Wild Highland Magic (The Celtic Legends Series Book 3)(63)

Lachlan loosened his grip on the chieftain enough for Dermot to slide down the wooden post. At least now his good hand was free.

The woman shifted her gaze to her husband where he slumped at the foot of the tent pole. “That man is a lapdog,” the woman spat, “always groveling at Fergus’s knee. Giving up all hopes of the chieftaincy with a shrug, even after Fergus was dead—”

“You stand before me,” Lachlan interrupted, his palm itching for the leather hilt, “and confess you killed my father.”

“Your father stole from us and from all generations yet born.” Her eyes gleamed. “Yet even with your father dead, I couldn’t trust my husband to seize the rod for himself. I had to kill you, too—”

“You stand before me,” he repeated, “and confess you sent men to kill me.”

“Yes.” She sneered at him. “Yes. For I knew my coward of a husband would put forth Fingal—and fifteen-year-old boys are easily swayed.”

The curl of her lip cut the last shred of his patience. He slid the knife out of his boot. The light pouring in through the open flap glittered on its edge as he strode across the tent to put an end to this.

“Lachlan.”

Callum’s strong, steady voice broke through the haze of his fury. Lachlan’s heaving breath hitched. He scraped to a stop an arm’s-length from the woman, an instant from committing bloody murder himself.

Callum loomed beside him. “The chieftain of the clan should render justice in this matter. And it should be done for all to see.”

Lachlan tightened his grip on the hilt and curled his free hand into a fist. Callum was right but that knowledge did nothing to master his anger. He made an effort to control his own breathing, to loosen the muscles of his jaw.

“Throw her in a storeroom,” Lachlan said. “Bolt the door. After the council has chosen a chieftain, her fate will be the first to be decided—”

“They’ll all rise for me,” she interrupted, mocking, as one of Callum’s men emerged from the shadows to lead her away. “The Campbells will come for me.”

“They’ll abandon you,” Callum retorted. “They know better than to go to war for a woman who killed a chieftain for her own ends.”

More war, he thought. More bloodshed for the sake of power. Lachlan’s anger took on an edge of despair. Strife and conflict infected his lands, and it wasn’t only due to stubborn Scottish pride.

Callum stepped in front of him to seize his attention. “Justice will be swift for her.” The chieftain tilted his head toward the tent pole. “But what are we to do with him?”

Lachlan frowned as he turned back to Dermot, slumped upon the ground. Lachlan remembered seeing The MacGilchrist in the mead hall earlier, before Cairenn had touched the stones. Lachlan remembered how his wife had denied him the poisoned drink. He remembered Dermot’s stormy look and his wife’s quick retreat.

Theater, he thought, nothing more, but the chieftain raised his hands above his head as if he heard Lachlan’s thoughts.

“By all that is holy,” the chieftain said, “I knew nothing of this.”

“You married a Campbell,” Callum interjected. “You’ve always wanted the rod.”

“It’s not true! I put forth Fingal—”

“Intending him to be your son-in-law,” Callum added. “Deny it if you dare.”

“Idle talk. Everyone knows that your daughter is betrothed to the MacEgan heir, Callum.”

A silence fell in the room. Lachlan glared at the chieftain and remembered a day in his own boyhood when The MacGilchrist had hauled him onto his great palfrey for a ride back to the MacEgan castle, where Lachlan was sure to get a beating for some transgression or another. Dermot had held him by the scruff, but he’d also talked to him about how, as future overlord, he must learn to take his punishment. For someday he would be charged with standing before men to judge them, and punish them, too, according to their crimes.

How Lachlan wished Cairenn stood beside him now, strong and healthy and full of wisdom, to uncover MacGilchrist’s lies—or his truth.

“Like your treasonous wife,” Lachlan said, “you will be brought before the new chieftain to be tried. In the meantime Callum will put you in one of the upper rooms of the castle where you will stay until the reckoning. Do not break my trust.”

The MacGilchrist nodded humbly and stumbled to his feet to follow Callum out of the tent. Angus fell in line and the other men in the tent trailed him out until only one man remained in the deeper shadows.

A young man, Lachlan noticed, with stubble upon his once-soft cheek, who stared at him with grave and solemn eyes.

All Lachlan’s anger dissolved. “Fingal.”

The young man who was no longer a boy stepped into better light. “I always knew that you would return.”

The space between them closed as Lachlan engulfed his half-brother in an embrace, his worries ebbing for a moment under a surge of relief and reunion. He squeezed the boy’s not-inconsiderable shoulders, and then found himself grunting as he hefted his half-brother off his feet. Fingal’s guffaw bore no resemblance to the mischievous giggle Lachlan remembered.

Fingal pulled away and gave Lachlan a half-smile, his teeth white against the stubble on his jaw. “After all this, I understand why you made your way here in secret, Lachlan. But I can’t think of a single reason why you didn’t reveal yourself to me and the clan upon the council heights.”