Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

With his thoughts on Hugh and the tasks ahead, Ian realized that he hadn’t spoken a word to Sìleas—but he didn’t have time now.

“Watch after her,” Ian said to his brother, as he helped her dismount. “I need to talk to the men.”

As planned, he and Alex moved separately through the gathered men to discover what they thought of Hugh proclaiming himself chieftain. After welcoming him home, a few spoke quietly to Ian about Hugh’s mistreatment of them or their family. One who was not so quiet was Tait MacDonald, a wiry man of thirty.

“Hugh violated my sister and left her carrying a babe,” Tait said, his eyes burning with hate.

“I suspect ye don’t wish to wait for Judgment Day to see him punished,” Ian said. “I know I wouldn’t.”

“Hugh had best watch his back.” Tait sidled closer and added, “A lot of men would support ye if ye put yourself forward for the chieftainship.”

“I am not of the chieftain’s blood.” Ian was as skilled a warrior as any, and he could lead men in battle. But the best of chieftains needed to be patient schemers as well, and patience was one trait he did not share with his cousin.

“No, it has to be Connor,” he told Tait. “He’s back, and he’ll be a great chieftain, even better than his father.”

“Tell Connor I’m with him,” Tait said.

Ian looked the man over and surmised that Tait’s quickness would more than make up for his short stature in a fight. “He’ll be glad to have ye on his side.”

It was a start, and others would follow. As the saying went, one cow breaks the fence, and a dozen leap it.

“The problem is that Connor is still a lad in the men’s memory,” Tait said. “He’s been gone a long time.”

Tait was right. The men needed to see Connor to judge his mettle as a man. Showing himself openly too soon, however, could get him killed.

“On the other hand,” Tait said, “the men are outraged that after calling himself chieftain, Hugh sat by while the MacKinnons attacked Knock Castle. And they don’t understand why he hasn’t tried to take it back.”

The loss of Knock Castle was one more weight in the chain of guilt around Ian’s neck. Even though he hadn’t wanted it, holding Knock Castle had been his duty.

The morning after his “wedding,” Ian and his chieftain surprised Sìleas’s stepfather with the news of the marriage—and an overwhelming force. As soon as the MacKinnons surrendered the castle, Ian sailed for France, not caring who his chieftain chose to hold the castle in his name. But fury, tinged with shame, burned in his belly now. The clansman who stood in his place as defender of the castle had been killed in the MacKinnon attack.

As Ian moved through the crowd, he heard again and again the complaint about the loss of Knock Castle.

“What are ye going to do about your wife’s castle?” more than one man asked him. “We’re ready to fight for it, but we need a chieftain to lead us.”

Speak of the devil.

When the men around Ian shifted their gazes and stepped back, he turned to see Hugh Dubh emerge from the castle’s bridge followed by a score of men. Ian exchanged a glance with Alex over the heads of the other men to be sure Alex had seen Hugh. Alex nodded and headed his way.

Ian caught the priest by the arm. “Father, get the women and children inside the church.”

The priest turned and saw Hugh and his men. “I’ll get them inside, but I’m warning ye, I’ll have no violence here in the churchyard.”

“That’s up to Hugh,” Ian said. “All I can promise is that I won’t be starting it.”

Ian found Sìleas and Niall next. “Go inside now,” he said, putting his hand to the curve of her back to push her along.

Sìleas glared at the approaching men over her shoulder. “I’m not afraid of Hugh.”

“Ye should be,” Ian said, gripping her arm hard so she would know he meant it. “Niall, see that she gets inside, then help the priest with the others.”

Niall and Sìleas both scowled at him, but he didn’t have time to argue.

“Go now, both of ye.”

He moved to stand next to Alex just as Hugh and his men entered the churchyard. Hugh’s gaze was fixed on him, which was fine with Ian.

I am ready to cut your ballocks off, Hugh Dubh.

Hugh halted a yard in front of him and stood with his legs apart in a wide stance. For a long moment, they took each other’s measure. Hugh was a big, square-faced man who bore a strong resemblance to Connor’s father and Ragnall. As the youngest of his father’s six sons, he couldn’t be much over thirty, though his years at sea made him look older.

When Connor’s father was made chieftain, Hugh took up pirating. Judging from the colorful stories told about him, Hugh was successful at his trade. Some believed he could call up a sea mist at will, because of the way his boats disappeared after an attack. Others said Hugh had a large stash of gold hidden on the Isle of Uist—and that he fed captured children to the sea dragon that guarded it.

“I heard the two of ye were back,” Hugh said, resting his hand on the hilt of the long dirk in his belt. “Ye should have come to the castle to pay your respects.”

“If the men who used to work our land still did,” Ian said, “perhaps I could have spared the time for a wee visit.”

“The rest of ye stand back,” Hugh said, and lifted his hand. “I need a private word with the prodigal sons here.”

He waited to speak until the others backed away a few paces.

“I was merely encouraging your da to pledge his loyalty,” Hugh said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But now that you’re here, I’ll accept your pledge in his place.”

Anger pulsed through Ian; his hand itched to reach for the claymore strapped to his back. One good swing and he could rid the clan of this vermin.

Ian made no effort to keep his voice down. “While my father lives, I’ll no be making decisions for him.” Ye slimy bastard.

“I hear he’s lost his mind, as well as his leg,” Hugh said. “It’s your duty to step up and take his place as head of your family.”

“As all the men here know,” Ian said in a loud voice, as he swept his arm out to encompass the men gathered around them in the churchyard, “my father fought in many battles with the Lord of the Isles to protect our clan. He merits the respect of his son and his clan.”

The men responded with nods and grunts of approval.

“I will not take my father’s place nor give his pledge,” Ian said, glaring at Hugh.

“And where does your father stand, Alexander Bàn MacDonald?” Hugh asked.

“If ye have to ask, my guess is he hasn’t given ye his support,” Alex said with a smile that suggested he knew very well his father wouldn’t favor Hugh. “Ye don’t suppose he has reservations about your ability to lead, do ye?”

The vein in Hugh’s neck pulsed as he flicked his gaze between Alex and Ian.

“In the end, he’ll bend his knee with all the rest of ye,” Hugh snapped. “Ye can tell Connor the same when ye see him.”

Ian turned to speak to the men behind him, leaving Alex to cover his back.

“As the son of Payton, a nephew to our dead chieftain, and a man of this clan,” Ian shouted, “I call for a gathering of the clan to choose our next chieftain, as is our custom.”

When Ian turned back, Hugh looked as if he would have liked to plant his claymore in his chest, but another round of approving grunts had him thinking better of it.

“That’s a fine idea,” Hugh said through his teeth. “We can all go into the hall of the castle and do it right now.”

Hugh’s men, a rough lot from his pirating days, raised their fists and shouted their agreement. For a moment, Ian feared he had lost control of the crowd, but it was soon evident from the silence of the other men that they did not agree with Hugh’s suggestion.