Page 59

Chapter

H ome.

He’d never once questioned riding into the gates of Duncraig Castle. To him, these walls were as familiar as the ones in his bedchamber. Or as the smell of freshly baked bread just beneath it, the bakery placed at a most opportune location in the inner courtyard.

Today, however, was very different. Though everyone greeted him as they would had he left for just the day, to Kieran they all felt . . . odd. It was as if he were a stranger here.

By the time he stood in the hall, waiting for his parents—who, he was told, were both in the keep—Kieran could not have been more ready to turn and ride back through the gatehouse to the Red Stag Inn. He missed Maisie. And did not wish to be here after all that had transpired . . .

“Kieran.”

Even to his fog-filled mind, there was no mistaking the absolute joy in his mother’s voice as she called his name. Lifting her skirts, she ran to him. And without further ado, tossed her arms around him.

He’d rehearsed so often what he might say, but none of those words came from his lips. Instead, he hugged her back, stroking his mother’s hair as she cried on his shoulder. He had seen her cry before, but never in this way. Or for so long.

What a fool I’ve been. This woman loved me. Of that there could be no doubt.

“Kieran,” she said again, her voice thick with still unshed tears. “I am so sorry. So very sorry we dinnae tell you.”

Before he could consider his response, over his mother’s shoulder the chief of Clan Duncraig appeared. A formidable man, he did nothing. Said nothing. Watching until his mother released him, Kieran’s plaid soaked with her tears, his father finally stepped forward.

His mother stepped back to allow the two men to face each other. Though he’d heard not one word of explanation from her, Kieran had only to look at her tear-streaked face to remember the tightness of her embrace moments ago, to know he would forgive her.

“You left before we could explain,” his father said, his gruff manner typical of him.

“You had years to explain,” Kieran said, sorry his mother startled at his unusually curt tone, one more typically reserved for Niall. But there was no help for it. He could not pretend to be anything other than displeased.

“And willnae do so here. Already the servants are staring. I’ll have a meal brought to the solar. Come.”

He had a mind to say nay for the simple fact that his father did not ask but instead demanded. It was always so with him. As chief for many years, he’d become accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed. And all did it willingly because of the man he was. At least, the man Kieran thought he was.

But his father was right. Already his mother’s greeting would likely be discussed for many days. So instead of arguing the directive, he strode to the solar with his mother beside him.

“I love you, my son.”

Not Kieran.

My son.

The only words he could offer were, “I love you as well.” And rather than qualify it, he let them be, those three powerful words. Because he did love her. It was why Kieran had been so angry to learn of her betrayal.

It was to her he spoke first as they entered the chamber just off the great hall where business, and many wee meals, were conducted.

“You told Niall. And instructed him to lie to me.”

“I should not have done so. Your father and I have spoken at length on the matter and know we should have told you years ago. With Niall, I had no choice. If he continued to press for you to be named second in command, the truth would have to be told.”

“Because I am a MacKinlay.”

“Aye.”

He agreed with her. “You should have told me. Long ago. I am no child but a man who held his family as the enemy.”

“You’ve no family worthy of calling them so,” his father said.

“I have two aunts, and likely uncles and cousins, very much alive.”

“One aunt. The other passed, and the surviving one cares more for placating her husband than the abuse his children endure. His love for ale is even stronger.”

“You know who my family is,” he accused. “And did not return me to them.”

He’d been calm when he came, but Kieran was anything but now.

“Sit,” his mother said. But Kieran ignored her. He was too wroth to sit.

“Return you? To a man who struck his own children? Nay. I’d never even considered such a thing.”

“How could you know how my uncle treated his children?”

His father’s jaw flexed as it clenched. It was his mother who answered.

“We knew not who you were for some time. The blow, against, I assume a rock in the river, ensured it. But we assumed you were a MacKinlay, and so your father traveled many times to Aberdale. It was not difficult to learn a boy had gone missing. Or to discover your mother had died in childbirth and your father in battle. With no siblings to speak of, he found your aunt. And planned to relinquish you to them against my protests. I’d grown to love you then as my own and could not bear to part with you. ”

“And so, you dinnae?”

“Nay. We dinnae. But not because I had convinced your father to keep you here. He insisted on watching first to learn what kind of family you’d be given to. The first time he saw your uncle strike his son, he returned here to inform me you would be staying.”

Her tale made no sense.

“Father has not been to Aberdale, to MacKinlay land, since before the battle.”

“I have,” his father said. “Many times after we found you.”

“And that dinnae cause a stir? The chief of Clan Duncraig in the midst of his enemy?”

“None knew, as I was disguised.”

Kieran tried to imagine his father sneaking around Aberdale, in disguise. It was a difficult image to conjure, but he did not question his words. His father had been the one, after all, to teach Kieran how to decipher a lie. And he could not detect one now.

“And my family? You disguised yourself to them as well?”

“‘Twas not necessary. They had the good grace to live just beside a treeline. Was easy enough to watch them without being seen.”

An even harder image than the other to imagine.

“You hid among the trees watching this family to determine if they were worthy of me?”

