Page 34

34: MY BEATING HEART

“WE NEED A new bailiff.”

“Well, ye could try Kyle MacAllister.”

“Aye, I hear he tires of sheep farming these days. He doesn’t want to follow in his old man’s footsteps.”

The three Mackay brothers walked the wall that ran around the broch.

It was a windy evening, and all of them had slung heavy cloaks about their shoulders.

Iver had only been back at Dun Ugadale a few hours, yet restlessness churned within him.

Usually, whenever he returned home, he’d retire as soon as he could to his solar—alone.

But he’d promised himself things would change—and they would.

He would.

“Right,” Iver murmured, nodding to his brothers.

“I shall ride out tomorrow to talk to him.”

Kerr cocked an eyebrow.

“Ye don’t want me to do it?”

Iver shook his head.

He intended to take the reins again, and that meant interviewing any potential bailiff to make sure he got the right man for the job.

“What happened with Lennox?” Brodie asked then.

As usual, his youngest brother’s voice was gruff, yet there was concern in his eyes.

Iver huffed a sigh. He’d been waiting for this question and had known Kerr and Brodie would wait until they got him alone before the interrogation began.

“Did either of ye know just how miserable he was here?”

Kerr pulled a face, while Brodie cut his gaze away.

Neither of them needed to say a word.

Iver had his answer.

Breathing a curse under his breath, he walked ahead of his brothers along the wall, his gaze sweeping south, in the direction of Ceann Locha.

“How could I have been so blind?” he muttered.

“Lennox is proud … he didn’t want to say anything,” Kerr replied after a beat.

“Aye, he’s as pig-headed as ye are,” Brodie added.

Raking a hand through his hair, Iver turned back to them.

“Do me a favor, will ye?” he asked roughly.

“In the future, if ye see me taking a wrong turn, tell me so.”

They both nodded, although Kerr’s mouth thinned.

“Ye weren’t in the mood to be questioned, if I recall,” he murmured.

“When melancholy grips a person like that, it’s difficult to make them care.”

Iver swallowed.

Had he really been in such a grim place?

“Aye, well … ye can still speak the truth to me.” He paused then, searching their faces for a glimmer of resentment.

“Ye’d both tell me if ye were unhappy here, wouldn’t ye?”

Kerr snorted.

“Of course, ye idiot.”

Meanwhile, Brodie’s mouth lifted at the corners.

“Ye aren’t getting rid of either of us that easily.”

Relief gusted through Iver, loosening the tightness in his chest. “I didn’t want to get rid of Lennox either,” he admitted, his voice roughening.

“Don’t worry about him.” Kerr stepped up next to Iver and slapped him across the back.

“Len has always been a bit wild … he should have stretched his wings years ago.”

“Kerr’s right,” Brodie said, his mouth quirking.

“If he ever makes Dun Ugadale his home again, the choice has to be his.” He inclined his head then.

“The men are talking about treason and murder in Stirling, Iver … when are ye going to tell us about what happened between the king and William Douglas?”

Iver huffed a sigh.

With the upheaval of their arrival, he’d almost forgotten.

Now though, everything rushed back.

“It was a brutal scene, lads,” he muttered.

“Douglas refused to break with MacDonald and Lindsay, and James flew into a rage. He stabbed the man until he bled out all over the floor of his solar before one of his courtiers clove his skull apart with a poleax. They then threw Douglas’s body out the window.”

Both of his brothers murmured oaths at this description.

However, Iver hadn’t finished.

“Douglas’s kin have already broken with the crown,” he continued.

“The relationship between the Highlands and the Lowlands balances on a knife edge once more.” He grimaced then.

“Tomorrow morning, I must send a missive to Niel, informing him of what has transpired … the king has also insisted our clan-chief send him a signed declaration, pledging his loyalty. James doesn’t trust Niel either, it seems.”

Kerr made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat at this.

“Really?”

Iver shifted his attention to Kerr to see that his brother’s expression was understandably grim.

“Aye … we need to prepare ourselves for trouble.”

Kerr’s gaze narrowed.

“Do ye want me to recruit more men for the Guard?”

“Aye … it pays not to be complacent.”

The three of them drew to a halt, and Iver’s gaze shifted west, to where the wall snaked around the back of the broch.

He then frowned. “The western wall looks as if it's crumbling.”

“It has been like that for a while,” Brodie replied, his tone wry.

Ye just never noticed . The criticism was unspoken, yet it filled the air between them, nonetheless. It made Iver wonder what else he’d failed to see of late.

A gust of biting wind buffeted the wall, and Iver yanked his cloak close. He then glanced over at the broch. He’d shown Bonnie around her new home before leaving her in their bedchamber.

