Chapter 2

2

" R obert, a messenger awaits ye in the hall."

The young boy's voice rang out in the tense quiet of the evening. Guards had been posted around the mill and the northern edge of the clan's holdings and all was in readiness. Let those damned MacNeils try a raid this night!

"Robert, did ye hear me?" The voice grew in strength.

"Aye, Kevin, I heard ye, and so did every man from Aberdeen to Skye." Deep guffaws added to his own. The laird's page waited on his answer. "Tell the laird I come directly."

Robert Mathieson made his last review of the defenses and strode towards the main door to the keep. He looked down at his filthy plaid and knew the laird would pardon his appearance—once he reported his findings to Duncan MacKillop, laird of the Clan MacKillop and ally to the MacKendimens and the MacLarens, he would have time to clean up.

He took the steps two at a time and approached the door. The guard nodded and pulled it open for him. Running up another flight of stairs brought him onto the main floor of the keep and into the entrance of Duncan's great hall. Normally filled with people and food and activity, it was quieting down for the night. Those of the clan who slept within the walls of the main building were rolling out their pallets for the night.

Robert made his way towards the dais where the laird and his son stood talking with the messenger. He pushed his long black hair behind his ears and walked up the steps. A servant came forward immediately with a goblet of ale. He smiled his gratitude at the girl who was so late about her duties and turned his attention to his leader.

"Ah, Robert, 'tis about time ye joined us." The laird reached out to clasp his arm and bring him into the conversation. "Why is my castellan running over our lands like a common soldier this night?"

"The damned MacNeils do no' rest so neither can we, Laird." Robert drained the last of the ale and handed the goblet back to the servant. "They attacked the mill on the far side of the village."

"In the middle of winter? Are they daft?" James MacKillop, his friend and heir to the clan, interrupted his report.

"We already ken they're daft, Jamie. They attack when they please. The miller and his family were frightened more than injured. I brought them into the castle until their home can be repaired." He looked to Duncan for approval.

Duncan nodded and pointed to the man who was seated at the table stuffing food into his mouth. "This messenger is for ye, Robert. Sent by the MacKendimen from Dunnedin."

An immobilizing tightness began in the pit of his stomach and spread throughout his body. He clenched his teeth and waited for the news from "home." His parting from the clan had not been pleasant—Struan had insisted that he should train... and live... elsewhere. Away from the man who raised him, away from his clan. Away.

"Well, man, what's the news from Dunnedin?" He was ready for anything now. But if Dougal thought that by making demands he would be successful in forcing Robert's return, he was sorely mistaken.

"...for some weeks now."

"I didna hear ye, lad. Would ye say that again?" Robert was so busy with his own thoughts he had missed the start of the message.

"The MacKendimen sends his greetings to the MacKillop and asks that this request be considered in light of the dire circumstances. Dougal Mathieson, faithful steward of the clan MacKendimen, was struck down by a seizure of the brain and lies near death."

Robert gasped and the messenger stopped his recitation. Of all the things he'd imagined he'd hear, this was not one of them. He waved his hand to make the man begin again. His chest tightened and would not allow him to breathe. A knot grew in his gut as he listened to the rest of it.

"The illness overtook him some weeks ago but his condition haes worsened and the healer fears that he willna recover. Ye, Robert, are bid return to Dunnedin as soon as possible. The laird requests that ye come and take over yer faither's duties since ye are trained in them. The MacKendimen kens this may be a hardship to the clan MacKillop, but begs their indulgence until he can find a suitable replacement."

"Good God, Robert! Yer faither struck down? Ye must go to him before 'tis too late." Duncan grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.

The news did not seem real, did not seem possible. His father near death? Not Dougal. He would never make it this easy for Robert to return to Dunnedin. Without recriminations? Without the hatred and accusations? It could not be this easy.

As he forced a ragged breath in and out, the ringing in his ears grew louder. He had to leave before he embarrassed himself before his laird. "I will leave tomorrow. If ye will excuse me, I have arrangements to make."

Robert waited for permission. He saw the quizzical frown on Duncan's face, but refused to acknowledge it—he would not answer questions about... home. Duncan finally nodded and Robert walked away from the table, down the steps, and around the sleeping bodies on the floor.

