Chapter Ten

G rant lands were lush with hills covered in deep green grasses. Plump bushes and bright purple flowers carpeted the ground along the edges of the road they traveled on. The dirt path winded past trees that stretched overhead casting shadows on travelers.

Alexander and his entourage of ten warriors, including his brother Cynden, had left the keep hours earlier and would be arriving at the Grants' keep within moments.

The ride had given Alexander time to think about what his father had said about the elusive laird. Clan Ross and Clan Grant were neither allies nor foes. Instead, the two clans had ignored each other for decades. As if by some unspoken agreement, the stretches of acreage along where their lands bordered were uninhabited on both sides. Almost as if maintaining a safe distance.

From what Alexander could remember, there had been a rift between his father and the Grant. The reason was unclear. During the many hours he'd spent at his father's sick bed, Alexander had broached the subject one day.

"Clan Ross has no need for that clan. Keep yer distance from them, son," his father said before abruptly changing the subject.

Perhaps the Grant would answer why there was such a divide between the clans.

Just past a bend, the keep came into view. The imposing castle was surrounded by stone walls low enough that they could easily be scaled. Interesting. Perhaps they didn't fear intruders, or it could be that since three sides of the keep were surrounded by water, their main defense would come from archers and warriors to the front.

Clan Grant was about the same size as Clan Ross. Scouts had informed Alexander that their warrior force was about thirty men, most trained in archery.

Moments later a contingency of horsemen rode from Grant keep and lined up across the road, blocking access to the keep.

One warrior, a broad-shouldered man about Alexander's age guided his steed in front of the others. The man had thick reddish hair that fell past his shoulders. The same shade of hair covered the bottom half of his face.

They waited in silence until Alexander and his men neared.

"I am the Ross," Alexander called out and then motioned to Cynden. "My brother Cynden. I come here to pay a visit to the Grant. I come in peace."

The man's bright blue gaze took him in, then shifted to the men with him. "I am Connor Grant, the laird's eldest son. Ye and yers have nae visited before."

"There have been changes in current events and I wish to discuss things with yer father," Alexander replied.

After a moment, the man turned his horse around and motioned for them to follow. The Grant men parted and allowed them through, then followed behind. As they rode forward, Connor gave Alexander a curious look. "That ye are laird must mean that yer da is now dead."

It wasn't a question, but Alexander felt obliged to reply, nonetheless. "Aye. Two years hence,"

The man was silent for a moment. "Be with care crossing," he warned motioning to a bridge over a water inlet across the front of the keep.

The bridge had no sides, it was flat. One misstep from the horse would send steed and rider over the sides into a bog of sorts. It was impossible to tell how deep the muddy water was.

"Is it deep?" Cynden asked Connor.

"Yer horse would sink to its neck."

Archers kept watch from atop the wall, their bows and quivers secured across their backs. Alexander had to admit, it was a good intimidation tactic.

"Interesting," Cynden said. "Yer archers can easily be shot at from those woods." He motioned to the nearest tree line.

Connor grunted. Perhaps he tried to keep from chuckling.

Upon crossing the bridge, they rode past open gates into a well-kept courtyard. Unlike Clan Ross' courtyard, this one resembled a village square. Three buildings surrounded the courtyard. On one side were stables, opposite what looked to be guard quarters, which were flanked by a large structure that was probably the family home.

They were not greeted at the front door, not that Alexander was expected. The Grant would not be caught unaware, he'd seen a man sent ahead at a gallop to inform the laird of his arrival. It was customary, in the Highlands, for one laird to greet another formally at the front entrance with a member of his family beside him.

However, it seemed the Grant did not hold to the custom.

Stable lads rushed over to take the horses after they dismounted. Connor gave them firm instructions to water and feed the animals, adding they should be with care.

Alexander ordered his men to remain outside in the courtyard, except for Cynden and Hendry, who followed him and Connor to the main house. Just inside the entry, they waited a beat to allow their eyes to become accustomed to the dim interior. Then they continued into a large room he assumed to be the great room.