“Aye.”

He said it with the directness and authority Kieran was accustomed to from the chief.

“He went there many, many times,” his mother said. “And a good thing too.”

If what they said was true, his father had gone into enemy territory on multiple occasions to assure himself the family he would return to would treat him well.

It was an act of such love that Kieran could hardly comprehend it.

Unlike his mother, his father rarely showed affection.

And he told neither Kieran nor Niall he loved them.

And yet . . .

He glanced at his mother, who nodded.

God dammit. If he could remain angry with a man who’d done such a thing, Kieran was worse than Lina’s brother. But he still had questions.

“Why did you not tell me?”

At that, his father looked toward his mother.

“It was I who wished not to. Your father wished to tell you, but I could not bear the thought of you knowing you were kin to our greatest enemy. I worried you would think less of us as your family.”

“She worried to lose you. Even as an adult, her fear of you rejecting us as parents overrode all good sense.”

“Kenneth,” she scolded, but his father did not take back the words. It was something Kieran would have smiled about if it were any other circumstance.

“You told Niall.”

By now, his questions lacked the heat they had when Kieran had begun to question his parents.

“An error in judgment led by fear.”

“Never make decisions based on fear. You say it often,” he said to his father.

“Indeed. And your mother listens to me much less often.”

That time, he could not resist the slightest upturning of the corners of his mouth.

One glance. That was all it took, just one glance at his mother’s eyes. She begged, pleaded, to be forgiven. For him to love her as he’d always done. As she did him.

The eyes did not lie.

“Forgive me, Kieran. Please say you will forgive me.”

He opened his arms and she came to him. “I forgave you the moment I stepped into the hall,” he said softly.

Just when his plaid had begun to dry, his mother wet it again.

But he did not care. He had more questions, but for now, Kieran allowed himself to relish his mother’s embrace.

When she let him go and his father stepped toward him, Kieran could not have been more surprised when he, too, wrapped his arms around him.

Kieran could remember each time his father had hugged him because the occasions were so rare. As he returned the gesture, Kieran closed his eyes and, for the second time since returning, chastised himself for a fool. He’d run away, when instead, he should have confronted his family.

When his father finally stepped back, Kieran’s knees nearly buckled at the sight. Not tears precisely, but his eyes were wet.

Impossible. His father did not cry.

Those remaining questions he had would have to wait.

“I should have come to you,” he said to them both. “I was angry and confused.” It was the only explanation he had to offer.

“As I would expect,” his mother said. “We are only glad you’ve given us the opportunity to explain.”

Maisie.

“I met a woman,” he said as a knock on the door was followed by his father’s call for admittance. Their meal had arrived. Once the round table in the corner of the solar chamber was prepared for them, Kieran resumed his tale, glad to lift a mug of ale to his lips.

“I went to Aberdale to learn more, and learned my father was a blacksmith who died in the battle.”

“Your mother passed in childbirth,” his father said, maybe to prove he had indeed investigated on Kieran’s behalf.

“Aye. But on the way, I stopped at the Red Stag Inn.”

“I know the place,” his father said. “Owned by a weasel of a man I dinnae care for.”

“No longer,” Kieran said, wincing at the mention of Maisie’s husband. “His widow runs the inn now. Her name is Maisie and . . . I’ve asked her to marry me.”

It was not the ideal marriage for a clan chief’s son, but after everything that had happened, he hoped the status of his future wife would be of little consequence. Though it did not matter. He would marry her either way.

His parents exchanged a glance.

“She is a lovely woman, quite capable, as the inn has thrived since her husband passed.”

“I am sorry, son,” his father began as he placed food on his trencher.

Kieran’s shoulders sagged. Just as they’d reconciled, now there would be another disagreement between them.

“But,” his father continued, “I cannae remember a lovely woman as the former owner.”

Kieran waited but it seemed it was all his father would say.

“I am glad ‘tis your only hesitation.”

“Son, we willnae interfere in your choice of a wife,” his mother said, looking at his father as if waiting for him to disagree.

And though Kieran knew it was because of his status as a second son, and not because of his birth, he did not care.

That he would have their blessing to marry Maisie was all that mattered.

Of course, the woman herself needed to be convinced first.

“She was forced to marry him,” Kieran explained. “For coin. Her father is a farmer.”

“Mmm,” was all his father said.

“Tell us of her,” his mother prompted. And so he did. When he’d finished, his mother reached across the table for his hand. “She sounds lovely, Kieran. As you said. We very much look forward to meeting her.”

“You will soon,” he said, hoping his words were true. “I leave in the morn and will return as soon as I am able.”

“Already?” His mother, clearly disappointed, let go of his hand and continued her meal.

“Aye,” he said. “Niall is there now, but I do not wish to leave her for long.” With that, he began another tale, this one of MacBrannigan, which had implications for their own clan. He’d killed a chieftain, after all, even if that man was a bastard.

But instead of chastising him for potentially starting a clan feud, his father smiled. “Ach, well. It sounds to me as if the man deserved killing.”

Kieran returned his father’s grin.

It was good to be home.