Page 34 of The Highlander Who Loved Me

His mood improved once he was inside, traversing the hallway on the way to the McKenna’s solar. Winking at a serving lass who scurried past him, James snatched a full tankard of ale off the tray she carried. He gulped it as he walked, the cold brew pleasingly quenching his parched throat and helping to even out his temper.

The chamber was empty when he arrived, but within minutes the door opened. Rising respectfully to his feet, James was startled to see his brother standing in the doorway. Malcolm favored him with an unenthusiastic glare and took up a position near the long, thin, window.

“Father commanded my presence,” James explained, hoping his tone conveyed how little he wanted to be there.

Malcolm shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but James could see his jaw moving back and forth in agitation. There was, however, no chance for further comments. The door opened and his parents entered. The sight of his mother startled James for an instant, and then a small grin emerged.

Lady Aileen wielded nearly as much power as her husband, especially when it came to family business. Naturally, she would want to be a part of any private conversations that involved her son.

James placed his tankard on a nearby table and politely offered his mother a seat. Aileen patted him affectionately on the arm before settling herself regally in the cushioned chair. As he looked down, James caught sight of a few gray hairs nestled among his mother’s auburn tresses. The obvious sign of her aging caused him a pang of distress.

The McKenna narrowed his gaze and turned his full attention toward James. “Yer mother and I were sorely distressed to have ye leave us so suddenly.”

“I sent word,” James replied, knowing that was hardly an adequate defense.

The McKenna grunted with exasperation. “Ye wrote that you were following James Douglas on Crusade. What happened?”

A twinge of unease swept through James. Part of the reason he had avoided returning these past few years was knowing this day of reckoning would come. Yet how much of the truth was he prepared to reveal?

“As I’m sure that you know, Sir James was killed in Moorish Granada,” he began. “We found his body and the casket containing the Bruce’s embalmed heart upon the battlefield. Sir William Keith brought them both back to Scotland.”

His father’s accusing eyes met his. “Yet ye dinnae return.”

“Nay, there were many who decided to stay and continue the fight.”

“We’ve heard no reports of great victories,” Malcolm interjected.

“Alas, we dinnae achieve our goal to reach the heart of the Holy Land. ’Twould have been glorious, indeed, to set foot in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and stand upon the very spot where Jesus rose from the dead.”

Aileen released a hearty sigh and hastily crossed herself.

“I dinnae realize ye possessed such religious fever,” Malcolm said dryly.

“Each of us show our devotion in our own way,” James replied breezily.

“Tell us more about yer time across the sea,” his mother pleaded.

James’s brow furrowed. But he knew he owed them some explanation, so for the next thirty minutes he calmly answered their questions, though he deliberately glossed over the details of the more intense fighting. There was no need for his mother to hear how his head had nearly been severed from his body during the siege of Teba when he lost his footing on the blood-soaked ground. Or how he had single-handedly killed six men and wounded five others in a skirmish on Olvera Castle.

“Well, that is enough of my adventures,” James said when he ran out of acceptable tales. “Tell me the news of the McKenna clan.”

“Well, while ye have been off fighting fer the glory of the Church, we’ve had our own difficulties to face,” Malcolm said.

“Is there much unrest in the land?” James asked.

“Enough.” His father shrugged. “Some of the clan chiefs hunger fer power and prey on the weaker clans. Without a strong king on the throne to stop them, they grow ever bolder. ’Tis why alliances are now more important than ever.”

“Aye, nothing has changed. It’s not uncommon fer yer friend to turn into yer foe without any warning,” Malcolm grunted. “We Highlanders must always be vigilant.”

Aileen pursed her lips. “When I broke my fast this morning, I heard some of the men saying that ye were attacked on yer way home from Armstrong Castle, Malcolm. Why did ye not tell me?”

His mother crossed her arms and glared at Malcolm. His brother favored her with a winning smile, which miraculously seemed to soften her anger. “There’s naught to tell. We fought off the knaves, incurring only a few superficial wounds. Neither Lady Davina nor her companion was harmed.”

“Another easy victory fer the mighty McKenna warriors,” James remarked, scowling inwardly at the thought of his brother doing what he had failed to accomplish—protecting Davina.

“The McKenna men fought bravely, but I’m not so vain as to believe these ruffians ran when they saw our strength,” Malcolm said.

“Perhaps once they drew near, they realized ye had nothing of great value,” the McKenna suggested.

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