Two Years Later…

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.

“What’s happened?” he asked.

“Raiders,” Agnes finally said. “They’ve attacked our sister Orla’s lands. She’s beggin’ for help.”

“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.”

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