Highland Hope by Julie Johnstone

Two

Dunvegan Castle, Isle of Skye, Scotland

Royce MacLeod stood in front of the window in his solar and stared down at the twilight-lit courtyard. Two streaks blurred across the deserted courtyard, their long, flaxen hair fanning behind their rail-thin bodies, which were clad in white, mud-splotched gowns. Royce sighed as his twin girls raced back the way they had just come instead of going to the great hall for supper where everyone else was, where they were supposed to be. He moved closer, compelled to ensure Lenora and Lillith weren’t running from anything or anyone truly threatening, and sighed again when Martha, the castle’s head cook, appeared, running after them and shaking a spoon.

What had the girls done now? Pilfered another pie? Let the hounds into the kitchens as a joke again? Freed the chickens as they had last week? None of the offenses were grievous, but each pointed to an underlying problem: his daughters were out of control. And no one he’d appointed to teach them to be proper young lasses seemed to be up for the task. His jaw clenched reflexively as he stared down at them as they dodged Martha. The poor older lady tried to grab Lenora, but she slipped just past the plump cook’s fingertips, and as the cook was distracted trying to grasp Lenora’s sleeve, Lillith came up behind the woman and kicked her in the arse, making the cook stumble.

Royce rapped on the window at that unruly display. The frenzied motion of his daughters stilled instantly, and they both glanced back at the window, their cherubic faces turning toward him. Even from this distance, he could see their eyes going wide and their jaws slackening. They knew they were in trouble, and they quickly made a show of helping Martha right herself. Lenora even attempted to brush off the older woman’s arse, but the cook held her spoon up, shaking it vigorously, which stopped Lenora’s efforts.

Martha looked up at him, shook her head, and then stood scowling for a moment before turning away and leaving the girls standing alone in the courtyard. Lillith produced a jug from a satchel slung over her shoulder, and she and Lenora huddled around it. Each of his daughters dipped a finger in the jug, extracted it, stuck it in her mouth, and grinned.

Honey.His daughters had stolen the honey jug from the kitchens. They had their mother’s sweet tooth.

Knots formed along his shoulders at the thought of Lara, and a familiar hollowness filled his chest. He didn’t know how it was that her betrayal could still gut him three years after her death, but it did.

“Royce.”

Royce blinked and turned toward the sound of his name. Magnus, his right hand and closest friend, stood in the doorway to the solar. Magnus, Royce’s sister Elena, and Royce’s brother Brus were the only three people at this castle who knew of Lara’s betrayal.

“What’s afoot?” Royce asked at the frown Magnus always wore when something was troubling him.

The man shoved a hand through his red hair and pressed his lips together. “Elena has returned.”

Royce’s nostrils flared at the news, but he took a measured breath to beat back the instinctive reaction that his younger sister was about to cause him yet more problems. He’d get the facts before he got angry. “Do nae tell me she’s here without the MacNeil.”

Magnus rocked back on his heels, russet eyebrows dipping, and regarded Royce for a long silent moment. “Fine,” he finally said, “I will nae tell ye that, but I will tell ye she brought all her trunks with her.”

“God’s blood!” Royce swore, which he had vowed he was going to quit doing since his daughters had taken to repeating all his foul language. It didn’t sit right to have his daughters of only eleven summers walking around the castle swearing, but since the girls were not here, he took the opportunity to release some of his frustration. “God’s teeth! Why can that woman nae just simply wed who she agrees to wed?”

Magnus cocked a bushy eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, wisely knowing Royce needed to vent. Royce’s friend knew him well, as he should since they’d run together since the time they could crawl.

“How many clan wars am I supposed to deal with because my sister has fled another impending marriage?” Royce began to pace the length of the wall that held an impressive array of gleaming weapons. “I’m currently in two clan disputes now, thanks to Elena, and here she is again, the travel dust not even settled behind me having just left her at the MacNeil hold to become accustomed to her new clan, so she could wed.” He paused in front of a large sword, which was the first sword his da, Iain, had made for him and that his father had given Royce when he’d decided to step away from being laird of the clan to serve as advisor to the ruling king of Scotland.

At the time, Royce had called his da a clot-heid and predicted he’d return to Dunvegan Castle and beg Royce to relinquish control of the clan back to his father. Royce had told his parents that serving the king and queen daily would drive them both to madness for all the political machinations and problems. They’d both laughed. Now, nine years later, Royce understood why his words had been so amusing to his parents. Nothing could be more trying than being laird of this clan. And it was made more so by his sister, who had agreed to and then broken three betrothals—one with a laird and two with sons of lairds of former allied clans. The MacNeil laird now made the fourth broken betrothal.

He swung toward Magnus, who now leaned against one side of the entrance with his arms folded over his chest. “Did I nae tell Elena she was in no way obliged to wed Laird MacNeil?”

