Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

T wo days later, MacMillan Keep

The letter was well-worn, and long since memorized, but Daemon read it again, his eyes tracing over the writing. Every curve was precious to him, every ink blot and stain and imperfection a gift and a reminder. Even the scent of the paper evoked memories.

He read.

Me dearly beloved Daemon,

The healer has been to see me and give me a tisane. He speaks gentle words, but I ken the truth, the truth he will not speak, fer I know well the path that winter fevers often take.

Me fever has never fully broken, and the cough steals me strength and me energy. Nothing has stopped either, and I have nay desire fer food any longer. Nae even the delicious broths the cook keeps plying me with. I ken, as surely as I ken me own name and yers, that I dae not have much more time in this world.

There is so much I could say. So much I thought I would have years tae share with ye. But I dinnae want me last words tae ye tae be regrets. Nay, I would have ye ken I love ye. I love ye with all me heart, and all me soul. And I ken, with that same heart and soul, that ye love me too, in yer own fierce way.

I fear fer ye, fer what may become of ye, when I am gone. Ye have long locked yourself inside yer icy shell of indifference. I fear ye will retreat into that place once again. That is why I beg ye now, dinnae go back tae being the cold warrior ye were. Mourn if ye must, but when mourning is past, live. Find companionship, and friends tae stand beside ye. Friends, nae just allies and duties.

And most of all, find love again. Dinnae deny yerself the chance tae love and be loved once more. And when ye find a woman that can claim your heart, that is worthy of it, ken that ye have me blessing tae love her as deeply and fiercely as ever ye loved me, if not more so. Marry fer love, as you could not when you married me, despite how dear we have become tae one another.

I am growing tired. Soon you will be here tae hold me again.

What must come will come.

I love ye dearly, my Daemon. And I wish fer nothing but happiness fer ye when I have passed from this world tae the next.

Rowan

He’d read every word a hundred, a thousand times. And every word both soothed and stabbed his heart in turn.

Thunder rumbled outside, and he looked up as the first drops of rain turned into a downpour, clattering against the windows. A storm to match his mood.

Sixteen months had passed since Rowan’s death, and he felt no more ready or willing to fulfill her final request of him than he had the day he had laid her to rest.

A knock on his study door brought him out of his thoughts, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal Cai MacFarlane, his advisor and close friend. “Aye? Did ye need me?”

“I’ve news, but I dinnae want tae disturb ye…” Cai’s words trailed off as he saw the familiar and well-worn message in his hands. “Never mind.” He let himself into the room. “I came tae tell ye that I’ve given most o’ the wall guards the night off. ‘Tis impossible tae see aught outside, and even if we could see, it’d be a daft person indeed tae be out in this.”

Daemon tipped his head to listen. The thunder was a near constant rumble, varying in intensity, and the rain was a relentless sound, like rapid drums in the distance. “Aye. Ye think it’ll pass by morning?”

“Who can tell?” Cai rolled his shoulders. “I came tae see what ye were about, tae ask if ye had work fer me, but ‘tis clear ye’re brooding.”

Daemon stiffened in his seat. “She was me wife, and I loved her. I’m allowed tae mourn.”

“Aye. Tae mourn. But over a year has passed, and mourning or nae, ye’re a laird.” Cai’s expression was slightly apologetic, but stern. “Ye have duties tae yer clan. Ye need a wife and an heir, sorry as I am tae have tae remind ye.”

Daemon shook his head. “Ye ken why I cannae. ‘Tis too much like being unfaithful tae her, or tae her memory too soon. I married her fer duty, but I found a way to love her. How can I hold another, and nae feel as if I’ve betrayed what we had and feel guilty?”

“By remembering that she asked ye tae live and love as well as ye might. Or so ye told me. And if ye cannae find yer own way, ‘tis like as nae her sisters will try tae find a lass fer ye, fer the sake o’ their sister’s memory, if naught else.”

“I’ve duties…”

“And one o’ them tae the clan ye allied with when ye married yer lady. Ye ken that if ye dinnae have an heir, it might be expected that ye marry one o’ the younger daughters, tae keep the contract and maintain the alliance?” Cai raised an eyebrow.

Daemon shuddered. “I could never. And even if I were willing, the older sister is wed tae Marcus MacLean, tae be MacDougall. And the youngest is a child.”

“Over twenty winters is nae a child.” Cai said implacably.

But Lyla wasn’t Rowan, could never be Rowan, and trying to love her for the sake of her sister and alliance and duty would drive him mad, looking for ghosts in the young woman’s eyes. He shuddered again. “Nae a chance.” He glowered at Cai and changed the subject before Cai could make any more suggestions. “Did ye have aught else tae speak tae me about, or are ye leaving me be?”

Cai frowned, but was wise enough to let the matter rest. “Point o’ fact, one o’ the border scouts returned just afore the storm came in. He brought word o’ a rumor that ye may find o’ import.”

“What rumor?”

“Rumor that Clan Ranald is moving against Clan MacLean once again. They were in feud until a few months ago, and ‘twas thought settled, but now word has it that Connor Ranald’s heir seeks vengeance fer the death o’ his faither.” Cai frowned. “Blood feud’s a serious matter.”

“And we’re allies o’ Clan MacLean.” Darren MacLean hadn’t mentioned a feud, but perhaps he’d thought the matter settled. All reports Daemon had ever heard of the former Laird Ranald suggested he had been a power-hungry, greedy, and violent bastard. Not the sort of man to inspire devotion from his children, but then, perhaps it was a matter of honor that drove the newest laird of the clan. Or maybe the man had showed a different face to his family than to his neighbors.

“What will ye dae?” Cai pulled his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

Daemon sighed. “I’ll write a letter tae Darren in the morning, and send it by courier as soon as the storm weather breaks. I’ll tell him I’ve heard the rumors that he might be beset, and ask if he wishes the aid o’ our clan.”

“About that…” A new voice intruded, and Daemon looked to see Ryan MacMillan, close friend and former fosterling of his clan, standing at the door with a bemused look on his face. “The rumors are true, and there’s nae need tae be sending a message tae Laird MacLean.”

“And why is that?” Daemon raised an eyebrow, and Ryan grinned at him.

“Because he’s sent a message tae ye.”

Before he could ask for the message, or where the courier was, Ryan stepped aside, making way for a slender, dripping wet figure to stride through the doorway. Daemon froze, pinned in place as he realized the messenger was the last person he expected to see.

Eyes sharp with ire, Lyla MacDougall glared at the three of them. “God above, but ‘tis cold out there, and I’m fair freezing, tae say naething of being drenched. If this is the hospitality o’ Clan MacMillan, ‘tis a wonder ye ever have visitors.”