Starcatcher, page 5
“Safe,” she said.
“How do you know?”
She pressed her lips together. She knew a large part of their anger was rooted in worry for her sister.
“Marsali?”
She could bear Gavin’s anger, but it was much harder to remain silent in the face of his anxiety.
“Cecilia is only a child,” she said desperately. “I couldna let you marry her to someone like Edward. And I will not, either. I do not understand how either of you could even consider—”
“Edward is a laird with rich lands,” her father reminded her.
“With an army, you mean,” she replied bitterly. “He’s also had two wives who died when they were young.”
“One in childbirth,” her father said.
“And the other?” she said. “There are whispers—”
“Sutherland lies. He lied about Margaret.”
“You have condemned the marquis of Brinaire on less.”
Blood rose in his face, turning it an angry shade of red. “You willna mention that name again,” he said.
Gavin spoke from his position by the door. “You could not have gone far. We will find her. Men are out combing the countryside now.”
She was silent. Cecilia should be far out of reach by now. She had seemed a little nervous but had not argued with the plan for her to travel south with Hiram and Rufus. Indeed, to Marsali’s surprise, her sister had donned the boy’s clothing almost eagerly. Charmed by Patrick’s companions, despite the rough introduction she’d been given to them, she’d expressed no hesitation about riding off to who-knows-where with them. Seeing this, Marsali had realized, to her surprise, that her quiet, studious sister possessed a certain desire for adventure.
Halting a few feet from Marsali’s chair, her father spun to face her. “You will stay in your room with only bread and water until you are willing to marry Sinclair,” he said, “and you tell us where your sister is. Gavin, see to it.”
Gavin’s frown deepened, but he did not attempt to contradict the order. His gaze rested on her for a moment, and she saw sympathy in his eyes. But she also saw steely resolve.
Rising from her chair, she turned blindly toward the door. Any further argument was futile. Still, she felt a stirring of triumph. She had escaped marriage to Edward Sinclair.
“Father,” she acknowledged, bowing her head slightly as she swept from the room.
Gavin waited for her by the door, and she followed him up the stairs. Now that the worst was past, she wanted some time to herself to remember the moments she and Patrick had shared. She wanted to remember the hunger she’d seen in his eyes. She wanted to remember his kiss. She wanted to believe that he would find a way for them to be together. He had not changed very much, after all, she told herself. He was still the boy who had saved her ferret. He was still the young man who had reached out to pluck the stars from the heavens for her.
She stopped at her door and, hesitating a moment, turned to Gavin. “Cecilia is safe,” she said.
“And what about Patrick?” he asked quietly.
Chapter 4
Marsali stared at Gavin, her heart in her throat.
Of course, he would have heard about Patrick’s return. There were few secrets in the Highlands.
“Marsali?” Gavin’s tone was rough. “What about Patrick?”
“I donna know what you mean,” she said.
“I think you do. Have you seen him?”
She hesitated, feeling very much alone. Her family had always been close. Perhaps because they had known so many losses. Three of Marsali’s siblings died in infancy, and her mother had succumbed to fever shortly after giving birth to a stillborn babe. When her stepmother had died just weeks after giving birth to Cecilia, a strong bond had formed between herself and her new baby sister.
Her father and her aunt had shared a similar relationship; but Marsali just couldn’t accept his version of her aunt’s disappearance, nor could she condone his desire to shed Sutherland blood. Even if it meant pushing her only brother away.
She was silent under Gavin’s intense scrutiny, his question hanging between them. “Patrick is back, then!” he exploded.
She turned toward the stairs leading to her bedchamber, but her brother’s hand on her arm stopped her progress.
“It is no good, Marsali,” he said. “Father will never allow another marriage between our families.”
He, nearly as much as Jeanie, knew how she felt about Patrick. Over the years, she had plagued Gavin with questions about the man who’d been raised alongside him, and he, in turn, had teased her countless times about her abiding interest in her husband-to-be.
“He was your friend,” she accused him. “You’ve said he was your brother.”
“Aye,” Gavin replied. “But I canna go against Father on this. Patrick’s blood spilled ours.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know Aunt Margaret would never leave without saying a word.”
“And I don’t think Patrick’s father would lie,” she retorted. “The marquis of Brinaire might not be known for his kindness, but I have never heard anyone call him a liar.”
Letting out a long breath, Gavin demanded, “Where is Patrick? And where is our sister?”
