and his cronies, but if Eneas insisted on being named Paddy’s guardian, they’d side with him over her—an outsider and, worse, a woman.
Rowena knew then what she must do—go to Blantyre and convince the earl to uphold Padruig’s will. Eneas would not like it, would try to prevent her from making the journey, if she asked his permission. So she wouldn’t ask, she’d strike now, in the presence of these witnesses—and quickly, before they were too drunk to care.
Rising, she shouted above the din, “Silence, please. I need a moment of your time on urgent clan business.”
The Gunns stopped talking and stared at her as though she’d suddenly sprouted wings. Small wonder they were shocked by her outburst. In all her years at Hillbrae, she’d never raised her voice in the hall. While Padruig had given her the running of the keep, the management of the clan was men’s business, so she’d stayed quietly in the background, reading her few precious books, sewing her husband’s clothes and raising her son.
“First, I want to thank you for coming to honor Padruig. I know he would be pleased.” Conscious of the incredulous stares, she hurried on. “Last night while I kept vigil beside Padruig’s bier, I recalled his fears that should something happen to him before Paddy was grown, some other clan might think us leaderless and try to snatch up our holdings.”
“Think you I cannot defend what is ours?” Eneas snarled.
Rowena smiled. “I know you would fight valiantly to do that, but our losses might be heavy. Why risk a fight when Padruig himself had a plan that would avoid bloodshed?”
“He did?” asked Finlay.
“He did,” Rowena lied without compunction. “The king has sent his brother, the Earl of Buchan, to subdue the more warlike clans and bring peace to the Highlands. I will go to the earl, tell him of Padruig’s passing and swear fealty to the crown on Paddy’s behalf.”
“You!” Eneas shouted. “Why would you go?”
“Because Padruig named me as Paddy’s guardian, along with Father Cerdic and Finlay,” Rowena said sweetly.
Her statement was greeted by murmurs of ascent from some in the crowd and a low curse from Eneas.
“With the leadership of Clan Gunn thus confirmed by the king’s representative, no clan would attack us without running afoul of the earl and risk being declared outlaw by him,” Rowena said in a calm, firm voice, rather pleased with her reasoning.
The grinding of Eneas’s teeth was so loud Rowena could hear it over the nervous pounding of her heart. Her palms were wet, her stomach in knots, but she knew she’d won. Eneas could not decry the scheme and then set out on the same errand himself.
“I will, of course, go with you,” he growled. “To make certain no harm befalls my brother’s widow.”
“How kind you are.”
Eneas glared at her, his eyes lethal weapons. “The journey will be hard and dangerous.”
“I look to you to see us safely to Blantyre.”
Eneas cursed under his breath, then motioned the steward over to him. “Wat, pass the word, ’tis time for the lifting.” Spearing her with another scathing look, he shoved back his chair and stomped away toward his underlings.
Finlay stood also. “That was well done Rowena, but I will go with you to make certain Eneas minds his manners.”
“I can look out for myself, Finlay. I need you to remain here to make certain Paddy is safe.”
“For all he’s a hard man, Eneas loved Padruig. He’ll not harm his brother’s son,” Finlay repeated.
The icy fist around Rowena’s heart tightened. If Eneas learned that Paddy was not Padruig’s son, he’d have no compunction about killing him.
Paddy’s giggle cut across her dark thoughts. “I dinna think most of the men will get themselves up the hill, much less lift Father,” he said lightly.
Squinting against the smoky pall, she watched the Gunns attempt to rally themselves for the trip to the kirkyard. Drunk as they were, most of the men and some of the women were literally falling down. “Not surprising. Ten kegs of ale emptied since dawn.”
“Aye. But ye did him proud.” Finlay grinned as he helped her to her feet. “For all he was spare with his words and not one to share his feelings, Padruig respected ye lass.”
Rowena nodded glumly, looking back on her cold, loveless marriage and ahead to her bleak, dangerous future. “That is something, I suppose.”
“Make way,” Wat the Steward cried, elbowing people aside as he cleared a path for the fallen laird’s nearest and dearest.
Jennie met Rowena at the outer door. “I’ve brought your fur-lined cloak and the young laird’s, too.” She handed Finlay Paddy’s cape, then drew Rowena aside to assist her in dressing. Three years Rowena’s senior, the maid was plump and pretty, with red hair and freckles as numerous as her suitors. A capable maid and trustworthy friend, she had left Tarbert to live among the Gunns with her mistress. If not for her support, Rowena wouldn’t have lasted a fortnight as Padruig’s bride. “You’re pale as new snow,” Jennie scolded.
“Small wonder.” Rowena pressed a hand to her head, hoping to still the grinding ache.
“What has Eneas done to hurt you now?”
“Jennie...”
“Eneas knows I hate him.”
“Aye, but that was before.” Rowena glanced ahead.
Someone had opened the door, letting in a swirl of blessedly fresh spring air. Eneas stood in the entryway, his big body blocking the light. A symbol, surely, for he’d like to blot her and Paddy out...permanently.
“From now on, I want you to keep that sharp tongue between your teeth, Jennie MacBean,” Rowena said in a rush. “With Padruig gone, we must all watch our step.”
“And our backs.”
“Aye.” Rowena shivered and turned, her heart quieting when she saw Finlay kneeling to fasten Paddy’s cloak with the heavy broach, the symbol of his lairdship. God keep him safe.
“Mama?” Paddy tugged on her hand. “If I build Father’s cairn very high, do you think he’ll like me better?”
“Your father loved you,” Rowena said.
Paddy looked down and traced a circle on the stone floor with the toe of his boot. “He never said so. Sometimes he looked at me...” his thin shoulders moved restlessly beneath the heavy cloak “...as though I’d turned into a bowl of boiled kale.” Paddy’s least favorite food.
Rowena sighed, aching for her small son but knowing no words to explain. “He had much on his mind, love. If he grimaced and glowered, ’twas not at you. You were very, very important to him. Come, the others will be waiting. Let us walk up together and bid your father farewell.”
His hand, though small, was reassuringly warm in hers. She wondered who was helping whom as they began the