Passing through a smaller side room, Robert followed the smells into the kitchen rooms. A fire still blazed in the huge hearth, giving off heat on this frozen February night. 'Twas weeks past the day of Imbolc, the Celtic feast that Ada celebrated along with the old ones of the clan. He'd not missed it in the eight years that he'd served the MacKillops.

"Robert, yer back from yer search? How goes it?"

Old Ada limped over to him. She was a part of his life here. She had taken him in when he arrived here—no more a child and not yet a man. Her own children had died and she needed someone to tend. He never knew his own mother and needed one to care for him. They served each other's needs and watched each other's backs. It had worked well for years.

"The miller and his family have moved onto the grounds. Their house was damaged by the raid."

"I'll see to them in the morn. Now, I have a hot bath ready for ye in the alcove. Come, take off those horrible things ye wear."

"Ah, Ada, I do love the way ye care for me." He followed the old woman through the cooking area to another small room near the laundry room. Robert could see the steam rising from the large tub of water.

"Put yer rags in that basket and I'll get rid of them. Ye smell as if ye have been rolling in horse manure."

"And what if I have?" He challenged her, rising up to his full height.

"Makes no difference to me, lad. Ye have a way of cleaning up nicely. Climb in afore the water cools."

Robert peeled the sticky, smelly clothes from his sweating body. Winter or not, the long hard ride left him as winded and soaked with sweat as his stallion who was even now being tended in the stables. Ada's look was that of a mother's as he stripped before her. He threw the rags into a basket and stepped into the tub—moaning loudly as the heat slowly crept into his feet, then legs. After a moment, he sat down and submerged as much of his body as he could.

"If ye dinna stop making those noises, people will think more is going on here than really is." Ada picked up a bowl of soap and a washing cloth. "Here now, wet yer head so I can lather ye."

Robert sank below the water for a moment and let the hot water soften the grime in his hair. He did not enjoy the filth, but he did as he must in his duties. As he opened his eyes and saw Ada approach, he knew that telling her the news wouldn't be enjoyable either.

The rest of his bath was accomplished in the warm quiet of the alcove. Over and over in his mind, he hashed out the words he needed to say to Ada. Later, he would need to use them again on the lass who waited in his bed.

"Ye are too quiet, Robert. The news from yer faither is bad?" Ada held out a drying cloth to him as he stepped from the tub.

"'Twas certainly no' what I expected." He rubbed most of the wetness from his body, then his hair. Ada offered a clean shirt to him and he pulled it over his head. It would be sufficient to cover him until he reached his room.

"Well, open yer mouth and speak. I could only overhear bits and pieces of it from the doorway." She swatted his behind as she spoke.

He smiled at her admission of spying. Ada meddled wherever and whenever she thought she needed to—particularly if it involved him. Robert offered up another quick prayer of thanks to God for placing her here for him. Robert took her by the hand and led her to a bench. Sitting down next to her on it, he took a deep breath and found that the news from Dunnedin came forth from him in a rush of telling.

"Struan haes called me back to Dunnedin. Dougal is ill and is no' expected to live."

"Will ye go?" Her voice quivered with fear.

"Aye. He's my laird—I must follow his command." That was the safest approach—the claim of duty.

"Oh, pish. I ken too much of the sad tale to believe that 'tis the only reason ye go to Dunnedin. Tell me what I dinna ken."

"Since this will be but a temporary stay, I thought..." Robert hesitated to put into words his deepest desire.

"Ye thought what, my boy?" Ada looked at his face, looked deep into his eyes, discerning the truth before he spoke it.

"I hoped to get to ken my true faither."

"Nay, Robert, ye hope that yer real faither will acknowledge his natural son afore the clan."

He could only nod at her insight. His eyes and nose burned with the unshed tears of that lost boy. His throat tightened, making it impossible to speak. The feelings of the fifteen-year-old, almost a man but still a boy, confronted with the truth of his birth washed over him again. Disbelief, denial, anger. Pain and humiliation. For himself, for his mother, and for Dougal.

"I canna say how things will go but ye have no choice in the return. Please, Robert, do no' set yerself up for disappointment. Go and see what comes yer way."

He nodded agate at her words. The tightness was passing; he swallowed deeply to clear his throat. "I will try, Ada." His voice was low and gruff, filled with more feelings than he would admit.

"Remember, the MacKillop awarded ye the position ye hold because of yer skills. Ye will always have a place here."

