My Brave Highlander(54)

But the brat's father, Griff MacKay, had loved her. He'd told her so every day, and he'd built this warm manor house for her where she'd wanted it near Kyle of Tongue. She couldn't tolerate the bleak and drafty Castle Dunnakeil on the shear face of that windy shore.

She would've had no reason to marry Griff MacKay two-and-twenty years ago if not to bear him an heir. She was the daughter of an earl and had expected to marry equally well. But that hadn't happened. Griff was only a baron and a chief. It had been enough, she supposed, given how much land came with the title. But she'd be damned if she let a little flame-haired hellion of a boy have that title when it could just as easily go to her oldest son.

"All the elders say 'tis him," Haldane said. "And Uncle Conall says Dirk's body was never found because he didn't die."

Conall? Was he in on this scheme? She'd never trusted her husband's youngest brother. "What does this Dirk look like?"

"A tall, hardened warrior. Ginger hair, blue eyes."

Maighread's eyes narrowed. The description fit to an extent.

"How tall?"

Haldane lifted his hand to about six inches over his own head. Six and a half feet? Could that scrawny lad have grown so much?

"What does Aiden say?" she asked.

"He believes the man truly is Dirk."

"In truth?" Her oldest son had been nine summers when Dirk died. Surely he would know whether the man was Dirk or not.

"Aye, but Aiden is easily fooled. He simply wants his brother back, no matter who is playing the part. He allowed him to move into the keep, bringing his friends and his whore."

"What an outrage. I must go see for myself. I'm certain he is an imposter. But if 'tis truly Dirk MacKay, something will have to be done about him. He'll not be robbing my sons of their birthright."

Haldane's eyes widened, then he smiled, his hand flexing on his sword hilt. "I'd like to do something about him."

"You'll refrain from doing anything stupid and rash. You'll get yourself killed. I need you and the clan needs you. If Aiden cannot lead the clan alone, you will help him."

"Help him?" Haldane glowered.

"Aye. You'll help him with the difficult decisions and lead the men during battles. 'Tis clear Aiden is not built for warfare, as you are. But Aiden has a keen intelligence. He kens well how to lead the clan, but physically he is a bit weaker."

Haldane crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, his face turning red. "Are you saying my intelligence is lacking, Mother?"

"Nay. But we both ken you struggled with your studies. You refused to pay attention to the tutor during all the years he was here."

"I was bored. Not daft!"

"Nevertheless, my two sons will lead this clan together. It's a perfect arrangement since you each have different strengths and weaknesses."

"Aye, except Aiden is the chief and the laird, and what am I? The helper? The servant?"

"Don't be so selfish! You both had best be worrying about this imposter who's come along. Clearly, he wishes to steal your birthright."

"A hearing is set for the day after tomorrow. 'Haps you would like to attend," Haldane said.

"Indeed I shall attend."

"Then we'd best be traveling. The weather is fierce between Tongue and Durness."

"I'm well aware of the weather, Haldane."

"We'd best hurry. We need to leave before daylight in the morn. The elders were making all haste about putting Dirk in. From what Aiden said, I think he's willing to step aside and let Dirk take his place."

"Over my dead body!" Maighread said.

***

The next day, Dirk stood on the shore overlooking Balnakeil Bay. Although the icy wind was not as severe as it had been the day before, it still stung his eyes. He tugged the wool mantle tighter about his shoulders. The wide golden-sand beach spread out before him, and six fine wooden galleys of different sizes were moored near the shore. He didn't want to contemplate putting Isobel on one of those and taking her south. The kiss they'd shared the night before in the stables made him even more hesitant. But he would have to take her to her brother at some point.

Beyond the galleys in the bay, the sand dunes, held in place by marram grass, extended as far as he could see toward Faraid Head, the cliffs beneath them jutting two miles out into the sea. As a child, he'd loved playing with his cousins among those dunes. He could almost hear the echoes of mock battles with wooden swords. They'd climb to the top of the dunes and slide or roll down.

But there was also a more sinister side to Faraid Head—the three-hundred foot cliffs where he'd almost lost his life.

Now, the salty air smelled just as it had back then. He could not believe so much time had passed.