“I donna know,” she said, and she didn’t. Not exactly. She did know that wherever Cecilia was, she was safer than she would be here, in the middle of a clan war or, worse, married to Edward Sinclair.
“I will have to find her,” Gavin said. “And God help anyone who hurts her.”
Marsali placed a hand on his arm. “She will be safe,” she said. “I swear.”
Gavin frowned. “Fa is convinced that the Sutherlands are responsible,” he said. “He wants me to raid their southern borders. He also wants me to take Patrick’s brother hostage—or Patrick himself, if indeed he is back—in exchange for Cecilia.”
Marsali’s heart pounded. “Patrick had nothing to do with this. I planned it myself so that Fa could not force me to marry Edward by threatening to marry Cecilia to him in my place. Surely, Gavin”—her voice broke—“surely you canna trust the Sinclairs.”
Gavin looked away. “It would have been a good alliance.”
“You may give yourself up for dubious alliances,” she said, tears forming behind her eyes. “I will not.”
“You will, if Fa commands it.”
“He canna command my heart.”
Gavin sighed. “Marsali, you have no’ seen Patrick since you were a child. You know nothing of him now.”
She drew herself up to her full height, which, maddeningly, was still a good foot shorter than her brother’s. “I was fourteen.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and she knew that he’d been trying to trick her into admitting she had seen Patrick recently.
“You’ve changed, Gavin.”
“So have you, little sister. You have always been so …”
“Malleable?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “That is not what I meant. You—”
“Always wanted to please?”
“Aye,” he said, allowing himself a small smile.
She looked into blue eyes very much like her own. “You have always known how I felt about Patrick,” she said. “You encouraged it with your tales of his honor and courage and reports of his deeds in battle. I am not as inconstant as you with my friendships or my loyalties.”
His lips thinned at the rebuke. “Our loyalty belongs to our father.”
“When he is right.”
“No! He is our father, regardless.” Gavin’s fist hit the stone wall beside them. “And he is right! Margaret must be avenged.”
“No one knows the truth of the matter,” she charged. “I think it is the disgrace of the charges against Aunt Margaret that you and Fa canna bear, not the loss of her.” The moment the words left her lips, she wished she could reclaim them. She did not want to wound him. She simply wanted him to understand.
“I willna explain myself to you,” he said coldly. “I loved Margaret, and I know she would never leave without a word. She is dead, and the Sutherlands are responsible.” A muscle in his throat flexed. “God’s blood, do you not know how much I cared for Patrick? How much I wanted you wed to him so we truly would be brothers? But duty and honor are more important than my personal wants. You would do well to remember that.”
“Your sense of honor and mine are different,” she said, her voice shaking. Her life, Cecilia’s life—and Patrick’s, too—might all depend upon her strength of will. She would give nothing away. Nothing.
Yet the bleak look in Gavin’s eyes wounded her heart. She turned and entered her room. This time, he did not stop her.
Gregor Sutherland, marquis of Brinaire, glared at his son. “Where in the devil have you been?”
Patrick returned his father’s glare. “I went exploring. ’Tis a long time since I have seen these hills.”
“You missed the homecoming I intended.” The bushy brows, silver now where once they’d been black, knitted together. “I wanted to present my brawny, braw son to my friends. They have heard of your great deeds.” He spoke with the pride that Patrick had always hoped for. But now it meant little.
“I had the homecoming I wanted.”
“And what was that?”
Startled, Patrick studied his father more closely. The marquis of Brinaire had never asked him what he wanted before. Years ago, he had been a handsome man, but now he appeared far older than his years. His once strong body was gaunt, his face drawn and haggard, and a tic pulled at his right cheek, below his eye. Where was the powerful, uncompromising man who had been his father? Patrick wondered.
Gone. Just as the home he had known was gone.
The great hall of Brinaire was in shambles. Dirty rushes half covered an even dirtier floor, the table was still uncleared from the morning meal, and years of accumulated soot and grime had turned the once-beautiful wall hangings a dingy gray. Only one fire was being kept, and given the stench and smoke emanating from it, he had to wonder when the fireplace had last been cleaned.
He wanted his old home back, the Brinaire he had left twelve years ago. He wanted to see the rushes changed daily and the floor swept clean. He wanted to hear the clomp of his clansmen’s feet and the sound of their laughter as they strode through the door, into the great hall, by the dozens. He wanted to see Margaret’s warm smile that had brightened the place beyond measure.
