Page 2

Broc

Broc MacNicol mounted one of his favorite stallions, Midnight Majesty, then led the beast out of the gates behind Alasdair, Dyna with Sylvi on her lap, and Dyna’s brother, Hagen. The four were headed out to patrol the isle with five other guards.

Ever since Logan had heard that K’s wife was Glenna of Buchan, the granddaughter of an old nemesis of Clans Grant and Ramsay, they’d established more frequent patrols to look for new activity on the island.

Any threat of invading the isle had to be taken seriously, though with three sound allies on Mull, Connor believed they couldn’t be conquered, especially with the extra guards he’d brought over.

Alasdair said, “I am pleased to finally have Emmalin and the bairns here. It’s been too long.”

Dyna noted how her horse, Midnight Moon, seemed to be enjoying the fine weather as they trotted up next to Alasdair.

“I would feel better knowing that the sapphire sword was here. I hope John brought it with him. With Lia and the talk about Grandda and Grandmama, I am relieved to have him here. How old is he now?”

“John is four and ten. The two girls are a year younger. I don’t ask him about the sword. He handles it just fine on his own.”

Broc added, “It feels more and more like home now with your small family here, Alasdair. I’d love to see my parents, but I know not if they will come.”

Alasdair said, “I felt bad for leaving Alick alone as chieftain of Clan Grant, but as Uncle Connor says, half of our guards will be here soon. I told Emmalin we’ll stay for another moon or two, then go home.”

Hagen, newly arrived, said, “I’m glad Da said for me to come.

The isle is beautiful. I hope we get high enough on this journey to look out over the sea.

How far to MacLean land?” Hagen was one of five bairns of Connor and Sela Grant.

His sister Claray was the eldest, then Dyna, and they had a sister, Astra, and a younger brother, Morgan.

Dyna pointed to Ben Buie. “We’ll pass that peak in a bit.

The view is lovely from up there. The journey should take about half a day.

According to Thane, Tristan MacClane has been here fixing an old cottage and attempting to finish a tower for nearly a year.

He has about ten guards with him who are helping to work on the castle in the MacLean name.

It’s his uncle’s land. I thought it only right to bring a few gifts along with us. ”

Sylvi said, “And I brought two play bunnies in case they have any bairns.”

Hagen asked, “Are you expecting any more battles?”

The isle had struggled ever since a man known only as K had started stealing bairns to sell to others off the isle.

There had been two kidnappings, but the Mull clans had banded together to retrieve the bairns.

Fortunately, both times had been successful, and though K had lost several men, he was still alive and likely to attack again from Mingary Castle on Kilchoan.

Dyna replied, “K will be back in time, but he has to rebuild. Derric and I decided we would never travel with the bairns all together. We didn’t think anything would be more difficult than having a child stolen until two were taken. Thank the Lord we still had Sylvi to hug.”

Broc said, “Thank God and Eva.”

As they climbed the path to higher ground, Broc took the time to admire the scenery.

He loved the Isle of Mull for all its opposites.

This path along the southeastern side of the isle was completely different than the edge near Duart.

Ben Buie was to their right, forestry and deer abounding.

But his gaze was drawn to the coastline, something they didn’t have on Grant land.

Sylvi shrieked. “Mama, look at those birds with the orange beaks!”

“Those are called puffins. Are they not adorable?”

“I want one. Can we get closer?”

“Not now, but when we get to MacLean land, we’ll be closer to the water, and you may see them there.”

“I want to make a puffin to sleep with. Could Grandmama help me make one?”

“I think so. We’ll ask her.”

Broc smiled, thinking on his fabric puppy who looked like the wolfhounds they often had on Grant and Ramsay land.

He peered across the water from their vantage point, the gray sky keeping the sun from reflecting off the ripples of the Firth of Lorn, the jagged coastline beautiful to him.

There were spots of silver-white sand that turned into an endless sea of rocks a bit more down the coastline.

It struck him that the isle couldn’t decide which it wished to be known as—peaceful and serene or rough and difficult.

Mountains on one side, sandy beach over the next crest.

Broc understood the contrast. Sometimes his training made him feel highly skilled, other times he couldn’t measure up to any of his cousins. What made the difference? He’d yet to figure that out.

