Page 31

31: MUCH UNSAID

RIDING FROM KILCHURN Castle, wrapped in Iver’s arms, Bonnie glanced over her shoulder at the heavy curtain wall etched against the pale-blue morning sky.

The sun had just risen behind them, glittering over the frozen landscape.

The fortress was majestic, perched on the rocky islet with the sparkling waters of Loch Awe around it.

Bonnie had mixed feelings about leaving Kilchurn.

She wasn’t comfortable around Colin Campbell, and yet her talk with his daughter the day before had caused a shift within her.

Davina’s voice still echoed in her ears.

If ye want others to treat ye with respect, ye must walk with yer head held high …

ye must believe ye are worthy of admiration.

And in the wake of that conversation, she’d tried to walk a little taller, to look servants in the eye when she talked to them.

Davina was right. Bonnie needed to stop looking at those above her as if they were superior to her.

They weren’t.

She was still nervous about meeting Iver’s family, yet she wouldn’t let them cow her.

When she rode into Dun Ugadale, she wouldn’t hang her head in shame.

Bonnie’s mouth curved then, and she leaned into Iver.

However, she noted just how rigid his body was.

Her smile faded.

Lennox’s decision had upset him.

None of them had seen it coming, although perhaps they should have.

Things between the two brothers had been strained.

The tension had reached boiling point, and something clearly had to change.

And the position Campbell had offered Lennox was an honor indeed.

Even so, they’d left Kilchurn with much unsaid.

In the aftermath of Lennox’s announcement, both the brothers had each retreated behind their shields.

Lennox had looked on silently while Iver went to retrieve his courser.

And when Iver had re-emerged from the stables, his expression had been inscrutable.

Yet the tension in his muscles now betrayed him.

Lennox’s apology earlier had surprised Bonnie.

It was unpolished, yet sincere—and when their gazes met, she’d warmed to Iver’s brother for the first time.

His choice, to go against his elder brother and strike out on his own, had taken bravery, and she respected his decision.

She too knew just how hard it was to break free of the expectations of others.

But now Lennox was behind them, and Iver hadn’t spoken since they rode out of the castle.

Sensing that he wasn’t in a talkative mood, Bonnie didn’t break the silence between them.

Instead, she looked away from Kilchurn, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders as her gaze traveled over the hills that unfolded to the west.

And despite her newfound confidence and resolve, her belly fluttered once more.

Soon they’d strike onto the Kintyre peninsula and complete the last leg of their journey toward their destination—toward her new home.

Iver pulled up his courser before the large standing stone.

And for the first time since they’d departed from Kilchurn Castle three days earlier, his mood lightened.

“Ye know ye aren’t far from my broch when ye spy the Crois Mhic Aoidh ,” he announced.

“Mackay’s Cross,” Bonnie murmured, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Aye,” Iver replied before touching the brooch that pinned his cloak to his gambeson.

“This is the spot where the Bruce gave my great grandfather the ‘Ugadale brooch’ after he transported him safely to Arran.”

“Really?” Bonnie twisted in the saddle, flashing him a smile.

“Yer family helped Robert the Bruce?”

He smiled back, pride tightening his chest. “Aye, lass. The Mackays have long played an important part in Scottish history.”

Their party had just drawn up on open moorland, upon the southern slopes of Doire na h-Earbaige.

Like the standing stone, the sight of the hill’s tawny bulk rising above him gave Iver a sense of homecoming.

And he saw the same warmth on the faces of the four warriors who’d accompanied them.

The eldest of them, Ian, appeared misty-eyed this morning.

All of them, Iver included, had a deep love for these lands.

Iver’s gut clenched then.

He’d thought Lennox felt the same way about their home on the Kintyre peninsula, yet his brother had accepted Colin Campbell’s offer without hesitation.

It seemed Iver had badly misjudged the situation with his brother.

Pushing aside the regret that had dogged his steps every furlong south, Iver focused once more on Mackay’s Cross.

The ancient stone before them had a pointed top and stood just over five feet, listing slightly.

“Do ye know who put it here?” Bonnie asked then.

“No,” he admitted, “only that it has stood here long before the Mackays settled these lands.” He paused then, pointing to the letter engraved on the weathered stone.

“My grandfather etched out an ‘M’ on each side.”

Bonnie shifted to view the stone once more.

“How close are we to Dun Ugadale?”

Iver noted the change in her voice—the subdued edge that crept into it.

In contrast to his own brooding mood, Bonnie had been in good spirits since leaving Kilchurn—had even seemed excited about seeing her new home—yet she was quiet this morning.

“Aye.” He gave her waist a gentle squeeze.

“Just a few more hours, lass.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips across her cheek before whispering in her ear.

“Don’t worry, Bonnie, it’ll go fine.”

She gave a shaky laugh in response.

“Of course, it will.”

“Remember, I’ll be right there at yer side,” he reassured her.

Bonnie’s small hand covered his, their fingers entwining.

“I know,” she murmured.

Iver straightened up then, glancing over his shoulder at his warriors.

“Ready to go, lads?”

Ian flashed him a grin.

“Aye … my wife awaits.”

They turned their horses southeast and urged them into a brisk canter, traveling over windswept moorland framed by bare hills.

They were three-quarters of the way down the Kintyre peninsula here, not far from the largest town on the headland, Ceann Locha.

It was an isolated spot, out on a limb from the rest of Scotland—but Iver liked its remote position.

When he’d been younger, he’d always wanted to be in the thick of the action, yet these days, his soul yearned for the peace of his broch.

And when he caught sight of the sparkle of sunlight on the water, his pulse quickened.

The ache under his breastbone, at the rift between him and Lennox, eased just a little.

Kilbrannan Sound, the body of water that stretched between the peninsula and the Isle of Arran, lay before them—which meant Dun Ugadale lay not far away.

And when he returned home, things would be different.

No longer would he hide away from the world.

No longer would he leave his brothers to make the hard decisions.

Instead, he’d be the laird they all deserved.