“Ye yelled it at her, if I recall, after ye listed all the ways that wedding the MacNeil would benefit the clan.”

Royce glared at Magnus. “It is my duty as laird to relay to my sister that her duty is to aid the clan by making a good match.”

“Aye,” Magnus agreed, but the way he said the single word, as if obligatory, made Royce scowl. He knew his family, his close friends, and och, even his clansmen found him stubborn at times, but lairds had to be so to keep their clans safe and prosperous. But saying the former would fall on unhearing ears with Magnus, who had no qualms previously telling Royce that trying to control Elena was like trying to control the wind.

“I yelled,” Royce said, “to ensure she heard me, as it was the fourth time she’d agreed to wed a member of an allied clan and I did nae want it to happen again. And what did she say?”

“She said she’d rather go to the nunnery, but she knew that yer mama would be beside herself if Elena became a nun and destroyed all hope of one day giving her a grandson,” Magnus answered. “Ye know Elena is trying, Royce.”

Royce shoved a hand through his hair. “Aye,” he said, “I do. But her trying is dragging the clan into too much strife.” He felt pity for his sister, he did. He knew what it was like to have loved and lost. He’d lost Lara twice. Once when she’d betrayed him, and a second time to death. The sadness he’d felt at her death had surprised him because he’d thought there was nothing left in him to feel for her. A numbness that never quite left his chest had gripped him since he’d discovered Lara in another man’s arms.

Elena grappled with a whole other sort of numbness. Her chest had been filled with the numbness of not knowing what had happened to the man who had her heart. Had he been killed? Had he simply abandoned her? She kept trying to fill the void Rolland MacKay had left. That much Royce knew. She’d been promised to Rolland since near birth and had been glad of it. They’d been two rocks cut from the same boulder. And now Elena had nothing but unanswered questions, as did everyone who had known him. An undefeated warrior set to rule a powerful clan disappearing four years prior without a trace did leave many questions. And despite Elena declaring last year that she’d put Rolland behind her, it was clear she had not, or she would not keep breaking marriage contracts.

Royce scrubbed a hand over his face, stubble from several weeks of beard growth prickling his fingers. He needed to get the blade and take it to his growth, but he’d had no time. He’d only returned to Dunvegan that morning after dealing with the dispute Elena had started with the first marriage contract she’d broken. Now here she was again, with two other clans still wanting recompense for Elena shaming their lairds’ sons. Royce sighed. He supposed Laird MacNeil would want war. The man was not known for diplomacy and had, in fact, been trying to steal MacLeod land, which was why the match had been a good one to bring the two clans to peace.

“Where is she?” Royce asked.

“In her bedchamber. She said she’s nae coming out until she’s certain ye do nae hate her.”

“Go collect her. Better to see to this now than later. I’ll need details. Perhaps this time, it was nae she who ran.”

“It was she,” Magnus said, heading toward the door and pausing in the entrance. “What little I got out of her did include that Laird MacNeil had several wenches he apparently intended to keep bedding.”

“Ah.” Royce knew it was all he needed to say to Magnus. There were some women who would look the other way at such a thing, but Elena was not one of them and he was glad for it. He nodded. “She was right to flee him. A man who kinnae be loyal—”

“Should be put down like the dog he is,” Magnus finished.

“Da!” Lenora and Lillith cried out in unison, shoving past Magnus into the solar as Magnus exited. Royce winced at his daughters’ muddy faces, filthy gowns, and bare feet. All the women he’d implored to help in rearing the girls since Lara’s death had simply not been a match for his daughters, and Elena had not been here enough to help consistently. Royce needed a woman with a spine of steel and a sympathetic heart.

“Da, do ye finally have time to spend with us today?” Lenora asked, coming to him and gripping him in a fierce hug.

He smiled down at the top of her head, which didn’t quite reach midway to his chest. “I’ve enough time to lecture ye,” he replied in a teasing tone, though it was the truth. They all needed to proceed to supper. He’d been away for weeks and the clan council would want to update him on what had occurred in his absence at the castle and with the Sutherland clan, who presented the most pressing problem to deal with next. They were currently raiding all the vessels Royce put to sea in retaliation for Elena breaking her promise to wed the Sutherland’s son.

“Da,” Lillith said, her eyes going large and a pout coming to her lips, “surely you have more time for us than that.”

Before he could respond to that plea, Martha appeared in the doorway, her bosom heaving and silver hair half slipping from its pins. She had a fierce scowl on her face that made her look ten summers older than the fifty she was. “Those girls,” she said, pointing an accusing finger at the twins, who simply grinned wickedly in return. “Those wee devils ate the pies I made for supper tonight.”

“And they released the chickens from the coops again,” Thomas, keeper of the gardens, boomed from the doorway. His face was red, his brown eyes narrowed, and chicken feathers were stuck to him.