Dyna looked over at her brother. “This is the last settlement we’re aware of on Mull. It’s important we learn as much as we can about the MacClanes. Da knows his uncle who lives in the Borderlands, I believe. We’ll spend a night or two, then return home. We should arrive before dark.”

“Where are the others?” Hagen asked.

Alasdair said, “Clan Rankin is on the northern tip of Mull, while Clan MacVey, the largest of the three, is between Clan Rankin and Duart Castle.”

“Then MacVeys must be just north of Craignure, where we landed? I saw it when we came across.”

“Exactly. I think MacVey’s wife is making a map of the isle for each of us.”

“And the last clan?” Hagen asked.

Alasdair continued, “Clan MacQuarie is on the northwestern part with beautiful beaches and not far from the isles of Ulva, Coll, and Staffa, so I’m told.

Iona is just off MacLean land. Some of us have been on Ulva and Coll.

There are more in the Hebrides to explore.

MacClanes are the only ones on the southwestern part that we know of. Much of it looks uninhabitable.”

Hagen asked, “MacClane or MacLean?”

Alasdair said, “Thane said Chief MacLean of the Borderlands owns the land. His brother went by MacClane, and it is his son that is working on the MacLean Castle that is nearly done. It’s quite close to the water’s edge.”

The group reached a crest, so Alasdair, in the lead, held up his hand to stop the group, his gaze scanning the horizon. “Amazing.”

Dyna brought her horse up behind Alasdair’s mount. “Oh my.”

“Mama, it is beautiful. May I go swimming when we get there?”

“Mayhap, Sylvi. We’ll see. We have to meet new friends first.”

They’d been traveling half the day when the sun finally came out. “I think we’re nearly there. We should be. Keep your eye out for any structures,” Dyna said.

Broc stared out over the landscape as the group continued, taking in the beauty of the sea in front of him.

Whitecaps dotted the water, and thanks to the sun peeking out, the blue sky turned the sea nearly the same color.

Up ahead, two buildings sat not far from the coastline on a knoll—one cottage and a half-finished tower behind it with a low curtain wall being constructed.

There were men working, but they hadn’t noticed the approaching group until a shrill whistle broke them apart, all reaching for their weapons.

Broc stayed behind his two cousins, his hand going to the wound on his face, something he did without thinking.

Hagen must have noticed, because he mentioned the one thing Broc hated to think about. “Have you seen any boar here?”

“Nay, not yet.” If he didn’t come across any wild boar here, he might never leave Mull.

Broc had been hunting at around ten summers old when was attacked by a boar in the Highland forest. His horse had been spooked by something and threw Broc straight into the path of three boars.

One had assaulted him, piercing his belly with its tusk.

He’d also gotten a nasty laceration down his left cheek, one that didn’t make him attractive to the lasses.

The scar bothered him enough that he’d grown his beard to hide it when he moved to Duart where he was meeting new people, though it didn’t hide it completely.

He hated it. He understood that he’d been fortunate because the attack had nearly killed him.

But he still hated his scars.

His wounds had mostly healed on his belly and face, leaving visible scars, but the scars inside still held fast. Every time he’d seen a boar outside Grant land, he’d frozen, something that his sire had done his best to help him get past, but he couldn’t rid himself of the vision of the boar just before it had pounced on him.

He’d dealt with nightmares for years, though they’d lessened here on Mull.

He was eight and twenty, still unwed, but the sad fact was that he hadn’t had a girlfriend yet.

Oh, he’d had a tussle or two with women when his brothers and cousins had taken him to Edinburgh, but the questions and the look of disgust he’d noticed on their faces when they’d seen the scars on his belly had convinced him to abandon the idea of someday marrying and having a family.

He’d also gained a fear of hunting. He went along, usually in the back of the group and not far from his father and brothers, people he knew would try to protect him if attacked by another boar.

He practiced his sword skills so he could protect himself, and his sire had given him a dagger that he could fit in the smallest fold or boot. That dagger went everywhere with him.

He fingered the dagger attached to the belt at his waist, something he did every day of his life. It was as if it were a specter that would protect him at all times.

He hadn’t been attacked since then.

As they approached the group, Alasdair held up his hand to let them know he did not bear any weapons. He stayed mounted to make sure they’d be welcomed.

One man led the way with two directly behind him, their hands on the hilts of their weapons.