My Brave Highlander(38)

"Do you not remember your eldest brother?" Conall asked Haldane.

"Dirk died. I remember that much," Haldane said in a harsh tone.

"Nay, he is alive and well, as you can see," Conall said.

Aiden remained transfixed, braced against the table, his wide-eyed gaze searching Dirk's face.

"Aiden, 'tis good to see you again, lad." Dirk gave a slight grin, hoping to put everyone at ease.

"Is it really you, brother?" he asked in an awed tone.

"Aye." Dirk moved forward and extended his hand.

His brother studied his face intently, clasped his hand, then embraced him.

"But how can this be? We thought you dead, fallen from a cliff at Faraid Head."

"I'm not so easy to kill." Dirk's gaze slid over Haldane, his expression clearly hostile. "Haldane, you've grown," Dirk said by way of greeting.

His youngest brother merely glared in response.

Both young men had the green eyes of their mother. Dirk scanned the room, wondering where the murderous hag might be and who else here was unfriendly. He expected hostilities, of course. But the person who stood to lose the most, Aiden, was the one who'd welcomed him with the greatest warmth.

Dirk had not come to greedily take over. Hell, he did not even want the responsibility. But it was his birthright, and his father had groomed him to be the next chief from the time he was a babe.

In their youth, Aiden had not been trained the same way. His mother had pushed him toward the training, but his father had ignored her. Nor had Aiden held any interest in fighting or leading. He was fascinated by music and took to playing the pipes early, as well as other instruments.

Dirk had a feeling Haldane was far different. He had a militant MacKay look about him that was only intensified by his mother's Gordon blood.

Dirk turned to the elders, including two of his great uncles, who entered the room and shook their hands. They all murmured in amazement and welcomed him.

"He's an imposter," Haldane shouted, his face red.

"Nay, lad," Conall said, his bushy gray brows lowered.

"He fell from a cliff onto the rocks below and died."

"You were not there and did not see this. Besides, you were naught more than a bairn of seven summers," Conall growled. "His body was never recovered, was it?" he asked the group at large.

Several, including the elders, shook their heads.

"Dirk did not fall onto the rocks below," Conall proclaimed, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Someone pushed him—the same man who killed Will MacKay! But Dirk fell a short distance down the cliff face and caught on a small outcropping of rocks. I know this because I threw a rope down and pulled him back up."

Dirk nodded, the icy, dark claws of fear raking through him once again. For years, he had nightmares about hanging off the side of a cliff, grieving the loss of his best friend, knowing he would be next if the rock gave way.

"You did?" Aiden asked, his eyes wide. "Why did you not tell us he survived? Why did you let us believe the worst… including Da? It near killed him when he thought Dirk died."

"Because someone wanted him dead!" Conall smashed a beefy fist down onto the wide-planked table. "He was a lad of but fifteen summers. He was well-trained for his age, but he was not yet experienced enough to defend himself against someone intent upon murder."

"Who would want to murder him?" Haldane asked. "An enemy clan?"

"Nay. A traitorous member of the MacKay clan," Conall said.

The murmurs of the clan around them grew louder.

"Who?" Haldane demanded.

Conall hesitated, his fierce blue eyes scanning the room. Did he dare blurt out the truth, Dirk wondered.

"I have no proof as to the murderer's identity," Conall finally admitted.

"You know naught, then." Haldane smirked. "If this is truly Dirk MacKay, where has he been all these years?"

"Many places," Dirk said.

"You are not my father's son."

Dirk snorted and narrowed his eyes. Who did this lad think he was? Dirk was just the man to teach this wee bastard a few things.

Two male clan elders gathered close, visually inspecting Dirk.

"Aye, 'tis Dirk MacKay, as sure as I'm standing here," Ranald, his father's sword-bearer said. "He is the image of his father at that age. He has the look of our Northman ancestors."

"He has a red birthmark in the shape of a dirk on his back. I saw it the day he was born. To Chief Griff, this was a sign he should be called Dirk. That will surely prove who he is," his great uncle Hamish said. Though he had a thick white beard, he appeared hale and hearty.

"You jest!" Haldane said. "A mark upon his back means naught."