Royce’s right eye begin to twitch. “Brus was to ensure someone kept an eye on them.”

His statement was met with two almost matching looks of incredulity. He’d wondered why he’d not seen Brus down at the water when Royce had returned this morning and why his brother had not been at the daily warrior training. He’d meant to ask Magnus or Alarick, the head of the guards, but every time Royce had thought to mention it, someone had interrupted him with a problem that needed his immediate attention.

Royce had to force himself to unclench his teeth to speak. “Who will I find him with?”

“I believe he’s in his chamber with Elsie, Laird,” Martha said. “Or at least that’s what the castle gossip says.”

Royce knew the lass. She was a chambermaid with no desire to actually work, but he’d kept her on because her father was a good man and had begged him to do so until a match could be made to keep Elsie out of trouble. Seemed she’d found it anyway with his brother. Royce wished he were surprised, but Brus’s only interest seemed to be wenching and war. Both things Brus was exceptional at, but neither helped Royce at the moment.

“Fetch me Brus,” Royce said to Magnus, who was still standing in the doorway looking annoyingly amused. Likely because he and Magnus had wagered upon how many problems Royce might face upon their return, and it seemed Magnus had won the wager.

Magnus’s response was a chuckle followed by a quick nod when Royce narrowed his eyes upon his friend. Magnus peeled himself from the side of the door panel he was leaning against and disappeared, but as he departed, the steward of the castle appeared, scowling. He pointed a long bony finger at the twins, and Royce’s blood throbbed in his temple.

“Those two ill-behaving children poured out a barrel of mead!” the tall, reed-thin man said.

With this revelation, Lillith and Lenora both started to wail, a frequently used ploy that Royce was aware had been successful on him too often. The twitch in his right eye grew faster making him grit his teeth, and the noise in the solar grew louder as the servants all started lodging their many complaints against the girls at once. He was about to silence them all when his sister appeared at the doorway, her red hair a halo of wild curls around her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes sparked with ire as she swept into the room, stalking toward him as if she did not even take note of the chaos surrounding her.

“It wasn’t my fault this time, Royce!” Her high-pitched voice rose above the fray so that he was able to make out her words clearly, but when her story came pouring out in outraged, clipped words, he lost the thread of it.

Royce stared at the sea of people before him. Who the devil should he address first?

Before he could make a choice, Laird MacNeil shoved his way into the solar with a woman in tow that Royce had never seen in his life. “I’ve come to claim what I’m due,” the man boomed above the din.

The hum of voices and the twins’ crying came to an abrupt halt, and a tense silence enveloped the room. Royce didn’t know what surprised him more: the fact that MacNeil had come after Elena so quickly or that the burly man was clutching a woman by the arm.

“God’s blood, ye oaf!” Elena yelled. “Did ye bring one of yer whores into my home?”

“I’m nae his anything!” the flaxen-haired beauty gasped. Royce had half a mind to believe her, given the fear he noted in her silvery-blue eyes and the way she leaned away from MacNeil. Her effort was useless, though. She was a slip of a lass, and MacNeil was Royce’s height, which was a head taller than the woman.

“Who’s the lass?” Royce demanded, his hand finding the hilt of his sword at his hip.

The woman’s full lips parted as if to answer, but MacNeil spoke above her. “I found her.”

“You did nae!” came a deep protest from the doorway.

Who in God’s name was joining the growing fray now? Royce dragged his attention back to the solar entrance and sighed at the sight of the young, impetuous Ragnar shoving his way into the solar, which was getting crammed. “Father Murdoch found her!”

At that pronouncement, Father Murdoch, who’d been priest of the clan for as long as Royce could remember, appeared, panting and brandishing a dagger in one hand and a wine skin in the other, cheeks red—from the drink most likely—bald head glistening with sweat, and belly jiggling. Royce let out a sigh. One night. That’s all he longed for. One night with no chaos. Why was order so hard to come by these days?

All the talking that had stopped started up once more in a roar, along with the twins’ wailing, and the muscles between Royce’s shoulders knotted. He’d clearly been gone too long this time, and his brother was too negligent to be left in charge. Every time Royce left the clan in Brus’s care, he was met with chaos upon his return and he had to search Brus out of whatever lass’s bed his younger brother had taken to just to discover what had occurred in Royce’s absence.

Father Murdoch staggered into the room, pointing his dagger at Laird MacNeil. “Ye kinnae just take a woman ye think lovely, MacNeil.”

“Why nae?” the laird demanded. “I asked her if she belonged to a man, and she said nay. And I’m owed a woman. If that one—” he tilted his head toward Elena “—is nae going to be my wife, I’ll have this one. She’s bonnier anyway.”

“That lass is here for my laird’s twins,” the priest said, swaying and spilling red wine from his wine skin. “She’s to be their new mama.”

And with that, utter chaos erupted.