But Margaret was gone, too.
His father, he’d been told, had fired all of the servants, accusing them of aiding his wife in her adultery. Only a few new clansmen had been hired, all inexperienced. His sister Elizabeth found herself the chatelaine, attempting to manage the household with neither experience nor her father’s support.
Gentle Elizabeth, who crept around the keep like a mouse. His sister had been but three years old when Patrick had left home. Since his return, Patrick had seen a girl who was painfully shy and afraid of their father’s temper. His brother Alex, now seventeen, was similarly restrained, seeking refuge from his father’s wrath wherever he could.
In all truth, it seemed to Patrick that the entire keep and all of its occupants were in sad and immediate need of attention.
His father’s voice broke into his dismayed thoughts. “I asked where you went.”
“I told you. I wanted to see the hills,” Patrick said. “I wanted to smell the heather and breathe air that didn’t smell of death. I am through with fighting.”
The tic in his father’s cheek twitched. “Nay, I willna be hearing that talk. You will do what needs be done. The Gunns have been raiding our cattle, and they have threatened to burn out some of our clansmen. If they join with Sinclair, there will be killing, you can be sure of that. And it is your duty to protect your clansmen.” His lips thinned, and he swore. “Gunns!”
“I fostered with the Gunns,” Patrick said. “I was betrothed to one. God’s truth, but a fourth of our clan is related to them. I canna fight them.”
“You will do what I tell you, lad.” The marquis turned away.
“Nay,” Patrick said. There would be no misunderstandings between them. “I willna be killing for you.”
His father turned back to him, his dark gray gaze turning ebony. As a child, Patrick had melted under that look; even now, he felt the old urge to give in.
“That girl is marrying a Sinclair,” his father said. “You know what that means. The Sinclairs have been our blood enemies for centuries.”
“Nay,” Patrick said. “Marsali willna be marrying Edward Sinclair.”
His father squinted at him. “How would you be knowing that?”
“I have ears.”
“You have no’ seen her?”
Patrick hesitated. He might oppose his father, but lying to him would be dishonorable. “I have,” he replied simply.
Rage mottled Gregor Sutherland’s face. “You went on Gunn land?”
“To the edge of our own.”
“That Gunn wench was on Sutherland land, then.”
“We were betrothed. Neither of us consented to breaking it.”
Without warning, Gregor Sutherland raised a hand and struck his son’s face as hard as he was able. Patrick stepped backward with the force of the blow, but he remained silent.
“You willna wed a Gunn whore,” his father said. “I’ll not be having another one in my home.”
Patrick stared at his father, from whom he had received not a single loving gesture and bloody little approval. Even the welcome at his homecoming had been distant. No wonder his sister had grown into a frightened wisp and his younger brother kept his nose buried in books and wanted, he’d said in a whisper three days ago, to go into the church. His father had become a demon.
“If you want to go to war with the Gunns, it will be without my help,” Patrick said. “I canna exchange years of friendship because—”
“Then you can leave my house,” Gregor raged. “I will disown you. Alex—”
“Alex told me that he wants to go to Edinburgh. He wants to study there.”
“Alex will do what I tell him.”
And he would, Patrick thought, feeling as if a noose were tightening around his neck. Alex would try to fight their father’s battle. And Alex would die. What would become of Elizabeth, alone with a bitter, fanatical old man? No, he could not leave them to fend for themselves at Brinaire again. Yet if he left his father’s house, Patrick knew he would leave without a penny. And he had only one occupation: the one he’d forsworn.
He was trapped. As trapped as Marsali had been when she’d known that Cecilia would be forced to take her place if she didn’t marry Sinclair.
“Well?” his father said, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
Patrick thought of Marsali’s willingness to sacrifice herself. What would he have to do to save his sister and brother? Betray his sworn oath? He wondered about Gavin, and whether he, too, was facing impossible choices. They had vowed to be friends forever. Dear God, how had things come to this pass?
Margaret. Lovely, wise Margaret, who had been missing for nearly two years and was presumed dead.
“Patrick?”
His father was still waiting—waiting for his capitulation.
He needed time. “The men must be trained,” he said.
“They could take Gunns any day,” his father sneered.
“I willna fight alongside anyone, nor ask them to fight with me, until we know each other’s skills. I’ve been gone too many years. I canna ask them to trust me.”
“You will be the Sutherland,” Gregor said. “They owe you their loyalty.”