The room was devoid of people, giving him the opportunity to study his surroundings. Thick embroidered tapestries hung behind the high board depicting a hunting scene. The tapestries to his left were of dogs and trees, the scene almost playful. Over the hearth was the Grant coat of arms, next to it a portrait of who he assumed was the laird and his wife. To Alexander's right, hung in a line, were two huge tapestries. The embroidered scenes of these were of people in a garden of sorts. There were horses, archers, and women seeming to be in the midst of chaos.

Just then an older man, with the same reddish hair as Connor, except sprinkled with gray, walked into the room. Behind him, two men, who were almost identical to Connor, entered.

Laird Grant was of a good stature and remained youthful in appearance. By his well-toned build, he had been a warrior all his life. When the man's steely blue eyes lifted to Alexander his lips parted, and his eyes widened as if in recognition.

"Ye are truly yer father's son. There is nae doubt," he said in a low voice. "Ye are Roderick when he was yer age." He continued to stare at Alexander then seeming to realize what he did he regained his composure. "I am Malcolm Grant, welcome to my home."

"I am Alexander Ross, this is my brother Cynden," Alexander said.

Laird Grant kept looking at him as if unable to see no one other than his father. He cleared his throat. "Ye have met my eldest son, Conner." He waved a hand to the two who'd followed him in. "My second-born sons, Broden and Gawyn."

The twins' remained stoic, neither friendly nor threatening. The only indication of a greeting was a nod from the one called Broden.

"Let us sit and speak." Laird Grant motioned to a table that was surrounded by intricately carved chairs. Alexander surmised it was the table set aside for the laird and visitors.

Three women appeared at the doorway carrying trays with meats and cheeses, breads and oils, as well as fruits. Tankards were filled and placed before them, then wooden plates were slid in front of each man so they could partake of the offerings.

"Is it just ye and yer sons?" Cynden asked. His brother was the most curious man and never shied away from asking questions. Times like these, Alexander was glad for it.

"Nae, my wife and daughter, Edina, live here as well. They have gone to visit family and will nae return until the morrow," Laird Grant clarified.

They spoke of the surrounding lands and about the village closer to the Grant keep. The entire time, Alexander felt as if he was kin to the man. For some reason, he didn't feel as if he spoke with a stranger, but someone akin to an uncle.

"Why do our clans remain so distant?" Alexander had to ask.

Laird Grant's sons looked to the older man as if they too wished to know the reply. The man let out a long sigh. Then he drank from his tankard. Alexander began to think he would not respond to the question, but then the man leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table.

"Yer father and I were great friends as lads. We did everything together. Trained at sword fighting. Hunted. He and I even joined the Ross guard at the same time. In that time, Clan Grant had yet to establish here on Skye."

He let out a long sigh. "My grandfather owned this place." He lifted a hand to motion at the ceiling. "But it was nae until I was twenty that Clan Grant began to grow. Upon my grandfather's death, my father was established as laird. Yer father and I had another thing in common, we both became first sons who would one day inherit the title."

He paused and shook his head sadly. "The MacLeods attacked Clan Ross. Yer grandfather asked my father to send help. My father felt he could nae. Our force was small, barely five and ten men. We needed them to defend our home. Yer grandfather was vexed and asked that I leave the Ross guard."

Everyone was silent as they pondered the information. Alexander broke the quiet with another question. "What about yer friendship with my father?"

"Understandably, yer grandfather felt as if the alliance was one-sided. He declared we could no longer be allies."

Gawyn studied Alexander and then turned to his father. "This is what ended yer friendship with Laird Ross?"

"We could no longer travel freely to one another's lands. After a while, we rarely saw each other and lost touch."

There was something the man was not saying, Alexander felt it to his bones, but he would bide his time and wait for the right moment.

When the meal was finished, the Grant brothers invited Cynden to a tour of the training field.

"Ye must try this whiskey," Malcolm Grant said standing to pour Alexander and himself some of the amber liquid. After lifting the glasses to each other, they drank. Alexander was impressed with the smoothness of the whiskey that glided down his throat.

"It is quite good," he admitted. "Is it made here?"

The Grant's face split with a grin. "Aye, it is, I will send a few bottles with ye. I have tried many others, but none can compare to the one my friend Angus Brown makes."

The man studied him. "I cannae stop looking at ye without thinking of Roderick. How long has it been since his death?"

