this part of his duties the most.
Then, he gave Brodie, and Arabella, his answer at dinner.
Brodie’s reaction was exactly what he expected it to be—a knowing nod of his head and a satisfied expression in his gaze. Arabella, well, Arabella jumped up and ran to him, throwing her arms around him and clutching him close, regardless of her ever-expanding girth.
‘I am glad, Rob,’ she said, wiping at her eyes as she released him. ‘I want you to be happy in this. I pray you will find the MacKay girl to your liking and you will be happy.’
Any desire to argue or correct her dissipated at Brodie’s approach. The look in his eyes now promised retribution and pain if Rob dared ruin Brodie’s wife’s happiness in this matter. Having been at the wrong end of Brodie’s anger more than once, Rob decided to allow her to believe the optimism in her words and he just nodded.
‘When will you leave?’ Brodie asked, as he guided Arabella back to her chair.
‘In a day or two. I have some things to see to before I leave.’
‘How many will you take?’
Rob inhaled and let it out before answering his laird. He’d thought on this all day while finishing up some tasks. If this failed, he wanted no one to witness it. Whether Brodie would agree was another matter.
‘I go alone.’
Silence greeted his words for several long seconds. He met Brodie’s stare, waiting as his friend thought on his answer.
‘I would rather you take at least a small number of men with you,’ he said. ‘But you will be travelling through lands held by allies or kin and can defend yourself,’ Brodie agreed. ‘How long will you take?’
‘If the weather holds, no more than a fortnight to get there and another to get back. I will stay there as long as it takes,’ he said.
‘Rob...’ Brodie began. Rob held up his hand to forestall his friend.
‘I am at peace with this, Brodie. If I cannot tolerate the woman or have some strong objection, I will speak my mind to you.’ Brodie smiled and nodded. ‘I am at peace,’ he repeated, ‘but not happy at all.’
Accepting more wine in his cup from a passing servant, Rob drank it down in one swallow. He’d been truthful with Brodie—if there was something wrong with the lass, he would refuse. If there was some impediment or other reason, he would refuse. And if there was none, he would have to accept her.
* * *
As he mounted his horse and gathered the reins of the packhorse in his hand two days later, Rob rode out of Drumlui Keep, knowing that he would be a different man when he returned.
A married man, for better or worse.
He could only pray that it would be for the better.
But the situation that greeted him on his arrival made him realise, it was only going to get worse.
Three weeks later—Caisteal Bharraich—Castle Varrich—village of Tongue, Scotland
He should have gone by ship. He should have taken men with him. He should have done many things differently than he had. Rob knew that and more now as he neared the MacKay’s keep outside the small village of Tongue.
Following the winding path up and around the hill on which the castle sat, Rob heard the guards call out as he cleared the last copse of trees and approached. He called out his name and the gates opened. One man motioned for him to follow and he did, aware of those watching his every move. Once he’d ridden close to the entrance to the keep itself, he threw a leg over his horse and dismounted. A gap-toothed boy ran up and Rob tossed the reins of both horses to him. He whistled to the boy before the young one got more than a couple of paces away and tossed him a coin.
‘Mackintosh?’ a man called out from the open doorway. ‘The MacKay awaits you.’
Rob nodded and climbed the steps, leaning down to avoid hitting his head as he entered the keep. It was smaller than the one at Drumlui, but well kept and brightened by windows high up on the walls in the main hall. Glass from the looks of them. With the winds that blew in from the sea to the north and across the Kyle of Tongue, it was clear to him why those windows were small and thick.
Walking towards the large table at the other end of the rectangular chamber, Rob took note of a woman rushing there, as well. Not young enough to be his intended, she arrived there just as he did. He paused and bowed to the large, bearded man before him.
‘My lord,’ he said, as he lifted his head. ‘I bring greetings from the Mackintosh to you and your family.’
He’d brought several gifts that yet remained on the packhorse that he would present formally later. And, something more personal to give the young woman when, if, he accepted the marriage contract. Rob glanced around the chamber and, though he saw several servants and others in the hall, no woman young enough to be the MacKay’s heiress was present. Reaching inside his tunic, he took out a packet from Brodie and handed it to the MacKay.
‘Ye were expected nigh to a week ago,’ the MacKay said, nodding to a servant. ‘We heard of storms to the west. Did ye get caught in them?’
‘Aye,’ Rob said. He accepted a cup of ale from the servant and followed the laird’s lead over to a table. ‘What roads I found quickly became muck and mire.’
‘Not surprising at this time of year,’ the older man explained. ‘And this year the storms seem stronger coming from the north.’
The talk about the weather continued on and Rob knew it was forced. The rains came and went. The winds howled or caressed. The sun shone or hid. And none of that was of enough consequence for a man like this chieftain and a man like himself to dwell upon. It was, however, a perfect way to avoid the subject they should be discussing.
And why would the MacKay be avoiding that?
‘I have been amiss, Mackintosh,’ he now said. ‘I do not believe ye have met Lady MacKay, Morag Munro.’ Rob stood once more as the woman approached them now.
‘My lady,’ he said with a bow of his head. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
‘Was your journey pleasant?’ she asked, sitting on a chair across from her husband.
The journey again. Would the weather be next?
‘Longer than I expected, my lady.’ He kept his tone polite and tried not to let his suspicion enter it.
‘These storms have been unusual.’
Rob nodded, smiled and drank from his cup, unable to speak in that moment. Something was amiss here.
Granted, he spent the first week of his journey being angry and cursing his fate. Well, cursing his best friend’s high-handed method of seeing to his life and future. And cursing his own inability to simply refuse. Mayhap the storms had been the Almighty’s way of slowing him down so that his eventual acceptance of this
