at Diarmad, who already appeared as the proudest of parents.
***
Four months later, the castle echoed with the cries of a child, the baby girl whom Phoebe had just given birth to. It had been a long and painful labor, attended by several clanswomen, but the child was healthy and strong, with a shock of black hair, unmistakably that of her father.
“‘Tis the proudest of days,” Diarmad said, as he cradled his newborn daughter in his arms, Bernard watching from the side of the bed, where Phoebe lay exhausted but happy.
“What will ye call her, Laird? Stewart asked, for he too had come to see the newborn child, and Diarmad looked at Phoebe, the two of them nodding to one another.
“She will be called Elizabeth, in memory of Bernard’s mother, so that their legacy might live on,” he said, and Stewart smiled.
“‘Tis a fine name, for a fine child. She looks just like a Moncreiffe,” Stewart said.
“Aye, but she shall know that her destiny is entwined with the history of both her clans and her mother’s family,” Diarmad said, as he laid the child gently in Phoebe’s arms.
Phoebe looked down at Elizabeth, smiling at the sight of the baby, now sleeping peacefully at her breast. She felt such love for her, as though nothing else in all the world now mattered except the family who surrounded her. How close she had come to never finding that happiness, to throwing it away on a fool’s errand, in the false belief that happiness lay elsewhere. But fate had had other ideas, and, as Phoebe lay surrounded by all those she loved, she looked up at Diarmad and smiled.
“She will grow up the happiest of children, with her big brother to watch over her and her father to protect her,” she said, and Diarmad nodded.
“And, I hope, to be just like her mother,” he said.
“Ghillie Dhu!” Abigall cried at the top of her voice, “How lovely to see ye again. Welcome Lady Naia, and thank ye for bringing yer bairns. Come here me poppets, let Nursie give ye all some sweeties.”
Naia and Kal’s three boisterous children ran to hug Abigall tightly and then search her pockets for sweetmeats. Naia followed the three little ones into the great hall of McCowan castle and left Kal in the courtyard to hand the reins of their horses over to old Eustace.
“How are ye, Eustace? Are the winters down here any kinder to yer bones?”
Eustace gave Kal a happy smile and replied, “Much better, thank ye, Laird. To think that I would live to see the day that me wee mistress was Lady to nae one, but two defensive castles!”
Kal patted the old man on his shoulder and smiled, “We will only return to live here after me mither is weary of ruling in me stead. But I’ll have ye ken that she has become very fond of giving me uncle orders!”
They laughed together, and then Kal went up the stone stairs leading to the great hall.
As he passed the maids and pageboys busy in the passages, Kal would nod his head and smile. They were preparing for the large banquet feast to be held in his uncle’s honor that evening. After many years of diplomacy and negotiations, peace had finally come to the lands below and around the Cairngorm mountains. McCain, McCowan, and MacAodha clans were united as one. All that was left of the warlike McKinney people were a few wandering men who went from castle to castle, begging for food. Kal did not feel any pity for them. They had been complicit in the murder of his brother, and more.
The banquet went off well that evening. After the feast, the traveling minstrels tuned their lutes and asked permission to sing the ballad about the golden-haired lady of iron mountain.
Laird McCain roared out loud, as he’d already had much mead to drink, “I be tired of that iron mine, nephew! It’s made our lands so rich that those dastardly Sassenachs will come calling to try and steal our gold any day now!”
Kal shouted back to his uncle across the banqueting table set up high on the dais, “Let them come try! We will give them such a beating. These are the Highlands, nae those soft folk from the south!”
Naia smiled lovingly at her husband and reached over for his arm, “Come, love, the festivities are becoming too loud for me. Will ye nae prefer to come to the bedchamber with me instead?”
Even after nearly seven years of marriage, his wife’s touch and the way she looked were still capable of making Kal as ravenous for her warmth as the first time he had seen her in the secret room next to her old bedchamber at the watchtower.
Without saying anything more, he laced his hand in her own small one, and they left the great banquet, already craving each other.
“Why did ye nae want to eat, drink, and make merry, Naia? Are ye nae feeling well?” Kal whispered into Naia’s ear as he untied the ribbon of her shift.
Naia gave a tiny laugh of joy. Her husband never ceased to thrill her with his caresses, “Nay, Kal,” she said huskily, “it’s only that we are expecting another bairn on the way.” She placed his hand on her stomach, and he could see her breasts swelling beneath her shift.
Kal kissed her hungrily and said, “Remind me to tell Ariel, the hawk, tomorrow.”
