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Iver of the McColl stood upon the stairs of his uncle's keep watching the most beautiful woman smile.

The gratification he gained from that one small act was unusual and quite unexpected.

When his eyes locked with the startling green of hers, it was almost unsettling.

Something as small as her delighted face caused him to take notice and feel almost envious of his uncle.

And this reaction was quite startling. Though she was rather lovely and pleasurable to look at, this was a woman and his uncle's wife.

When she disappeared through the carved doors, Iver returned his attentions back to the laird of the Chattan.

His uncle stood before him looking much like a man in charge would and much as his own father always had.

While it was his mother who was this one's sister, Iver noted there were many similarities between these two great men.

As Iver peered over his obviously worn and sturdy frame, he conceded there was much pressure placed upon these men.

Much like his own father, the Laird Errol's brow was heavily furrowed and the lines upon his face ran deep.

It was the way with most for each moment of every day was spent caring for his lands and his people.

It was his sole responsibility to ensure they were safe and their way of life was protected.

All of that resolve laid its claim heavily upon their lairds.

Iver was drawn from his perusal of the laird as he heard his commanding voice once again.

"I am thankful you have arrived and without incident, I see."

Iver stared at the Laird Errol straight in the eye as he replied with his unwavering confidence.

"Yes, my laird. We are pleased to be here and we stand proudly at your service.

While we did encounter several bands of varying clansmen as we made our journey here, we spied them only from a distance.

We thought it prudent to avoid all encounters until we could gain your lands and learn more of your situation. "

"Then let you and your men come with me into my gathering hall to appease your appetites. We can speak more of it in there and be comfortable in our surroundings."

"And your clansmen?"

It was immediately obvious to Iver with his small inquiry the laird of the Chattan looked almost uncomfortable.

As a silence hung in the air, he continued to gaze deeply into his uncle's eyes and wondered yet again, why they had been summoned.

What was behind his request and was the uncomfortable look within his eye right now speak of turmoil within his own clan?

Iver understood there was unrest throughout the entire Highlands, but it was always the same across this section of Scotland.

He had to wonder if there was more to all of this and if there was conflict among his own.

He was simply attempting to gain the truth, since the laird did have a son of his own.

He was still confused as to why he would bring in those warriors from the McColl.

Slowly, Iver shifted his gaze to the area below them that now held over twenty of his own clansmen from the McColl.

These men had been personally chosen by his own hand and for this one purpose alone.

One by one and in the privacy of his own chamber, he asked each if they were willing to give up the McColl for a chance at a new life.

It was not that theirs was anything but fine and stable, but there were many strong men from home and their numbers were blessedly increasing.

Most of those Iver had chosen had older brothers or had no relation to the laird's house at all.

That was, of course, with the exception of Donnan.

He was his own cousin and had once been fourth in line in a very powerful clan.

He was also his dearest friend and one he knew he could trust above all others.

Each of the rest he brought were very loyal to Iver, too.

Of the entire group of his clansmen, he deemed each and every one of them as friend.

Iver himself had a father who he knew would live forever.

He also had two older brothers who were ferociously loyal to their laird.

These two would serve the McColl well and keep them strong especially since their own bloodlines ran deep.

Each also had sons of their own and all would give their lives to protect.

But Iver? He had always known he was strong and had created a following of his own within the McColl.

Since he was the third son of a very powerful laird, there was little chance he would ever be given that opportunity to lead.

Even for a short while. Iver had always known in his heart he had been sired and trained to lead a clan of his own.

What was most telling was that the upper bailey held very few from the Chattan. Yes, there was a stable master about and some young lads collecting the steeds, but the rest of his warriors seemed surprisingly absent. He felt this odd especially since there were so many new arrivals.

"My laird, I would enjoy your hall at this moment as would all of my clansmen. But I would also like to meet your warriors and it would give me great pleasure to sup with them. Please do invite them in!"

Iver watched his uncle's face closely and detected a tightening to his jaw.

It was apparent with the words he had spoken there was something odd about the Chattan.

Or at least so very different from the McColl.

Within his own, their bailey was always filled to capacity with those ranging in age from bairn to elder.

But here? It just appeared so very different.

If Iver had anything to say about it, it would change and immediately for there was nothing better than togetherness to inspire loyalty.

Iver knew the clansmen surrounding him must be devoted or they never would be trustworthy. Above all else, he understood a clan without faithful warriors was worthless and was bound for nothing but their own demise.