Page 33 of The Laird's Wicked Game
“Aye,” Rae called. “Bring it in.”
Two lasses from the kitchen brought in trays of freshly baked bread, stew, cured sausage, cheese, and apples. It was a simple meal, but there was plenty of food, and it was exactly what Rae was in the mood for this evening.
He moved to the table and took his seat. “Sorry I was so late joining ye for supper … I put the lads to bed, and they insisted on a tale.”
Kylie’s mouth curved once more as she took her place opposite him. “What story did ye tell them?”
“Lyle’s favorite … the Headless Horseman.” He pulled a face then. “Both lads love the bit where a claidheamh-mòr lops off Euan’s head, while his horse gallops away with his corpse held in place by the stirrups.”
She winced. “A grisly tale, that one.”
“Aye … just the kind wee lads love … especially since it happened on Mull.”
“So, have ye seen this grisly specter yerself?” she teased.
He shook his head, his mood sobering then. “No … but my brother has.”
That got her attention. “Aye?”
He took a sip of wine and set down his cup before picking up the basket of bread and offering it to her. Kylie took a slice, although her gaze remained upon him. He wasn’t going to get away without telling her the tale.
“Do ye know how Jack and Tara met?” he asked after a pause.
She shook her head.
“Tara is a Mackinnon of Dùn Ara … daughter to the former clan-chief. Around four years ago, my brother stole her away in an act of revenge.”
Kylie’s eyes snapped wide. Clearly, despite that Tara had spent time with Kylie and her sister, she hadn’t divulged her history. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“Kendric Mackinnon killed our father … they’d met to discuss land rights, and their discussion erupted into an argument … one that ended in my father’s murder.” Rae’s mood shadowed then, as it always did when he remembered the tragedy. “I was thrust into the role of chieftain at the age of seventeen … too busy learning how to rule to nurse hatred and revenge. But Jack did.”
Kylie’s brow furrowed at this. Meanwhile, Rae busied himself with slicing some cheese and sausage and placed them onto the trenchers before them.
“So, Jack abducted Tara with the intention of doing her harm?” she asked after a moment.
Rae nodded. “He intended to sell her to a pirate.” She murmured an oath at this, yet he continued. “Jack’s act was rash and foolish … he ended up on the run with her. It wasn’t long though before he realized his mistake … before he lost his heart to his enemy’s daughter.” He paused then, giving his head a rueful shake. “One morning, on the western slopes of Ben Mòr, they spied the Headless Horseman.”
Her lips parted. “Isn’t it supposed to bode ill for the blood-kin of any Maclean who sets eye on it?”
He nodded. “Ye know yer Mull folklore, it seems.”
She gave a soft snort. “Liza told me the tale when I was at Moy Castle.”
“Aye … that’s how the story goes … and when we nearly lost Loch’s sister, Astrid, at the Battle of Dounarwyse, we believed the superstition might be true.” He favored her with a wry smile then. “But Astrid rallied, and here the rest of us are four years on … very much alive.”
Kylie swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese, all the while stealing glances at the man seated opposite her.
What a tale that had been.
She had no idea of Jack and Tara’s unconventional match. The woman had given up everything, including her kin, to be with the man she loved.Tara never told me she’s a Mackinnon of Dùn Ara.
“Why has this story never reached my ears?” she asked finally, breaking the silence between them. “I’d expect all of Mull to know of it.”
Maclean huffed a sigh. “While Tara’s father still lived, it was dangerous to let on the whereabouts of his daughter … so we kept things quiet,” he replied. “Bran Mackinnon knows his sister lives at Dounarwyse, of course … but there’s little he can do about it.” He eyed her then. “Few people outside this broch even know that Tara is a Mackinnon. She’s gotten used to not talking of her origins.”
Taking the warning, Kylie nodded. “Well, ye can rest assured that I won’t be spreading gossip,” she answered. All the same, she’d have to tell Makenna—especially since she was betrothed to Tara’s brother. “Seventeen is young to have taken on the mantle of laird,” she said after a pause. “Ye must have found it difficult.”
His fingers tightened around his cup of wine. “Harder than I ever admitted to anyone.” He grimaced then. “Jack named me a ‘fazart’ for not avenging our father’s death, and I hit back … our quarrel led to a ten-year estrangement.”