Page 50 of For an Exile’s Heart (Ancient Songs #2)

G awen summoned the three of his sons, Baen, Daerg, and Adair, one bright summer morning.

Adair had been headed for training with his weapons already in hand. Bradana, with Wen at her side, meant to spend the day with Caomhán, the harper.

And a glorious day it promised to be, sparkling with early dew and soft with fragrant air from the hills. Adair and Bradana were in the midst of parting at their door when a lad brought the message and darted off again.

“I wonder what he wants.” Bradana shifted her harp in her hands, looking uneasy. “I ha’ a bad feeling, all at once.”

“Do not borrow trouble,” he bade her, but uneasiness stirred in his own heart. He leaned forward and kissed her. “I shall see ye anon.”

“Aye.” But worry still filled her eyes when they parted.

He met Daerg on the way to the hall. His brother, since returning from Alba, had taken to spending much time with the priests and had become, if possible, more retiring than before. They could scarcely be more different, Adair reflected as they walked side by side. Baen, so grave and full of duty. Daerg, tentative and restrained. And he—who was he now? Beyond Bradana’s lover, he scarcely knew.

He raised his eyebrows at Daerg. “Why d’ye think we ha’ been called hence?”

“I dread to think.”

Baen was there ahead of them standing with Father in the dusky early morning hall with only servants flitting about. Father, as Adair could see at once, was in one of his moods, brisk and impatient. He got that way at times, when he would act at any cost.

“Come away in,” he bade his two younger sons. “We have matters to discuss.”

Had they? And did Baen know what this was about? Adair looked at his older brother, but Baen’s expression remained cool and indifferent.

“Sit, sit,” Gawen invited them. “Will ye eat?”

Daerg shook his head.

“I ate at home,” Adair murmured.

Gawen directed a look at the three of them. Adair remembered his doing this all the while they grew, lining them up in a row of the tallest to the smallest and charging them with either some task or some misdeed.

His stomach tightened.

“We must contemplate the future. Last autumn I determined to do just that, and yet my plans have come to naught. Baen, I sent ye to Alba to make a claim upon our lands there. Ye came back empty-handed.”

Baen gave no reaction. He stood with his arms crossed upon his chest, the very picture of a stoic.

“And ye.” Gawen switched his gaze to Daerg. “I sent to secure your own lands—those that would not only expand our holdings but make o’ ye an Alban chief in your own right. Ye failed.”

Daerg flushed but said nothing in his own defense.

“And ye.” Gawen turned to Adair. “Ye, with the supposedly golden tongue, did worst o’ all, for not only did ye fail to make good on our claim, but ye destroyed relations there and came back with a stolen bride.”

Pure condemnation, and it stung. Adair had hoped he’d made up for that and earned a place for himself while working hard at training. Now he wondered if aught he could do might wipe out the disparagement he saw in his father’s eyes.

Miffed, he began “If I— we —are not welcome here—”

“What?” It was Baen who turned on him. “What will ye do? Leave? Where will ye go? The favorite son,” he half sneered, “disgraced.”

“Silence!” Gawen roared. “The fact remains, Adair, ye have destroyed our alliance in Alba and made it that much harder to stake our claim. That does not mean I will give up. Baen and I have discussed this long.”

Baen and he had? But of course. Baen would one day be chief.

“I will not die without seeing all my sons well provided for.”

“Father,” Daerg spoke up, “ye will no’ die for many a year yet. Ye remain strong and vital.”

“Aye so, I do for now. But a man may be struck down in many ways, and he must look ahead to the future. Baen will be well prepared to take my place one day. Adair, Donnar and I both think if ye work hard and continue to devote yoursel’, ye may one day take the place o’ war chief. Perhaps so, ye may undo some o’ the harm ye have done.” He turned toward his middle son.

“Father, I have thought much upon my future, and may wish to take the way o’ the priests.”

“Is that so?”

“A holy life might well suit.”

“That is no’ the road I have chosen for ye.”

Father and son stared at one another. Daerg swallowed hard, and Adair felt a flash of sympathy for him.

“Ye will wed,” Gawen promised, “and ha’ children, and expand my holdings. In Alba.”

“But—” Daerg paled. “I had no’ thought to marry.” He turned wild eyes on Adair. “My brother already has a wife. Let him take my place.”

“Your brother is disgraced and cannot return to Alba. Ye will do so. Ye will grow a set o’ balls, hear? Ye will claim your lands from Kendrick and set up your future holding there.”

“But my uncle will not deal with me. He sent me away. And now, now that Adair has stolen his daughter, will he not be even less disposed to hear what I say?”

“No doubt.”

“Father, ye cannot send me back. My life is here. This is my land.”

Words Adair might himself have cried, once. Indeed, he likely had. They would do Daerg no good.

“Listen to me, Daerg. If ye think I will surrender our claims to valuable lands in Alba, ye are even more foolish than ye look. Ye must go back—difficult task or no’—and ye be the only one who can. They are to be your lands. Ye foolish lad! D’ye not want the wealth o’ them?”

Daerg looked like he’d just been handed a life sentence, as perhaps he had. “What am I to do if Kendrick still will not deal with me?”

“Stay until he will. This does not end, Daerg, until one o’ my sons holds ownership o’ Alban lands. D’ye hear me?”

“I hear,” Daerg acknowledged him miserably.

“Now go out, the both o’ ye, and about your business. Daerg, I will expect to see ye packed and ready to leave by tomorrow morning.”

They went out as ordered into the bright morning.

“Och, what am I to do?” Daerg lamented. “I had thought—hoped—that after ye returned Father was done with all this Dalriada nonsense. Kendrick will not deal with me. He has no opinion o’ me. Adair, what am I to do?”

Adair shook his head. “I cannot help ye, Daerg.” Had he himself not been declared disgraced? Fallen irretrievably low in his father’s regard.

“Mayhap ye can.” Daerg turned to him and laid a hand on his arm. “Ye can go in my place, as my agent. I will pay ye well in a portion o’ my lands there, if ye can claim them. Ye, at least, are adept wi’ a sword and fit for the fight. Will ye, brother?”

Adair, with lands in Alba? The plea was a sincere one—he could see that in Daerg’s eyes. But he shook his head.

“I have already done more harm than good there. I am the last man Kendrick wants to see.”

“Och, what am I to do then? Brother”—Daerg’s fingers tightened on Adair’s arm—“for me is not the life o’ a chief wi’ a wife. And bairns. By the gods! I have found my place among the druids who study the old laws and search for signs.”

“I cannot help ye, Daerg.” Adair would do well to keep his own head up after this, knowing what his father—and Baen—thought of him.

Yet as he went off about his day and to his duties at the training field, the thought would not leave him alone. His own lands in Alba. Just what Rohracht MacFee had offered him.