Margaret Mallory - The Guardian

Ian looked up the long flight of steps, lit by torches that lined the walls on either side. Unfortunately, they would have to go up through the keep to get to the bailey yard. All that was on the dank sea level of the castle was the dungeon—a place Ian hoped they wouldn’t see the inside of tonight.

Alex went first, managing well enough on his own. Duncan was next, dragging his leg, with Sìleas hovering beside him.

“I think I can go up myself,” Connor said in a tight voice, but a groan escaped him as Ian and Tait helped him up the first step.

“Save your strength,” Ian said. “You’ll be needing it soon.”

“Word is that Hugh has his men watching for ye, Ian,” Tait said, as they inched their way up the steps behind the others.

It was taking an eternity to get the men up the damned stairs.

“He’s heard that some of the men intend to put your name forward to be chieftain, now that they think Connor is dead—even though ye aren’t of the chieftain’s blood,” Tait said.

“Why do ye suppose I went to such trouble to get Connor here tonight?” Ian joked.

Connor stopped where he was and turned. “Maybe ye should take it, Ian. I’m in no shape to lead the clan.”

“No, ye will not be giving me the miserable task of leading this stubborn rabble,” Ian said, pulling Connor up the next step. “You’re the right man for it. The only one.”

The Samhain bonfire raged in the middle of the castle’s bailey yard, just as it had every year of Sìleas’s life. It seemed odd, when so much else had changed.

No one gave them a second look as they merged into the shadows at the back of the circle gathered around the fire. Many in the crowd wore garish costumes or carried lanterns made of hollowed-out turnips with carved faces to ward off evil spirits.

A few women were throwing bones or roasting nuts to divine whom they would marry, for Samhain was a time for divination. Many a lass told her young man aye or nay following Samhain, depending on what the signs revealed this night.

The children were enjoying themselves as they usually did, but Sìleas sensed the tension behind the adults’ revelry. Hugh had made it known he would call on every man to make a pledge of loyalty to him before the night was over.

“When we go inside for the ceremony, I want ye to find Ilysa and stand with her,” Ian said to her in a low voice. “She’ll know how to get ye out if things should turn violent.”

“I will.” She understood it would help him not to have to worry about her when the time came.

At the sound of pipes and drums, the crowd turned their attention to Hugh, who stood facing the crowd with the great fire behind him.

“Samhain is a time when we come together to celebrate the final harvest of the year and remember our dead,” Hugh said, holding his arms out.

“I am grateful for the long stories that so many of you have shared in remembrance of my dear, departed brother,” he said, emphasizing the long and the many , with a glance toward a group of older men that included Ian’s father. “But Samhain is also when we mark the beginning of our New Year. And on this Samhain, we also celebrate the beginning of a new era for the MacDonalds of Sleat.”

Sìleas tapped her foot. Hugh was in fine form tonight.

“I’ve laid a place at the head table for my dead brother and my nephew Ragnall, as is our tradition, so their spirits can join us for this special Samhain night.”

Sìleas thought calling on the memory of their former chieftain was bold on Hugh’s part, for most members of the clan knew Hugh had resented his brother from the day he was born. Still, blood ties were respected in the Highlands.

Hugh put his hand over his heart. “I know my brother would be pleased to see me take his place as chieftain.”

Alex and Duncan both made choking noises. Hugh glared in their direction, but they were safe from discovery here in the shadows.

“It is time now for all of us to set aside our sorrow, hard as it may be,” Hugh said, “and to swear fealty to your new chieftain.”

“Does he think he can avoid taking a vote altogether?” she whispered to Ian.

“Aye, but the men don’t like it.”

From the low grumbling around them, it was clear Ian was right.

“We’ll have our feast as soon as the oaths are taken,” Hugh said. “To the hall!”

“Move about among the men and be ready,” Ian said to Tait. Then he turned to Connor and the others. “Don’t let anyone see ye until I signal.”

“Grá mo chroí,” Ian said to Sìleas, and squeezed her hand before disappearing into the crowd. Love of my heart.

Sìleas waited with the three men until most of the crowd was inside. The rumble of voices was loud in the hall as they moved inside and found a place to stand against the back wall.

She leaned forward to look at the three of them. They appeared to be an odd but unremarkable, drunken threesome—two men in Samhain masks and an enormous woman in a large bonnet—leaning against the wall and holding on to each other for support.

Connor lifted his mask and leaned over to speak in her ear. “Ye shouldn’t be near us now, when things are coming to a head.”

His voice sounded stronger than before, and he was staying upright. That much was good. She squeezed his arm and went to join Ilysa and Beitris, who were standing with the other women.

She had a good view of Hugh, who sat in the chieftain’s chair on a raised platform at one end of the hall. She didn’t know the rough-looking men who stood on either side of him, but assumed they were companions from his pirating days. They glared at the crowd, looking as if they were eager to force the oath from any man who didn’t give it freely.

“Who wants the honor of being first?” Hugh called out.

The hall grew quiet as everyone waited to see who would be the first to come forward. There was an audible intake of breath from the crowd as Ian stepped into the space that had been left in front of Hugh and the guards flanking him.

“Well, ye have more sense than I gave ye credit for, Ian Aluinn,” Hugh said, using the nickname the women had given Ian years ago in an attempt to ridicule him. “I thought my men would have to ‘persuade’ ye to do what ye must.”

Instead of bending his knee to take his oath, Ian turned to face the crowd. There was fire in his eyes, and he stood with his legs apart as if he was ready to fight half a dozen men at once—which he probably was. Ach, her husband was breathtaking.

“It is our tradition to allow men to speak before the selection of a new chieftain,” Ian said in a voice that reached every corner of the hall. “I intend to speak.”

A loud murmur of agreement rose from the crowd.

Hugh drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, as if he were itching to give the order to cut Ian down. But Hugh was no fool. It was clear from the reaction to Ian’s statement that the clan expected him to follow the traditions, even if they believed the outcome was certain.

“Speak if ye must,” Hugh said with an impatient wave of his hand. “But as I am the only man here of chieftain’s blood, I see little point in it.”

Ian turned to look over his shoulder at Hugh. “Can ye be so sure my uncle did not leave another son or two that ye don’t know about?”

There were barks of male laughter around the room, for everyone knew their chieftain, like his father before him, had bedded countless women over the years.

“But no, I’ve not disrupted the evening to tell ye about a new claimant to the chieftainship.” Ian raised his fist in the air. “I’ve here to tell ye I’ve taken Knock Castle back from the MacKinnons!”

The hall erupted as men waved their claymores, and the crowd roared their approval. Hugh stood and raised his hands for quiet, but it was some time before he could be heard.