“I will earn their loyalty,” Patrick replied.
His father made another attempt to stare him down, but the effort was halfhearted. Finally, he shrugged.
That, Patrick thought, was more revealing than anything his father had actually said. He could not remember Gregor Sutherland backing down, not once, not ever. The past two years had indeed taken their toll on both him and his spirit.
“A few days more or less won’t make a difference,” his father grumbled.
“We will start tomorrow,” Patrick replied, turning to leave.
His father’s voice stopped him. “Alex will train with you. I should have fostered him. He would have gotten over his idea of going to the University of Edinburgh. Margaret told him …” His voice died away.
Patrick knew better than to pursue the subject, but he decided to inquire elsewhere. Had Margaret encouraged Alex’s love of books? There was still so much he didn’t know, so many currents running through his family. A family he no longer knew.
“Where are those two men who came with you?” The question came unexpectedly.
Patrick stopped at the door to the hall. “They had some business of their own.”
“Will they be back?”
“Aye.”
“They look like braw men.”
“They are. And they have saved my life many times over.”
“And you theirs, I am thinking,” his father said, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “They owe you, then.”
“No man owes me anything,” Patrick said. “Indeed, I owe them.”
“They will ride with you?”
Patrick smiled. Perhaps Hiram and Rufus could be used as another delaying tactic. It might be weeks before they returned. Especially if a messenger advised them to take their time.
He nodded. “Yes, they will ride with me, and you willna find two more valuable warriors.”
Gregor Sutherland pressed his lips together in a bloodless smile. Patrick could almost guess his thoughts. Gavin would lead the Gunns—Gavin who, although trained in battle, had never been tested. The times were peaceful in their part of the Highlands. But for the occasional cattle raid, no opportunities existed for a warrior to ply his skills.
“You will remember many of our clansmen,” Gregor said. “They ha’ heard of your deeds, and are eager to follow you.”
Into battle against men they knew? Patrick doubted it, but none would defy their laird in such a matter.
He had come home to this. To more killing. The killing not only of Scotsmen but of neighbors.
Still, he had bought a little time. Now, if only he knew what had happened to Margaret Gunn Sutherland.
“How do you know?”
She pressed her lips together. She knew a large part of their anger was rooted in worry for her sister.
“Marsali?”
She could bear Gavin’s anger, but it was much harder to remain silent in the face of his anxiety.
“Cecilia is only a child,” she said desperately. “I couldna let you marry her to someone like Edward. And I will not, either. I do not understand how either of you could even consider—”
“Edward is a laird with rich lands,” her father reminded her.
“With an army, you mean,” she replied bitterly. “He’s also had two wives who died when they were young.”
“One in childbirth,” her father said.
“And the other?” she said. “There are whispers—”
“Sutherland lies. He lied about Margaret.”
“You have condemned the marquis of Brinaire on less.”
Blood rose in his face, turning it an angry shade of red. “You willna mention that name again,” he said.
Gavin spoke from his position by the door. “You could not have gone far. We will find her. Men are out combing the countryside now.”
She was silent. Cecilia should be far out of reach by now. She had seemed a little nervous but had not argued with the plan for her to travel south with Hiram and Rufus. Indeed, to Marsali’s surprise, her sister had donned the boy’s clothing almost eagerly. Charmed by Patrick’s companions, despite the rough introduction she’d been given to them, she’d expressed no hesitation about riding off to who-knows-where with them. Seeing this, Marsali had realized, to her surprise, that her quiet, studious sister possessed a certain desire for adventure.
Halting a few feet from Marsali’s chair, her father spun to face her. “You will stay in your room with only bread and water until you are willing to marry Sinclair,” he said, “and you tell us where your sister is. Gavin, see to it.”
Gavin’s frown deepened, but he did not attempt to contradict the order. His gaze rested on her for a moment, and she saw sympathy in his eyes. But she also saw steely resolve.
Rising from her chair, she turned blindly toward the door. Any further argument was futile. Still, she felt a stirring of triumph. She had escaped marriage to Edward Sinclair.
“Father,” she acknowledged, bowing her head slightly as she swept from the room.
Gavin waited for her by the door, and she followed him up the stairs. Now that the worst was past, she wanted some time to herself to remember the moments she and Patrick had shared. She wanted to remember the hunger she’d seen in his eyes. She wanted to remember his kiss. She wanted to believe that he would find a way for them to be together. He had not changed very much, after all, she told herself. He was still the boy who had saved her ferret. He was still the young man who had reached out to pluck the stars from the heavens for her.
