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23: LIKE OLD TIMES

“DAVINA SEEMS DIFFERENT to how I remember.”

Lennox glanced up, from where he sat, his fingers laced around a cup of apple wine.

It was getting late, and the four brothers had retired to Iver’s solar for a drink before bed.

The sacking had been lowered on the windows, the room illuminated by the glow of the fire and lanterns that flickered on the walls.

“Aye,” Lennox replied, lifting his cup, and taking a sip.

“She’s been through a lot of late.” The strong wine warmed his tongue and throat as he swallowed before settling in his belly.

He needed to fortify himself if they were going to talk about Davina.

He’d managed to avoid doing so since his arrival—but now that he was alone with his brothers, he shouldn’t have been surprised Iver had brought the subject up.

In truth, he’d rather have talked about other things.

Relations had been strained between him and Davina ever since Inverneil.

He hid it well, but her flat rejection of his proposal had been a slap to the face.

He knew she didn’t wish to marry, but he’d thought she’d consider letting him take care of her, all the same.

On the contrary, she’d made her position clear.

He’d been nursing his bruised pride ever since.

He wasn’t used to women like Davina.

In his experience, lasses would use any excuse to trap a man into marriage—over the years, he’d learned how to disentangle himself without too much unpleasantness.

But Davina wasn’t interested in trapping him—or anyone.

“I recall her as being as pale as a wraith and so fragile a puff of wind would break her,” Iver went on, his gaze meeting Lennox’s.

“But the woman who arrived today had a bloom to her cheeks and a strength to her.”

Lennox nodded.

“Despite everything, the journey did her good,” he replied.

“She spent too long locked away, letting regret gnaw at her. If she’d remained at Kilchurn, she’d likely have sickened.”

His brothers all nodded at this.

However, Kerr’s expression was veiled, and Brodie’s brow was furrowed.

“Ye did the right thing then,” Brodie said after a pause, his voice gruff, “Bringing her here.”

Lennox fought a grimace.

“I hope so.”

“It will be good for Bonnie to have female company of her own age,” Kerr added.

“Bonnie is delighted to have Davina’s company,” Iver said, swirling the wine in his cup gently as he eyed Lennox.

“That isn’t my concern … her father is.”

Lennox swallowed another gulp of wine.

“Davina seems convinced he won’t bother with her again … and I’m inclined to agree with her.”

Iver scratched his jaw with his free hand.

“Maybe, but ye abandoned yer post, Len. He’s not likely to be happy about that. I’d wager he’ll demand answers. He’ll want to know why ye aren’t returning to Kilchurn after making sure Davina is safe, at the very least.”

Lennox’s gut hardened.

Even more than discussing Davina, he dreaded speaking about why he’d come home.

“I intend to write to Campbell personally … and shall explain my reasons,” he replied.

Iver’s gaze never wavered.

“And will ye tell me , brother?”

Lennox leaned back in his chair, crossing one leather-clad ankle over his knee.

“I thought a fresh start was what I needed … and perhaps it was.” He let his gaze travel to each of his brothers’ faces.

“But as the weeks slid by, I realized that I was an outsider at Kilchurn … far more than I’d ever been here.”

“Ye were never an outsider here, Len,” Iver replied, his voice tightening.

“This is yer home.”

Lennox sighed, favoring Iver with a half-smile.

He appreciated the sentiment—and Iver was right.

He did belong at Dun Ugadale.

Maybe he always had, yet he’d been too restless and pigheaded to see it.

“Did yer men not accept ye?” Kerr asked then.

“They did … grudgingly,” Lennox replied.

Nonetheless, he’d been warmed by how Hamish and the others had bid him farewell.

Aye, their relationship had been difficult, yet, ironically, the journey had built a bond between them.

Had he returned to Kilchurn, things would have been easier.

He drained the last of his wine then and set the cup down on the table next to him.

“Kilchurn is a mighty fortress … and I was honored to serve Campbell, but every time I walked the high curtain wall and looked down over Loch Awe, all I could think about was that the wall wasn’t covered in moss and in dire need of repair.”

His brothers snorted then, and Lennox’s mouth quirked.

“Or that I wasn’t looking across the glittering waters of Kilbrannan Sound.” He paused then, his throat tightening.

“And I missed ye all,” he admitted roughly.

And he had. As he sat there in the chieftain’s solar with his three brothers, a sense of completeness filtered over Lennox.

Iver, Kerr, and Brodie knew him better than anyone else.

They knew all his faults, yet they accepted him without question.

Iver was now reclining in his high-backed chair, watching him.

His elder brother was usually easier to read than Kerr or Brodie, but not so this evening.

He wondered then if the rift between them would ever be healed.

The Mackays were proud, and despite that he’d welcomed his brother back, Iver had been offended when Lennox took up the role at Kilchurn.

“We missed ye too,” Brodie said gruffly when the silence drew out.

“The broch was dull without ye,” Kerr admitted.

