Page 28 of Cottage in the Mist
"Your sister," Lily finished for him. Not sure if she was elated or terrified. Probably both. But at least she wasn't alone. If Katherine was really Jeff's sister, then she wasn't insane. And more importantly, Bram wasn't a figment of her imagination. He was real. Or he had been—five hundred odd years ago.
"So you're certain this is your father's crest?" Iain asked, looking down at the silver brooch in Bram's hand.
It was finely wrought, the figure of a fierce mountain cat, muscles bunched for attack, one paw raised. Tiny green stones glittered in its eyes. A circle of metal surrounded it. And the Macgillivray motto was carved into the banner.Na bean do'n chat. Touch not this cat.
"Aye." Bram nodded, his finger tightening on the pin. "My mother had it made for him. See there at the bottom." He pointed just beneath the cat. "The initials intertwined. S and A. Seamus and Aileen. 'Tis most certainly my father's."
"And there's no chance he gave it to another?" Ranald asked. Though the hour was late, they were sitting at the broad table in Iain's working chamber, talking through the events of the last few hours. Trying to make some sense of it all.
"'Tis no' possible," Bram replied. "I saw it on him the day before the attack. He always wore it to secure his plaid. From the day my mother gave it to him."
Aileen Mackintosh Macgillivray had died just before Bram's tenth summer. A fever had rushed through the holding with the swiftness of a forest fire. Taking this person and leaving that, with no mercy at all. Seamus and Bram had survived. Aileen had not. But though Seamus's mind and body were sound, his heart had gone with his wife, buried in a grave behind the tower walls.
Bram had only faint memories of her. Black hair and blue eyes, and a wonderful laugh that had once filled Dunbrae with joy. That joy had vanished with her death. And Seamus had had nothing left to give his only son.
"It was the only thing that mattered to him," Bram said, his voice colored with bitterness. "He would have had it with him in his chamber the night he was murdered. Of that much I am certain."
"Then there can be no doubt it was brought as a message for you." Iain leaned back, crossing his arms over his massive chest. "Proof of your father's death."
"At the hand of the Comyns." Bram slammed his hand on the table, the brooch dancing against the wood, the cat momentarily seeming to spring to life.
"Tell me why you are so certain 'tis the Comyns behind all of this?" Iain asked. "I know there is no love lost between the Mackintoshes and the Comyns. Their treachery at Rait willna e're be forgotten. But that was almost forty summers ago. And the Macgillivrays were no' part of it. So was there something particular between your father and Robert Comyn?"
"Nay. At least no' anything in recent years. There was no love lost between the two of them. They skirmished when they were young men. Posturing for their respective chiefs mostly. But as my father grew older he wasna interested in the past. Or in fighting. Robert also appeared no' to have a taste for battle as he aged and so the raiding and battles stopped. And there was no real interest on the part of their chiefs. As you've stated before, Dunbrae is of only minor consequence in the grand scheme of things. As wasTigh an Droma."
"Robert Comyn's holding," Ranald added for clarification.
Iain nodded. "But Robert died recently, did he no'? And his son Alec took over?"
"Aye. Alec and I are of an age. And like me, he was fostered out early on." Again, Bram felt a surge of loss, remembering. His father had sent him to foster first at Dunmaglass only months after his mother had died and then at Moy. In all those years, he'd only been allowed the occasional visit home. Until severalmonths ago, when his father had sent for him, wanting at long last to acknowledge his heir.
He blew out a breath, gathering his thoughts. "My father never mentioned a specific problem with Alec to me. But that does no' mean that Alec hadn't an interest in my father's lands."
"But he didn't take them. Which suggests some other motive. Perhaps something happened between the two of them. You said your father called you back to Dunbrae," Iain said. "Perhaps that's why?"
"Nay." Bram shook his head. "My father called me home because he wasna well and knew that it was time for me to take over as laird. There was no talk of Alec or his holding."
"If there was no quarrel withTigh an Droma," Iain posited, "then why would the Comyns attack? According to my uncle, Alec Comyn denies it."
"I dinna doubt that Alec would lie. And in truth there doesna have to be a reason except that we are Macgillivrays and they are Comyns," Bram said with a shrug.
But Iain frowned. "There must be something more. Something I'm missing?"
"A blood feud," Ranald said, leaning forward, he and Bram exchanging glances. "A very old blood feud."
"But you said your father didn't care about the past."
"Aye, but I do. For all practical purposes, I was raised at Dunmaglass, you ken. And there the memory stretches back much farther. Back to the atrocities that were committed against the Macgillivrays at the hands of the Comyns. I learnt the story when I was but a wee boy, but I carry it here"—He pounded his chest—"in my heart."
"And you think that Alec does as well?"
"I dinna know. But if he knew that I was coming back to take over, perhaps he worried that I wouldna be as forgiving as myfather. Were it not for the Comyns, our clan wouldna have fallen so far."
"But just as my people do, yours belong to Clan Chattan," Iain said. "There is nothing more powerful."
"Aye, but unlike the Mackintoshes, the Macgillivrays are nothing more than a sept. An afterthought. Once we were among the greatest clans in all of the Highlands. Until a woman brought us to our knees and destroyed us."
"I dinna ken." Iain shook his head, still frowning.