She was currently soaking in the bath. He’d wanted to join her, yet he hadn’t let himself. Instead, he’d walked out with his brothers, and was glad he had.

Some things had to be faced.

“Well, once I’ve got a new bailiff organized, I shall see about starting repairs,” he announced then. “I also need to walk out to the fields and see what the cottars are planting.”

Iver glanced Kerr’s way then to see his usually serious brother smiling. He stiffened. “What?”

However, there was no derision in Kerr’s blue eyes, just warmth. “It’s good to have ye back, Iver,” he murmured.

Later, as night settled over Dun Ugadale, Iver sat with his wife and kin in his hall.

Mead and ale flowed, and two of his dogs curled in front of the great hearth next to the dais.

Cory, the cook, had served up good, hearty food. It was the taste of home.

Well-being stole over Iver as he sat there in the carven wooden chair that had once belonged to his great-grandfather. His warriors sat at the tables below, and the rumble of laughter filled the smoky air.

This was another thing he’d steered clear of over the past years.

Iver had taken to consuming all his meals in his solar, avoiding the companionable chaos of his hall.

But no longer.

Glancing across the table, he noted his mother’s stiff posture.

Unlike everyone else, Sheena ate her supper as if each mouthful cost her. She’d tried to avoid joining them in the hall this evening, complaining of a headache, but Iver had escorted her downstairs himself.

Just like after his father had died, when his mother had tried to cast Brodie from the broch, he had to keep an eye on her.

Of course, his reclusiveness in the past years had allowed Sheena to exert her influence more strongly. That wasn’t entirely a bad thing, as she was highly capable and enjoyed being chatelaine. But those duties would fall to Bonnie now, and Iver would ensure his mother handed over the reins to her daughter-by-marriage with grace.

Feeling his gaze upon her, Sheena glanced up. Their gazes fused, and his mother’s mouth thinned. Ire simmered in her eyes. Aye, she’d apologized earlier, but she was still choking on it.

“Yer mother looks vexed enough to turn me to stone with her gaze,” Bonnie murmured then, drawing his attention.

Iver met his wife’s eye and favored her with a rueful smile. “Aye, she’s a stubborn one,” he replied. “Where do ye think I get it from?”

Bonnie laughed, while Iver greedily took her in. He would never tire of looking upon his wife.

Her hair, still damp from her bath, hung in dark curls down her back, and her cheeks had a pretty blush after consuming a cup of mead. She’d donned her old kirtle over a clean léine. The garment was indeed shabby, yet it didn’t dim her loveliness. Much to his mother’s chagrin, he’d instructed her to adjust one of her old kirtles for Bonnie the following day, so she’d have something prettier to wear until she had new clothing made.

Iver would make good on his promise too. The seamstress in Ceann Locha had once dressed noblewomen in Edinburgh, and he would order his wife as many gowns as she wished. He couldn’t wait to see the joy in her eyes when she saw all her pretty new kirtles and surcotes.

“Ye are happy to be home,” Bonnie observed then.

“I am,” he replied. “Is it that obvious?”

Her lips curved. “Aye, ye haven’t stopped smiling since ye sat down at this table.”

“This broch is as much a part of me as my beating heart,” he admitted. “Although I let bitterness blind me to its value. I shut myself away so I could lick my wounds and neglected the things that mattered the most.” He paused then, his mood shadowing at the memory of the time he’d wasted. “And I lost one of my brothers as a result.”

“Ye haven’t lost Lennox,” Bonnie replied. She reached out then, placing a hand over his, squeezing gently.

“Haven’t I?” Iver pulled a face. “I’d wager he resents me still.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Just wait … six months of working for Colin Campbell and he’ll realize yer worth.”

Iver snorted. “I’m not surprised ye never warmed to Colin.”

She pulled a face, removed her hand from his, and reached for her cup. “I pity his daughter. I might have grown up fatherless, but at least no one tried to marry me to someone against my will.”

“That’s not unusual amongst lairds,” Iver pointed out, inclining his head. “Daughters help make useful alliances.”

A groove appeared between Bonnie’s brows as she took a sip of mead. Swallowing, she fixed him with a level gaze. “Promise me that if we have a daughter one day, ye shall not inflict such an expectation on her,” she said softly. “Swear that ye shall let her wed for love, not to suit yer own purposes.”

Iver’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a request.”

“Aye … but I don’t make it lightly.”

Her words surprised Iver; he couldn’t imagine most lairds agreeing to such a stipulation from their wives. All the same, he’d grown up with a strong-willed mother who wasn’t afraid to voice her wishes. And he was relieved that his wife wasn’t only sweet-natured but knew her own mind as well. She’d need it to hold her own with Sheena.

“Very well, mo chridhe,” he replied, holding her gaze. “Ye have my word.”