Page 3

Chapter

Three

“ T hrough the village. A worthy idea, Brother,” Niall said as they rode toward the keep, no less than two dozen horsemen at their back by now.

If his brother reached down between his legs, Niall was certain Kieran would not be able to grasp his own bawsack. It was that large. Some may even call him reckless, but secretly, when he wasn’t on the precipice of getting himself killed.

“Should we have snuck in then? Finding ourselves with backs full of arrows?”

“Perhaps circumnavigating the village may have been advantageous,” Niall responded, knowing full well Kieran had understood his meaning the first time.

His brother turned to look behind them. “They seem less than pleased.”

“Perhaps as pleased as I am to be on MacKinlay land.”

“And yet, thirty of your best men, including your clan’s chief, were not slaughtered.”

“A happy circumstance of being better-trained warriors.”

“Mmmm. . .” Kieran had a surprising softness for their enemy, one Niall could never understand.

He hated them, aye. Would not be here today if their father had not demanded it.

And yet, when they spoke of the battle, Niall’s brother often attempted to force him into considering Clan MacKinley’s position.

As if their clans had not been feuding for decades, forcing the king to such extreme measures as commanding the battle that had decimated Clan MacKinlay.

The two fell silent for the remainder of the ride to the gatehouse of a castle Niall had never been inside before.

Once, when he was but a child, his father had taken him to the top of a mountain where Castle MacKinlay could be seen far off in the distance.

He told both Niall and his brother of the feud between their clans.

Spoke of alliances and enemies and the importance of knowing the difference between them even when, at times, ’twas difficult to discern.

Some, like Clan MacKinlay, had always been and would always be enemies.

But others may be enemies in disguise, a fleeting alliance giving way to true intentions.

Knowing who to trust, he’d told Niall, would be the most difficult lesson he would learn as future chief.

“I expected hostile,” his brother said now. “But not an army against two people.”

As they approached the gatehouse, Niall and Kieran’s decision not to take any clansmen with them—a decision their father had not agreed with—seemed perhaps foolish now. Not wanting to inflame an already inflammatory situation, they’d come alone.

Clan MacKinlay did not seem to care there were but two of them.

In addition to the thirty or so riding behind them that Niall and Kieran had picked up since the village, the gatehouse and barbican were filled with MacKinlay warriors. Where a few guards may have otherwise been stationed, there were now easily fifty men.

And, it appeared, one woman. Niall could not see her face, but high above him, standing on the castle wall, was clearly a woman among men.

The lady of Castle MacKinlay, perhaps? The chief’s mother had died some years ago, so either the chief was married or ’twas the sister.

Clan Duncraig may not have interacted with their enemy in many years, but they knew all there was to know of MacKinlay.

“You are not welcome here” were the first words anyone said.

They came from a man, though Niall could not see which one. The words were shouted, their meaning quite clear.

“We wish to be here as heartily as you wish for us to be at your gates. But there is a matter we must discuss. I am Niall, son of the Duncraig, and this is my brother, Kieran. We seek an audience with your chief.”

“I am the chief of MacKinlay,” the man said. He stood directly next to the woman, though Niall could see neither of their features from this distance. “And do not wish to grant you an audience.”

Niall sighed. He’d hoped this would go quickly, allowing him to spend as little time on MacKinlay property as possible.

“I fear turning us away is not a possibility,” he called.

His brother sighed. Kieran would likely have phrased his response much differently. Only one of them was tactful, and he was not Niall.

“We’ve more than a hundred men to your two who say otherwise,” the chief called. Though Niall could not see him well, he knew the chief, like him and Kieran, had not yet seen thirty years. But also like the two of them, he’d already seen plenty of battles.

“We are but two men,” his peacekeeping brother called to the chief.

“Two Duncraig clansmen,” the chief responded as if that was all that mattered. And perhaps it was. Still, they’d not be leaving without that audience.

“We come with a message from our chief that I mean to deliver. Allow us entry or take us prisoner so we may speak to you from behind the bars of a prison cell. Either way, we will speak to you. And if ’tis the latter, you can be certain of starting our feud anew, which is precisely what we are here to prevent. ”

“You speak in riddles,” the chief called down. “State your business and be gone.”

Goddammit.

“Our business is, as my brother said, to prevent another clan war. But we will not shout the matter up to you. We are but two men. Disarm us and allow us to enter so we may speak with you.”

Silence. And then the chief did something Niall’s father was rarely seen to do.

Consult with those around him.

The Duncraig made decisions unilaterally, for better or worse, and then dealt with the fallout if necessary.

In a way, Niall respected his decisiveness.

But it was something he’d not replicate as chief.

Sometimes, others simply knew more and ’twas a wise decision to learn from them.

Of course, the Duncraig had been chief for a long time.

Likely his father had been more temperate at the age of the MacKinlay chief.

The silence wore on, but Niall, comfortable in it, remained stoic. He looked ahead, showed no emotion, and waited. Finally, without warning, the portcullis lifted. As it creaked open, he did finally glance at his brother.

For the first time in his life, he would enter the very pit of hell. Through those gates, to meet the men who had harassed his ancestors, kidnapped his great aunt, and caused his clan more grief than any other. Until the Battle of The Black Friars, that is.

When the gate was finally lifted and he and Kieran began to ride under it, Niall ignored the looks of the MacKinlay warriors and stared straight ahead. And now, it seemed, ’twas time to dance.