"Aye, Ada, I will remember that." He paused and looked at her. She was worrying for him and not about herself. "But who will care for ye while I am gone?"

"Ah, my boy"—she reached up and caressed his face—"I was here afore ye came and will be here after ye leave. I, too, have a place here that no one will take away. I will wait for yer return."

He stood and helped her to her feet. They walked arm in arm down the hallway that paralleled the great room until they reached the stairs. His room, suitable for the castellan, was on the second floor. Hers, on this lower floor, with the other women of the keep.

"I willna see ye go so I give ye leave now. Send for me if I can be of service to ye in yer duties for the clan MacKendimen. I will await yer return, Robert. Godspeed go with ye."

He leaned down to her and pressed his lips to her weather-and age-roughened cheek. Stepping away, their eyes made contact for a moment, and more was said without words. They turned from each other and he ran up the tower steps.

He feared his next farewell would not be as easy.

If this one could be called that.

The fire burned low in the brazier in the corner, casting rippling shadows on the walls. Robert walked to the window and peered through the thick glass. Frosted over by the frigid air outside and the warmer air inside, he slid his finger around in the moistness on the surface. Duncan had spared no expense with this inner tower. Glass filled the windows in the private chambers as well as the large solar. No skins over the openings for the laird of the MacKillops!

Although just as rich, and higher in rank than Duncan was, the laird of the MacKendimens didn't spend his money on his own comfort. Unless he had changed it, Struan's chamber was a plain one—containing only the furniture the laird needed. Struan balked at tapestries on the walls, rich rugs underfoot. The laird used all his riches for the betterment of the clan. None in the village went hungry or cold. A place and a keeping was found for any and all in the clan. Struan saw to the survival of his people first.

Struan was a good leader for his clan, a man to be proud of, to be admired. Struan was... his father.

Even the thought hurt. The pain of the truth still haunted him, pain made worse by the truth having been kept secret by those who knew. Hated by the father who raised him and denied by the man who fathered him. Mayhap going back into the fray was not the best of ideas. But, as he told Ada, he had no choice. His honor demanded he obey the call from Dunnedin.

A rustling of the bedcovers broke his concentration. He turned back and saw Helena sitting in his bed, her long blond hair flowing over her naked breasts. His body stirred in reaction to the inviting pose she struck.

"Robert, I was waiting for ye but fell asleep. Come, 'tis late." Helena pushed back the covers, exposing more very comely naked limbs to his view.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he accepted her invitation. She settled into his arms and he covered them both with the heavy woolen plaids. He felt her leg slide over his and the warmth of her body spread through his own as she lay curled up at his side.

"Will ye be gone for long?" Her soft voice broke into the comfortable silence of the chamber.

"I dinna ken how long." He would be honest with her; he had always been so .

"Will ye come back?" She tilted her head back, watching his face as he answered.

"I do no' plan to stay in Dunnedin. I will come back."

"Should I wait for ye?"

They had spoken of this before. The miller's son wanted her as his wife, in spite of her sharing the castellan's bed. The young man's presence now in the keep stirred the pot.

"I canna offer ye marriage, lass, ye ken that. Mayhap my leaving will be for the best for ye and..."

"Bain."

"Ah, yes, Bain. He willna hold this"—he squeezed her tighter in his embrace—"against ye?"

"Nay, he willna. As long as I am faithful to him once we marry, he haes sworn to forget my past."

"Can ye do that? Be faithful to him?"

"Aye, Robert, I can. I will."

"And will ye forget it as well?" He thought of the many nights they had spent in his bed—talking, fighting, loving. He would regret losing her, but she deserved the happiness that a life with Bain could offer.

"I dinna think I will forget it or ye, but I will make him a good wife."

He made note in his mind to provide her with a small dowry. He earned his own money and owed her at least that for their time together.

"Are ye too tired to love tonight, Robert?"

He was never too tired for a good bout of love play, but he found the urge to be inside her heat had disappeared. He would not feel right about lying with another man's wife, or almost wife.

"I would rather just hold ye this night, Lena, if ye do no' mind?"

"I do no' mind, Robert."

She turned on her side and he fit behind her, draping his arm and leg over her body. Her breathing soon deepened and began a steady rhythm. Sleep tried to claim him, but his thoughts were still too strong. It was a long time before he gave in and surrendered to the quiet of the night.