"Just over two years," Alexander replied.

The man lowered his head. "I wish to have seen him before…" He let out a breath. "Forgive me. I keep reverting to the past. There must be a reason for yer visit."

"In the past years, there has not been peace for Clan Ross. For years, we battled against the Mackinnons until defeating them just a pair of seasons past. In the last months, we were attacked by Clan MacLeod, who came by sea. They were soon defeated and returned from where they came. As of late, there have been random attacks on defenseless people. The men were caught, and I had them executed." Alexander met the older man's gaze. "I am tired and came to speak to ye and ensure that my clan continues to live in peace. Assure myself that there will nae be any threat from yer clan."

Malcolm frowned. "Ye have faced much for being so young. I knew of yer clashes with Clan Mackinnon and also of ye finally defeating that dolt of a laird. He didnae deserve to be laird."

Servants shuffled in to remove the remains of the food. A young lass neared and stood waiting to be acknowledged. Laird Grant turned to her. "Yes, lass."

"Laird, Cook would like to ken if yer guests will remain for last meal."

It was interesting that the young woman didn't seem intimidated by the laird, but at ease asking the question. In Alexander's opinion, it spoke well of the man's treatment of his servants.

Before he could reply Alexander interjected, "We cannae remain much longer. There is much to be done at Keep Ross."

"There ye have the answer," Malcolm stated. "Tell Cook to prepare sacks with sustenance for Laird Ross and his accompaniment to eat on the way back. Also, four bottles of whiskey."

The servant went away, once again leaving them in the large silent room.

The laird waited for Alexander to continue speaking. He'd hoped for a reply to his question, but since it didn't come, he'd have to ask in a different way. Make it clear.

"Were ye nae bothered by the MacLeods?"

Laird Grant shook his head. "This keep is in a very good location. Bìrlinns would have to travel into the narrow inlet of water to reach us by sea. By foot, they would be quickly spotted. Because of where this keep is, we have rarely seen any kind of attempts to breach our home. In the past, there have been attacks on the village, unsuccessful attempts to take it over."

"Were ye aware of the attacks on my clan by the MacLeods?"

The Grant shook his head. "Not until it was over. A traveling peddler came with the news of what had occurred." After hesitating for a moment, he asked, "Did ye lose many men?"

"A few, aye. My brother, Gavin, was gravely injured, but thankfully recovered."

"Did ye ever build a wall facing out to sea?" the man asked.

"Nae. I have men posted on three sides, they can see in every direction. The attacks came not just by sea, but from land as well. We were able to keep them from entering the keep."

The Grant seemed pensive. "Yer father was quite good at keeping attacks at bay. I admired that about him."

The opening allowed Alexander to once again approach the subject of the rift between the Grant and his father. "Aye, he was. Ye seem to have fond memories of my father. The few times he spoke about ye, he didnae seem to hold ye in bad regard as well. Why did ye and he never speak again?"

When the man's lips curved, it was obvious he realized he had provided an opportunity for Alexander to broach the subject again. "I will tell ye with the promise that ye will nae tell anyone else."

The reason for the rift became more interesting and Alexander nodded. "I will nae share what ye say."

"Very well." The man looked across the room to the large portrait over the hearth. "My wife, Una, and yer father were in love and planned to marry. She was Clan Mackinnon."

Alexander fought not to gawk openly at the man. Was that part of the reason for their long battle between his clan and the Mackinnons?

Laird Grant continued, "Her father approached mine and arranged a marriage between her and I." He shook his head. "I could nae disobey my father, and she could nae disobey hers. Roderick went for her in an attempt to take her and run away together. When she refused it broke his heart."

Silence stretched as Alexander absorbed the information. Why had his father not told him? It would have made it easier for him to approach the Grant to suggest an alliance. Did he not wish for it? Why had he held the grudge for so many years? His parents had never seemed to be overly loving, but they'd seemed content in the marriage.

That the Grant's wife was a Mackinnon meant that Clan Grant could have been allied to the man his clan battled for many years.

"Were ye and the Mackinnon allies?" Alexander asked.

"We were nae foe or ally. I suppose ye can say, we have kept ourselves separate from the other clans on this isle for many years."

