She opened her mouth, about to admit that Annie was her dear friend, and that what she’d witnessed on the battlefield had nearly crushed her as much as if it were her own blood. That someone close to Annie must have died, and she prayed it wasn’t sweet Graham.
But Fiona snapped her mouth closed, concerned that the simple glance from Brogan had made her want to admit too much. To a virtual stranger.
What was this war doing to her? She was giving away all of her secrets, all of her inner thoughts. Doing such made her vulnerable. And even if Brogan didn’t seem an immediate threat to her now, there was no telling what he could use against her in the future.
“Let us go to Dòchas Keep,” she said, her voice low because she feared using her normal tone would reflect the depth of emotions racing through her mind.
“Ye’re a MacBean?” His voice was flat, but there was a sharp alertness in his gaze.
“Aye.”
“I fought with a man today you might be related to. Ian MacBean.”
“My brother. Were ye wounded?”
“Nay.”
“Was my brother?”
“Nay.”
She cocked her head, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t so she simply nodded and pushed her horse back into a gallop.
But even the few hours of hard riding over the moors to Dòchas did not dissipate the heaviness in her heart.
The towering keep of her family’s seat came into view nestled in a valley between Loch Dochfour, Loch Ashie, and Loch Duntelchaig.
Loch Dochfour led in from the North Sea via the Moray Firth and drained into Loch Ness in the south. Their lands were coveted and often attacked for where they were located and how fertile they were. But for generations they’d protected the water crossings all the way up to their enemies the Grants at Urquhart Castle. When her grandfather was young, he was among an army of five hundred Jacobites that laid siege to the castle and lost. The Grants blew up their own castle after that to avoid another attack, which seemed backwards in Fiona’s mind unless they thought they’d lose another fight.
She glanced at Brogan. Was he a Grant of those Grants? If so, that would explain why he’d not expounded on his talk of her brother during the battle. A chill swept down her spine as she calculated the chances he would enact a generations old revenge on her and her clan.
With that question in mind, Fiona pulled on the reins, coming to a sudden halt, and turned in the saddle to pin Brogan with her stare.
“Our clans have no’ always seen eye to eye,” she said.
He grunted, his expression unreadable.
“Before I allow ye to go another step with me, I need to know that my clan has nothing to fear from ye.”
Brogan knitted his dark-brown brows and had the temerity to look offended. “I didna come with ye to hurt anyone. I came with ye to help and to protect our rightful king. What my grandfather and your grandfather did matters no’.”
“Ye’d be a rare Highlander to think so.”
He shrugged, and a shadow passed over his eyes. What she wouldn’t give to know what thoughts were going through his mind just then. Did he not see himself as a regular Highlander? Perhaps he was lying.
When she was certain he wasn’t going to speak and she’d started to push her horse again, he mumbled under his breath in a tone clearly not meant for her ears, “Dinna know why anyone would think blowing up their own castle was a good idea anyway.”
Fiona grinned. She lowered herself down over the saddle and urged her horse into a full gallop toward the castle. Already, she’d wasted enough time on the road.
When she was close enough, she removed her cap so the warriors manning the gate would see her flame-red hair and know she’d returned. Without her having to shout a single greeting from a distance, the gate started to open.
She rode through with the bedraggled Highlanders, greeted by several worried members of the clan.
“Where is Master Ian?” Her elderly uncle, Tam, approached, worry pinching his white bushy eyebrows.
Fiona felt his concern all the way down deep in her gut, and she prayed the prince’s entourage were already at Invergarry.
“I believe he is with the prince. Safe.”
“They are on the run,” Brogan corrected her, pulling no punches and causing her to bristle.
Oh, the nerve of him to interrupt her and worry her clan unnecessarily.
“So they are no’ safe?” Tam stared at Brogan.
“As safe as a rebel can be just now with—”
Fiona cut him off. “We have lost this battle but we are no’ beaten, Uncle.” She flashed Brogan a glower.
“Ye left without a word,” Tam accused her.
She blamed Tam’s turn of conversation on Brogan. Aye, this was his fault. She’d come to relay a message, to stock up on supplies, not to be lectured or have to assuage her clan about Ian. Alas, she was now going to have to do all of it.
“I’m so sorry, Uncle.” She leapt from the horse, wrapping her frozen arms around his frail body. “I couldna risk the lot of ye knowing where I went, just in case…” Thoughts of what happened to her friend Annie’s home sent horrifying flashes through her mind. How Cumberland had destroyed everything.
Uncle Tam nodded. “Come inside. Ye’re making me cold.”
“We’re no’ staying long,” Fiona said. “We’re needed elsewhere.”
Tam waved them in, a thousand questions coming at them from various people in her clan. Brogan and his men dismounted, handing their horses off to stable lads and following her into the castle. The familiar scents of rosemary and lemons greeted her, the same herbs and fruits her mother had the servants use to clean, a tradition they’d all kept.
Inside the great hall, servants and clanswomen gathered, the men consisting only of the very old, ill, or young. A long trestle table sat in the middle of the room with benches down the side and massive chairs at the ends. The great hall of Dòchas Keep was smaller than most, as they were a smaller clan. Those who were invited to dine with the laird were honored guests at the table only large enough to seat eight on either side and one at each end.
In the spring and summer, when the weather cooperated, they set up tables in the bailey for the clan to all eat together. Fiona’s parents had wanted the clan to be close, for everyone to feel as though they played a part, so they ate together often, and she’d looked forward to hearing all the different stories and ideas that were shared over a communal meal. Even when both of her parents were gone, it was a tradition she and her brothers and sister kept.
The castle felt oddly empty now. She was so used to hearing the boisterous sounds of lads and the tittering of the females watching the men. But it was quiet. The majority of the fighting men had gone with Ian, and the silence of their absence echoed. Fiona’s heart skipped a beat at the worried looks on the lasses’ faces.