age of seventeen—twenty-one years ago, before Juliana was even born. In the past two decades he had fought off every major threat to his power, from rival clans, from Clan Donald, and even from the kings of Scotland and England. Alexander MacDougall was a ruthless but excellent warrior—and he had proven it. His control of Argyll and Lorn had never been greater.
“When will you attack?” Juliana whispered.
“Soon—as soon as I can.” His smile was savage. “The bastard will pay, Juliana—ye’ll have yer revenge.”
Mary took her hand. Juliana did not look at her. For suddenly there was dread—and she wondered if she had just set a new and terrible feud in motion.
* * *
“YOU HAVE BEEN behaving oddly—ever since the attack on the cathedral.”
Juliana was helping Mary to dress. It was early morning, and a fire roared in the hearth of her sister’s chamber, but it did not chase the winter chill away. Nor could it calm her ever-racing thoughts. Almost a week had passed since Alasdair Macdonald had attacked the cathedral and murdered Bishop Alan.
Almost a week had passed since her brother had sailed away toward Ardtornish Castle. And he had attacked two days ago—a messenger had been sent to tell them.
Juliana finished braiding her sister’s long, thick hair. Her stomach churned. “I am wondering what has happened.”
Mary turned, understanding her. “No news can be good news. And an attack on a castle like Ardtornish could take days or even weeks.”
Juliana did not point out that her brother had said he would destroy the castle, not besiege it. And because Mary was staring far too curiously at her, Juliana walked away.
“What is wrong with you?” Mary asked quietly. “You are so anxious. Are you worried about Alexander?”
Juliana hesitated. Every time she considered a confrontation between her powerful brother and Alasdair Og, she was filled with an odd dread. Too late, she did not think any good could come of pitting two such men against one another. “I am worried,” she finally said. “But not about our brother—he is invincible.” She smiled, then hoped she had not misspoken. “I don’t know what is bothering me so much...I cannot get over Bishop Alan’s murder.” That much was true, for she felt guilt every time she thought of him. At night, she dreamed of the damned attack. She saw her dead soldiers. She saw Alan, begging for his life. And she saw Alasdair Og, his blue eyes as cold as ice.
He had been impossible to forget.
“I know we are already at war with the MacDonalds,” she finally said, “but I feel as if I have just started another war.”
“You did not start anything,” Mary flashed. “He attacked us.”
Juliana decided not to point out that their brother had sent the bishop to spy upon them, and in a way, he had triggered the attack. She still did not know which man she should be angrier with—her brother or MacDonald.
“I am glad you are still here,” she said impulsively. Because William remained loyally at their brother’s side, Mary had decided to stay at Coeffin Castle with her. Once the battle was finished, she and her husband would adjourn to her lands at Loch Fyne, and then travel on to Castle Bain, William’s stronghold that he inherited from his father. Mary intended to give birth there.
“We will have news soon,” Mary assured her. “Ardtornish is but hours away.”
That evening a second messenger came. Juliana and Mary were having dinner when he arrived. Both women leapt up as the young, freckled Highland lad hurried breathlessly into the room. It was snowing outside, and he left clumps of melting snow on the floor as he stomped it off his boots and shook out his plaid.
Juliana handed him a mug of wine. “What word?”
He took a gulp. “Alasdair Og was at Ardtornish when we attacked. He held us off, lady, for two entire days.”
The boy was shivering, and Mary took his cloak from him, handing it to a maid to lay it before the fire.
Juliana was in disbelief. “But surely, my brother will prevail?”
The boy grimaced. “My lady, Alexander has taken his men and is returning to Dunstaffnage as ye speak. And he has ordered ye to join him there, as soon as ye can go.”
Her astonishment increased. Alexander’s attack had failed—Alasdair Og had triumphed again! Was there no justice to be had?
And why was her brother ordering her to his seat? Did he fear for her safety at Lismore?
The young Highlander now turned to Mary, handing her a rolled-up parchment. “From yer husband, my lady,” he said.
Juliana walked over to Mary. “What does William say?”
Mary looked up, unsmiling. “The Earl of Buchan has summoned him directly to a war council in Lochaber. Alexander is going, as well. William wants me to go immediately to Dunstaffnage—there will be more fighting soon, to stop Bruce’s rebellion.”
Juliana rubbed her forehead, which suddenly ached. “More fighting, where? Is Lismore in danger?”
“William did not say.” She stared at Juliana with trepidation. Then she clasped her small belly.
Juliana knew she dreaded the outcome of this war—that she still feared for her husband’s life. “William is a warrior, Mary. He cannot sit out this fight.”
“I know that.” Mary glanced at the messenger, who was no more than fifteen or sixteen. “Come sit down and sup,” she said.
When the boy was seated and feasting on venison, Juliana and Mary walked over to the hearth and stared at it. Mary spoke first. “We should prepare to leave.”
“Yes, we should.” Juliana sighed. She did not want to leave Lismore, but she could not disobey her brother. And there was no hardship, truly, in residing at Dunstaffnage. It was a strong fortress and a magnificent estate. “Alexander must be worried, to order me from my home.”
Mary gazed back at her. “Yes, he must be worried, but is he concerned about the war with Bruce, or about reprisals from Alasdair Og?”
Both women fell silent then, lost in their own thoughts.
Mary finally said, “I will need a day to ready all of our belongings.” Because of her three children, she traveled with a large entourage.
“We can have our trunks sent to us and leave at first light,” Juliana said. She was beginning to feel some anxiety that their brother indeed feared reprisals from Alasdair Og. She had only met him once, but she felt certain he would be thirsting for revenge, after the attack on his new stronghold.
Mary shook her head. “I don’t think lingering a single day will matter; neither Alexander nor William said we must rush. And you do not know when you will return. You must prepare the keep for your absence.”
“You’re right,” Juliana said, deciding she was foolish to suddenly become nervous. “I am going to find a pallet for the boy, and retire early. Tomorrow will be a long day.”
*