She stopped at her door and, hesitating a moment, turned to Gavin. “Cecilia is safe,” she said.
“And what about Patrick?” he asked quietly.
Chapter 4
Marsali stared at Gavin, her heart in her throat.
Of course, he would have heard about Patrick’s return. There were few secrets in the Highlands.
“Marsali?” Gavin’s tone was rough. “What about Patrick?”
“I donna know what you mean,” she said.
“I think you do. Have you seen him?”
She hesitated, feeling very much alone. Her family had always been close. Perhaps because they had known so many losses. Three of Marsali’s siblings died in infancy, and her mother had succumbed to fever shortly after giving birth to a stillborn babe. When her stepmother had died just weeks after giving birth to Cecilia, a strong bond had formed between herself and her new baby sister.
Her father and her aunt had shared a similar relationship; but Marsali just couldn’t accept his version of her aunt’s disappearance, nor could she condone his desire to shed Sutherland blood. Even if it meant pushing her only brother away.
She was silent under Gavin’s intense scrutiny, his question hanging between them. “Patrick is back, then!” he exploded.
She turned toward the stairs leading to her bedchamber, but her brother’s hand on her arm stopped her progress.
“It is no good, Marsali,” he said. “Father will never allow another marriage between our families.”
He, nearly as much as Jeanie, knew how she felt about Patrick. Over the years, she had plagued Gavin with questions about the man who’d been raised alongside him, and he, in turn, had teased her countless times about her abiding interest in her husband-to-be.
“He was your friend,” she accused him. “You’ve said he was your brother.”
“Aye,” Gavin replied. “But I canna go against Father on this. Patrick’s blood spilled ours.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know Aunt Margaret would never leave without saying a word.”
“And I don’t think Patrick’s father would lie,” she retorted. “The marquis of Brinaire might not be known for his kindness, but I have never heard anyone call him a liar.”
Letting out a long breath, Gavin demanded, “Where is Patrick? And where is our sister?”
“I donna know,” she said, and she didn’t. Not exactly. She did know that wherever Cecilia was, she was safer than she would be here, in the middle of a clan war or, worse, married to Edward Sinclair.
“I will have to find her,” Gavin said. “And God help anyone who hurts her.”
Marsali placed a hand on his arm. “She will be safe,” she said. “I swear.”
Gavin frowned. “Fa is convinced that the Sutherlands are responsible,” he said. “He wants me to raid their southern borders. He also wants me to take Patrick’s brother hostage—or Patrick himself, if indeed he is back—in exchange for Cecilia.”
Marsali’s heart pounded. “Patrick had nothing to do with this. I planned it myself so that Fa could not force me to marry Edward by threatening to marry Cecilia to him in my place. Surely, Gavin”—her voice broke—“surely you canna trust the Sinclairs.”
Gavin looked away. “It would have been a good alliance.”
“You may give yourself up for dubious alliances,” she said, tears forming behind her eyes. “I will not.”
“You will, if Fa commands it.”
“He canna command my heart.”
Gavin sighed. “Marsali, you have no’ seen Patrick since you were a child. You know nothing of him now.”
She drew herself up to her full height, which, maddeningly, was still a good foot shorter than her brother’s. “I was fourteen.”
Something flickered in his eyes, and she knew that he’d been trying to trick her into admitting she had seen Patrick recently.
“You’ve changed, Gavin.”
“So have you, little sister. You have always been so …”
“Malleable?”
He had the grace to look embarrassed. “That is not what I meant. You—”
“Always wanted to please?”
“Aye,” he said, allowing himself a small smile.
She looked into blue eyes very much like her own. “You have always known how I felt about Patrick,” she said. “You encouraged it with your tales of his honor and courage and reports of his deeds in battle. I am not as inconstant as you with my friendships or my loyalties.”
His lips thinned at the rebuke. “Our loyalty belongs to our father.”
“When he is right.”
“No! He is our father, regardless.” Gavin’s fist hit the stone wall beside them. “And he is right! Margaret must be avenged.”
“No one knows the truth of the matter,” she charged. “I think it is the disgrace of the charges against Aunt Margaret that you and Fa canna bear, not the loss of her.” The moment the words left her lips, she wished she could reclaim them. She did not want to wound him. She simply wanted him to understand.
