Chapter 1
Duncraig Castle, Scottish Highlands
“The Duncraig wishes to see you both.”
Niall all but laughed in his clansman’s face. He and his brother Kieran had been training,
as they did most days, when their father’s friend found them. Dougal and his father had been
raised together, and though most thought the two cousins, they were, in fact, naught but
clansmen.
“Wishes?” Kieran asked the question he’d been about to raise. When did their father ever
wish for anything? Chief of Clan Duncraig for more than twenty years, he commanded.
Demanded. But never ‘wished’ for ought to happen. Including summoning his sons.
Dougal shrugged. “Seemed a kinder message than the one he gave.”
Niall and Kiernan exchanged a glance.
“Go on then,” Niall said, sheathing his claymore as Kiernan did the same. “Give us the
message.”
Poor Dougal looked uncomfortable now. But since Niall and Kiernan loved nothing more
than making Dougal squirm, for no other reason than he did so much too easily, neither man
budged. For his part, known as the ‘rock of Duncraig’ for his apparent lack of emotion, Niall
would never reveal his inner thoughts. His brother, however, very well may burst into laughter at
any moment.
Niall gave him a look that said, ‘Do not. Let this play out.’
Poor Dougal.
He shifted from one foot to the other. How this man was the same one that saved their
father’s life on the battlefield, that was as close to the chief of Clan Duncraig as any man, but
was still half-afraid of him almost made Kiernan smile.
Almost.
“He said to come to the keep,” Dougal said, turning as if to walk away from them.
Niall shook his head as his brother began to follow. Kiernan rolled his eyes but stood his
ground.
He may be a right bastard. A cold-hearted warrior through and through. A ‘stubborn goat
like your father’ according to Niell’s mother. But if he loved one thing besides his family and
clan, it was a jest. And this one was too good to pass on. Making Dougal repeat their father’s
foul mouthed demand—since there was no doubt that was the reason Dougal hesitated—was
nearly as much fun as having his brother yield to him, something that was becoming more and
more difficult of late during their training sessions.
“Ah,” Dougal turned back to them. Framed by lush green mountains and the familiar
sight of Castle Duncraig on the hill behind him, Dougal made a right-sight. Niell struggled to
keep a smile from his face. “You’ll make me say it?”
“Aye,” his brother said, clearly impatient to be on his way. Unlike Niell, his primary
concern was always pleasing their father. Mayhap because Niell seemed to do it more
naturally, he never actively attempted as much. If his father did not care for his temperament,
or mannerisms, or decisions, the chief would let him know. And Niell may or may not change
course.
Kiernan? He would do anything for their father’s approval, one he gave freely if not quite
as freely as with Neill.
“You know I do nae cuss, lad.”
“I know it well,” Neill said. ‘Twas an oddity that could not be found among any other
Duncraig clansman. “But ‘tis the chief’s words, not your own.”
“Aye,” my brother added. “If anything, the Duncraig is liable for giving you such a
message knowing your dislike for such language.”
Dougal gave us both such a look.
The man loved us like sons, too. Having none of his own, we only did our duty to treat
him as we would family. And in our family, none went a day without a gentle provoking.
“Your father,” Dougal said, likely knowing the chief would not be pleased at the delay,
“bid me to fetch my two blethering neds from the training yard.”
“Hmm,” my brother said, “tis not so bad. I’d say he’s spot on describing Niell. Sorry,
brother, but you’re more of an instigator than any I know.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But if he meant either of us blethered, ‘tis easily you. Though I will
admit, you’ve done less of it today than usual.”
As the two of us continued to trade barbs, Dougal shook his head, made an
indistinguishable sound and left us. Finally allowing myself to smile as his back was turned,
my brother did the same. Nodding toward Dougal, he began to follow, as I did. We continued
all the way up the hill, through the courtyard and into the keep.
It was only when we entered the mostly empty great hall and saw our father’s expression
that my brother and I quickly desisted from our antics.
The Duncraig, as he was widely known, was not angry.
He was furious.
Father did not get red in the face over a delay. This had naught to do with us, a fact he
confirmed as both Kiernan and I approached him.
“When have you last seen him this angry,” my brother whispered.
I did not answer. Could not, as we were now within earshot of him. But the answer, had I
given it, would have been, ‘Not in a long, long time.’
“MacKinlay.”
‘Twas just one word. But enough to understand at least part of his anger. We feuded with
many clans, but none as fiercely as the one that the king of Scotland himself was forced to
intervene about some fifteen years ago.
When thirty of our men slaughtered thirty of theirs, effectively ending a decades-long
feud. Since the Battle of Black Friars, the word ‘MacKinlay’ was all but banned in these halls.
“What have they done?” Kiernan asked. Even Dougal looked surprised. Clearly he did
not know why they’d been fetched. If any of them had, they’d not have wasted time coming to
the hall.
“Their cattle were found grazing on our land along the northern border.”
Shite.
Fifteen years. And now this. ‘Twas enough to bring another war between our clans, as
well every man in this hall knew.
“You will go to their chief and put a stop to it,” he said, though not clarifying which of us
would do so.
“Should you not go, as chief?” I asked the obvious question.
Our father’s grimace was his answer. For a moment, Niall thought ‘twould be the only
one. But then he ground out. “If I go there, I will kill him. And we will be at war once again.” ...
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