“Aye,” Iver agreed, his mouth lifting at the corners.

“Although I regret to inform ye that the position of bailiff has been filled.”

Lennox snorted.

He didn’t care about that.

He’d hated the job. “Whom did ye choose?”

“Kyle MacAlister.”

“Kyle is a good man,” Lennox replied.

He and Kyle were friends, born just a month apart.

MacAlister farmed the lands just north of Ceann Locha with his brother.

Lennox looked forward to seeing him again.

“Aye, and he’s available whenever I need him. The arrangement suits us both.”

Lennox snorted.

“Well, lucky for ye that Kyle has the hide of a boar … he’ll need it.”

Iver merely flashed him a wry smile in reply.

“There’s space for ye in the guard, Len,” Kerr said then.

His brother was watching him steadily, his expression solemn.

“If ye won’t bristle at taking orders from me?”

Holding Kerr’s gaze, Lennox searched for the old resentment, a sensation that had gnawed at his belly like a rat—but this evening, it was absent.

It had been for months now.

It struck Lennox then that he’d wasted far too many years letting old grudges fester.

And maybe Iver was right: he’d mellowed a little of late, but as a younger man he’d been impetuous, quick to anger, and always the first to start a fight.

None of those traits would have made him the captain Iver wanted.

“I’ll take orders from ye, Kerr,” Lennox replied, his mouth tugging into a smile.

“If ye agree to let me thrash ye occasionally in the training yard.”

Kerr’s mouth lifted at the corners.

“It’ll be like old times then.”

Seated in the hall, at the chieftain’s table, Lennox helped himself to a slice of roasted venison before heaping mashed, buttered turnip onto his trencher.

Cory’s cooking was something else he’d missed while living at Kilchurn.

The cooks there were able enough, but the meals seemed bland compared to those at Dun Ugadale.

He ate slowly, savoring each bite, while listening to the rise and fall of conversation around him.

As usual, the hall was busy at this hour.

Long trestle tables filled the rectangular space, where warriors sat elbow-to-elbow, laughing and talking as they ate their supper and downed large tankards of ale.

Meanwhile, the laird’s two wolfhounds positioned themselves at the ends of tables, waiting for food to be ‘accidentally’ dropped onto the rushes.

It was a mild evening, and so the hearth was cold.

Most of the year, a fug of peat smoke hung underneath the blackened beams that crisscrossed the ceiling, but the air was clear tonight, making the hall much more pleasant.

Lennox’s gaze slid down the table, past his mother and younger brothers, to where Iver sat upon the carved oaken chair —one that had been made for their great-grandfather.

He was deep in conversation with Bonnie.

Lennox watched the couple for a few moments.

There was no denying the connection between them.

It was evident in the way their gazes held, the way they let their arms brush and their hands touch as they talked.

Iver looked at his wife as if she were his world, his everything.

Months earlier, his brother’s infatuation for the chambermaid he’d bedded at Stirling had vexed Lennox.

He’d told himself that Bonnie Fraser had made a great fool of him and had even told Iver he was the laughingstock of the Highlands.

Lennox regretted those callous words now.

Their relationship was no infatuation—anyone could see how devoted they were.

An odd sensation tugged under his breastbone then.

For the first time ever, he felt envious of another man’s happiness.

Lennox shifted his attention away from Iver and Bonnie to find Davina watching him.

Like Lennox, she’d heaped up a generous pile of food upon her trencher.

Yet she wasn’t eating at present.

Their gazes met, and she offered him a smile.

It was a gentle expression—a smile he’d once thought he’d never receive from Campbell’s haughty daughter.

And in that smile, he saw gratitude.

Lennox swallowed before forcing a smile back.

Curse it, he didn’t want her gratitude.

He wanted Davina Campbell, in his bed, by his side.

He wanted to sit next to her at mealtimes, the way Iver did with Bonnie, to listen to the musical lilt of her voice while being able to reach out and touch her whenever he wished.

The realization jolted through him, and he cut his gaze away, heart pounding.

What the devil?

His fingers tightened around his eating knife.

His return to Dun Ugadale had roused emotions and brought many things to the surface.

Things he’d once believed he was immune to.

Reaching for his tankard, Lennox took a large gulp, hoping that it would distract him.

It didn’t. His stomach clenched, his supper churning, while an ache of longing settled under his breastbone.

Lennox kept his gaze upon his half-finished trencher of food, resisting the urge to look Davina’s way again, to let her see the need in his eyes.

He had to keep a leash on himself now.

He couldn’t let his family see him staring at her like some besotted lad.

Davina had made her position clear.

She didn’t wish for a husband, and now she was safely within the walls of this broch, she didn’t need his protection either.

Lennox didn’t like feeling spurned, yet he was just going to have to swallow his pride and focus on rebuilding his life here.

He’d always been practical when it came to women, and he would be pragmatic about this too.

There wasn’t any point in pining for a lass who didn’t want him.