“I willna explain myself to you,” he said coldly. “I loved Margaret, and I know she would never leave without a word. She is dead, and the Sutherlands are responsible.” A muscle in his throat flexed. “God’s blood, do you not know how much I cared for Patrick? How much I wanted you wed to him so we truly would be brothers? But duty and honor are more important than my personal wants. You would do well to remember that.”
“Your sense of honor and mine are different,” she said, her voice shaking. Her life, Cecilia’s life—and Patrick’s, too—might all depend upon her strength of will. She would give nothing away. Nothing.
Yet the bleak look in Gavin’s eyes wounded her heart. She turned and entered her room. This time, he did not stop her.
Gregor Sutherland, marquis of Brinaire, glared at his son. “Where in the devil have you been?”
Patrick returned his father’s glare. “I went exploring. ’Tis a long time since I have seen these hills.”
“You missed the homecoming I intended.” The bushy brows, silver now where once they’d been black, knitted together. “I wanted to present my brawny, braw son to my friends. They have heard of your great deeds.” He spoke with the pride that Patrick had always hoped for. But now it meant little.
“I had the homecoming I wanted.”
“And what was that?”
Startled, Patrick studied his father more closely. The marquis of Brinaire had never asked him what he wanted before. Years ago, he had been a handsome man, but now he appeared far older than his years. His once strong body was gaunt, his face drawn and haggard, and a tic pulled at his right cheek, below his eye. Where was the powerful, uncompromising man who had been his father? Patrick wondered.
Gone. Just as the home he had known was gone.
The great hall of Brinaire was in shambles. Dirty rushes half covered an even dirtier floor, the table was still uncleared from the morning meal, and years of accumulated soot and grime had turned the once-beautiful wall hangings a dingy gray. Only one fire was being kept, and given the stench and smoke emanating from it, he had to wonder when the fireplace had last been cleaned.
He wanted his old home back, the Brinaire he had left twelve years ago. He wanted to see the rushes changed daily and the floor swept clean. He wanted to hear the clomp of his clansmen’s feet and the sound of their laughter as they strode through the door, into the great hall, by the dozens. He wanted to see Margaret’s warm smile that had brightened the place beyond measure.
But Margaret was gone, too.
His father, he’d been told, had fired all of the servants, accusing them of aiding his wife in her adultery. Only a few new clansmen had been hired, all inexperienced. His sister Elizabeth found herself the chatelaine, attempting to manage the household with neither experience nor her father’s support.
Gentle Elizabeth, who crept around the keep like a mouse. His sister had been but three years old when Patrick had left home. Since his return, Patrick had seen a girl who was painfully shy and afraid of their father’s temper. His brother Alex, now seventeen, was similarly restrained, seeking refuge from his father’s wrath wherever he could.
In all truth, it seemed to Patrick that the entire keep and all of its occupants were in sad and immediate need of attention.
His father’s voice broke into his dismayed thoughts. “I asked where you went.”
“I told you. I wanted to see the hills,” Patrick said. “I wanted to smell the heather and breathe air that didn’t smell of death. I am through with fighting.”
The tic in his father’s cheek twitched. “Nay, I willna be hearing that talk. You will do what needs be done. The Gunns have been raiding our cattle, and they have threatened to burn out some of our clansmen. If they join with Sinclair, there will be killing, you can be sure of that. And it is your duty to protect your clansmen.” His lips thinned, and he swore. “Gunns!”
“I fostered with the Gunns,” Patrick said. “I was betrothed to one. God’s truth, but a fourth of our clan is related to them. I canna fight them.”
“You will do what I tell you, lad.” The marquis turned away.
“Nay,” Patrick said. There would be no misunderstandings between them. “I willna be killing for you.”
His father turned back to him, his dark gray gaze turning ebony. As a child, Patrick had melted under that look; even now, he felt the old urge to give in.
“That girl is marrying a Sinclair,” his father said. “You know what that means. The Sinclairs have been our blood enemies for centuries.”
“Nay,” Patrick said. “Marsali willna be marrying Edward Sinclair.”
His father squinted at him. “How would you be knowing that?”
“I have ears.”
“You have no’ seen her?”
Patrick hesitated. He might oppose his father, but lying to him would be dishonorable. “I have,” he replied simply.
Rage mottled Gregor Sutherland’s face. “You went on Gunn land?”
“To the edge of our own.”