They sat on a blanket on the shore of the loch behind the keep. The day was bright, sunny, and unseasonably warm, so Cináed had decided they needed to take advantage of it. He looked over to Agnes and smiled. She leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.
He took her hand, and they watched their kids – twins, a boy and a girl named Colban and Patrice – playing in the sand near the water’s edge. They laughed and squealed together as they tossed sand up in the air. As Cináed looked at his family and reflected upon the journey they had taken to get to that point, he felt lucky. Blessed. He felt like the happiest and most fortunate man in the world.
Part of that journey was never addressed, though. Raibert continued to languish in the cells beneath the keep. Two years on and Cináed still didn’t know what to do with him. He could not exile him. If he let Raibert run free, Cináed had little doubt the man would plot and scheme and continue trying to find a way to usurp his Lairdship. At the same time, though, he could not bring himself to execute him for his treason. For all his faults and evil intentions, Raibert was still his blood.
And so, his uncle continued to call the cells his home. He was well fed and well treated, but Cináed did not know if he would ever feel comfortable allowing his uncle to walk free again.
“You are thinking about Raibert again, aren’t you?” Agnes asked.
A half grin pulled a corner of his mouth up. “So yer Sight allows ye tae read me mind?”
Agnes shook her head. “No. I just know you well enough to read you like a book.”
Cináed laughed and turned back to his children. Their plump little bodies were pale, their hair dark, and their delicate features already seeming to favor Agnes, something Cináed was grateful for.
“I daenae ken what tae dae about him,” Cináed said. “I often think about thae babies. About what sort of example I want tae set for them.”
“Mercy and compassion are never a bad example,” Agnes said softly.
“Nay. But if I let him out of that cage, they’ll never be safe. So long as that man can scheme, he will. Tis just who he is,” he told her. “But is forcin’ him tae live in that wee little cage actually mercy?”
“It is more merciful than cutting his head off,” Agnes said.
“Is it, though?”
She shrugs. “I think so,” she replied. “But I also think having him live in the cells teaches them that there are consequences to our actions. That, too, is an important lesson.”
Cináed smiled. “How did I get lucky enough tae find such a wise woman tae marry me?”
“I will never know,” she said with a laugh.
The sound of horses approaching quickly drew his attention. They were moving quickly, so Cináed got to his feet and picked up his sword. He held it by the sheath, waiting for the riders as Agnes moved over to the children.
He relaxed, though, when Eoghan and Caoimhe rode around the side of the keep and quickly dismounted a dozen paces away. Cináed could tell instantly that something was wrong. Apparently, Agnes picked up on it as well. She looked worried.
“Eoghan,” he said. “What is it? What’s happened?”
Caoimhe ran straight to Agnes and handed her a letter. Agnes exchanged a glance with Eoghan, whose face was tight with concern. The children continued to chirp and burble as they played in the sand, oblivious to the tension that suddenly crackled in the air around them.
“What is it, Agnes?” Cináed asked.
As she read the letter, her face paled. She quickly embraced Caoimhe, squeezing her tight. It felt like a heavy stone dropped into his stomach, and the longer nobody told him what was happening, the more concerned Cináed grew. He looked again at Eoghan, who moved over to Caoimhe and pulled her into a tight embrace as she cried. She pressed her face to his chest, trying to stifle her sobbing to not scare the children.
“I didnae ken ye had another sister,” Cináed said, then immediately felt stupid for it. This was not the time for that.
“How bad it is?” he asked.
“Bad,” she replied. “The raiders continue to come. Burning and destroying. She needs help.”
“What can I dae?” Cináed asked. “I daenae have an army, but-”
“She’s only asking to be rescued,” Agnes said. “She is trapped in a hold and can’t get out on her own. She needs somebody to come save her.”
Caoimhe sniffed loudly and looked at him. “Please, Cináed,” she said, her voice hoarse from crying. “Can you spare some men to—”
“Eoghan, I want you to lead a dozen men,” Cináed said. “Travel small and travel light, so there’s less of a chance you are found out. Also, I want ye tae take Dougal with ye. He’s turned intae a fine swordsman. Tis time for him tae be blooded.”
“Aye. I can dae that,” he replied.
“I want tae go,” Caoimhe said.
“Aye. As dae I,” Agnes added.
“Nay. Ye’re both stayin’ here,” Cináed ordered.
They started to protest, but he shook his head. “Eoghan’s trained for this,” he said. “He’ll save yer sister.”
Eoghan looked at both Agnes and Caoimhe. “Trust me. Me and me men will find her and bring her home tae ye.”
“Get what ye need together,” Cináed said. “Ye leave at dawn.”