Alexander wasn't sure if it was a mark of cowardice or intelligence that Clan Grant kept their distance from strife. "When the attackers were caught, they headed to yer lands. Had they approached ye for harbor?"

"I was nae aware of any attacks. Few people, other than those visiting families or peddlers, come from the east."

The reply didn't sound firmly in the negative; however, there was nothing Alexander could say to challenge his host. He allowed his gaze back to the portrait. The woman pictured next to Roderick was indeed a beauty. At the same time, his mother was also an attractive woman, even at her current age of fifty.

"How old were ye and father when ye married?"

The Grant seemed perplexed by the question. "We had both just turned nine and ten. Very young still. Una was six and ten. Yer father married yer mother within months."

Alexander's mind whirled with so many more questions. Like was his mother aware of his father being in love with someone else?

"Did my mother ken?"

"I dinnae ken. I doubt it." Laird Grant looked at Alexander. "Yer father and I saw each other again when we were both about five and twenty, during a competition. I wish now that I would have embraced him and made more of an effort to…" The man stopped speaking and shook his head. "I suppose what is done is done."

They had all been so young, Alexander mused. "It is a sad thing that ye and my father lost yer friendship."

Roderick Grant's face brightened. "I hope that ye and Conner get to know each other better. He will be laird one day and ye would be a good mentor to him. Alexander, our clans can be open to each other. My lands to the east join yers. Perhaps we can meet for a friendly tournament, to allow our people to ken each other."

"Not allies, but on good terms then?" Alexander wasn't ready to propose an alliance.

The man opposite him nodded. "Friends."

Alexander liked the idea. "I agree. I would like to extend an invitation that ye and yers come to Keep Ross. Our clans have remained apart too long."

His companion looked down to the table, seeming to suddenly be overcome by emotion. The Grant blew out a breath, blinking rapidly before lifting his gaze. "Thank ye, Alexander for coming. I am so very glad ye did."

The man's eyes became shiny, and he hastily wiped at them with his tunic sleeve. "Forgive an old man for his lack of control."

Alexander chuckled. "It is our secret."

When the Grant studied him, Alexander met his eyes. The man reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It is apparent, ye are a good laird. Yer father would be so very proud."

Once in the courtyard, Alexander again reiterated the invitation to the Grant for a visit before he and his entourage mounted.

Satchels of food were brought to them as well as the promised bottles of whiskey. Laird Grant waved them away, a warm expression on his face. It felt almost as if he'd visited an uncle or other close male relative and Alexander couldn't help feeling sad that his father and the man had allowed such a close relationship to fade.

"I enjoyed getting to ken the Grant brothers. They remind me of us. Bantering and bickering, whilst it is obvious they care for each other. Once we spent time together, the twins were quite funny," Cynden said. "I wish Knox would have come."

"Someone had to remain to be there for the people," Alexander replied. "I too enjoyed my visit with the laird. He seems to be a kind man."

"It is a shame he and Father lost touch. Why would they? It seemed as if the Grant held fond memories," Cynden asked making Alexander wish he could share with his brother.

Finally he replied, "Aye, he did. The cause of the rift is nae my story to tell. I will say, they were both too proud to bridge the gap and it is a shame."

The ride back to the keep was a pleasant one. They stopped only once to water the horses and allow them to rest before continuing. It gave Alexander time to think about what the Grant had said to him. It made sense that the attackers would feel at home hiding on Grant lands as the laird's wife was a Mackinnon. If the laird was indeed unaware of what occurred, then they could roam back and forth freely. Finally, he knew why the attackers had eluded being caught for so long. They'd been hiding on Grant lands.

They arrived at the keep in time for last meal, although they were not very hungry as the Grant's cook had prepared bountiful and delicious packs of cheese, bread, dried meat, and even sweet tarts for their travel.

Once in the courtyard, the warriors went with the horses to brush down the steeds and release them either to the corrals or into stalls in the stables. Alexander and Cynden went into the house greeted by the sight of an orderly and almost empty great room.

His eyes went straight to the portrait of his father and mother. She sat in a chair, his father standing beside it, his hand possessively on her shoulder. Both had stoic expressions, and he couldn't help but wonder how they'd felt for one another during that time.