“That Gunn wench was on Sutherland land, then.”
“We were betrothed. Neither of us consented to breaking it.”
Without warning, Gregor Sutherland raised a hand and struck his son’s face as hard as he was able. Patrick stepped backward with the force of the blow, but he remained silent.
“You willna wed a Gunn whore,” his father said. “I’ll not be having another one in my home.”
Patrick stared at his father, from whom he had received not a single loving gesture and bloody little approval. Even the welcome at his homecoming had been distant. No wonder his sister had grown into a frightened wisp and his younger brother kept his nose buried in books and wanted, he’d said in a whisper three days ago, to go into the church. His father had become a demon.
“If you want to go to war with the Gunns, it will be without my help,” Patrick said. “I canna exchange years of friendship because—”
“Then you can leave my house,” Gregor raged. “I will disown you. Alex—”
“Alex told me that he wants to go to Edinburgh. He wants to study there.”
“Alex will do what I tell him.”
And he would, Patrick thought, feeling as if a noose were tightening around his neck. Alex would try to fight their father’s battle. And Alex would die. What would become of Elizabeth, alone with a bitter, fanatical old man? No, he could not leave them to fend for themselves at Brinaire again. Yet if he left his father’s house, Patrick knew he would leave without a penny. And he had only one occupation: the one he’d forsworn.
He was trapped. As trapped as Marsali had been when she’d known that Cecilia would be forced to take her place if she didn’t marry Sinclair.
“Well?” his father said, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
Patrick thought of Marsali’s willingness to sacrifice herself. What would he have to do to save his sister and brother? Betray his sworn oath? He wondered about Gavin, and whether he, too, was facing impossible choices. They had vowed to be friends forever. Dear God, how had things come to this pass?
Margaret. Lovely, wise Margaret, who had been missing for nearly two years and was presumed dead.
“Patrick?”
His father was still waiting—waiting for his capitulation.
He needed time. “The men must be trained,” he said.
“They could take Gunns any day,” his father sneered.
“I willna fight alongside anyone, nor ask them to fight with me, until we know each other’s skills. I’ve been gone too many years. I canna ask them to trust me.”
“You will be the Sutherland,” Gregor said. “They owe you their loyalty.”
“I will earn their loyalty,” Patrick replied.
His father made another attempt to stare him down, but the effort was halfhearted. Finally, he shrugged.
That, Patrick thought, was more revealing than anything his father had actually said. He could not remember Gregor Sutherland backing down, not once, not ever. The past two years had indeed taken their toll on both him and his spirit.
“A few days more or less won’t make a difference,” his father grumbled.
“We will start tomorrow,” Patrick replied, turning to leave.
His father’s voice stopped him. “Alex will train with you. I should have fostered him. He would have gotten over his idea of going to the University of Edinburgh. Margaret told him …” His voice died away.
Patrick knew better than to pursue the subject, but he decided to inquire elsewhere. Had Margaret encouraged Alex’s love of books? There was still so much he didn’t know, so many currents running through his family. A family he no longer knew.
“Where are those two men who came with you?” The question came unexpectedly.
Patrick stopped at the door to the hall. “They had some business of their own.”
“Will they be back?”
“Aye.”
“They look like braw men.”
“They are. And they have saved my life many times over.”
“And you theirs, I am thinking,” his father said, a calculating gleam in his eyes. “They owe you, then.”
“No man owes me anything,” Patrick said. “Indeed, I owe them.”
“They will ride with you?”
Patrick smiled. Perhaps Hiram and Rufus could be used as another delaying tactic. It might be weeks before they returned. Especially if a messenger advised them to take their time.
He nodded. “Yes, they will ride with me, and you willna find two more valuable warriors.”
Gregor Sutherland pressed his lips together in a bloodless smile. Patrick could almost guess his thoughts. Gavin would lead the Gunns—Gavin who, although trained in battle, had never been tested. The times were peaceful in their part of the Highlands. But for the occasional cattle raid, no opportunities existed for a warrior to ply his skills.
“You will remember many of our clansmen,” Gregor said. “They ha’ heard of your deeds, and are eager to follow you.”
Into battle against men they knew? Patrick doubted it, but none would defy their laird in such a matter.
He had come home to this. To more killing. The killing not only of Scotsmen but of neighbors.
Still, he had bought a little time. Now, if only he knew what had happened to Margaret Gunn Sutherland.
