Page 37 of Unforgotten
“Here, lad.” Duncan threw the dog the bannock, which Bran swallowed in one gulp. Then the hound bounded forward, falling into step with his master as Duncan strode along the hallway to the stairs that led down to the lower levels of the broch. Reaching down, the clan-chief ruffled the dog’s ears.
Bran was a good dog. Duncan had raised him from a pup, and he preferred the hound’s company to anyone else’s in the broch.
In the Great Hall, which took up most of the ground floor, Duncan found Ross Campbell, his right-hand and captain of the Dunan Guard, and Carr Broderick, another of his most loyal warriors, seated at one of the long tables with the other men.
“Finish yer bannocks,” Duncan barked, approaching the table.
Ross lowered the piece of cake he’d only been able to take a bite from. Raven-haired, with the same midnight-blue eyes as Siusan—Campbell blue—Ross was one of the few at Dunan who weren’t cowed by the clan-chief. Duncan had always liked that about him. Ross had fostered here under Duncan’s father as a youth but then had stayed on afterward. He’d served Duncan loyally over the past few years, although he could sometimes question him when others wisely knew to hold their tongue.
Ross watched him now, his face impassive, while around him many of the other warriors shot each other nervous looks. “What’s the hurry this morning, MacKinnon?” he asked, his voice a low drawl.
“I’m in the mood to go hunting.”
More surprised looks were exchanged around the table. Carr, a stocky warrior with pale blond hair cut close to his scalp, frowned. Ross’s gaze also narrowed.
“My cousin is due to give birth any day,” Ross said after a pause. “Don’t ye want to stay close to her?”
Duncan snorted. “No. I want to ride out into the woods and stab a great big boar through the heart. Then I want the beast roasted and pride of place upon the banquet table when my guests arrive.”
Silence followed this comment, before Ross abandoned the rest of his bannock and rose to his feet. He was a tall man at full height, easily meeting Duncan’s eye—and Duncan towered over most. “They will all attend the gathering then?”
“Aye … even MacLeod.”
Ross grinned, showing his teeth. “He’ll want to avail himself of yer fine MacKinnon hospitality.”
Laughter echoed around the Great Hall at this comment. Carr grinned, although Duncan barely raised a smile. Campbell was being facetious. Ever since his father’s death and his mother’s departure for a convent on the mainland, Duncan received few visitors. This was the first time he’d ever extended an invitation of this kind to the other leaders upon the isle.
“He will,” Duncan growled. “It’s time MacLeod learned that Dunan outshines Dunvegan in every way.”
He’d visited the MacLeod stronghold once, years earlier. It was an impressive fortress to be sure, a square stone keep perched upon rocky crags overlooking a loch, but Dunan was more beautiful, and the village that surrounded it was twice the size of the hamlet on the outskirts of Dunvegan.
“I thought ye wanted MacLeod’s help?” Ross stepped away from the table and moved toward Duncan. “Ye don’t want to anger him … Malcolm MacLeod isn’t a man lightly crossed.”
Duncan snorted, making it clear that he cared not if he angered MacLeod. He then turned and strode from the Great Hall, Bran trotting at his heels. He didn’t look over his shoulder. He didn’t need to, for he knew that Ross, Carr, and the other men would be following as faithfully as his hound.
Leading the way out of the broch, Duncan descended a steep row of steps into a wide bailey. “Saddle our horses,” he yelled to one of the lads who was carting fresh hay into the stables. “We’re going on a hunt.”
Duncan then spun on his heel and found himself eye to eye with the captain of his guard. Ross stared back, unflinching. “MacLeod’s held too much clout upon this isle for too long.” Duncan growled out the words. “It’s time for him to step aside, for younger blood to make the decisions that affect us all.”
This time Ross Campbell, wisely, didn’t respond.
17
Arrival at Dunan
ELLA’S BREATHING CAUGHT when she spied the broch of Dunan rising out of the mist. Gavin hadn’t exaggerated; the MacKinnon stronghold was indeed a majestic sight, especially on an afternoon like this, for mist wreathed the Dunan Vale. It drifted amongst the dark spruce and pine that carpeted the sides of the valley and curled like smoke around the base of the broch, making the fortress look as if it were floating upon a cloud.
“What do ye think?” Gavin’s voice intruded, and Ella tore her gaze from the broch to see that he had reined in his mare and now rode alongside her. It was the first time he’d spoken to her all afternoon. They’d exchanged a few brief words at midday, when the party had stopped for a light meal of coarse barley and oaten bread and cheese, but had traveled apart since then.
“Impressive,” Ella admitted. “It reminds me of Talasgair.”
Gavin’s mouth lifted at the corners. “Of course … I sometimes forget ye are a Fraser.”
Indeed, Ella had lived at the Fraser stronghold on the north-western coast of Skye until she was around thirteen. Despite that many years had passed since she had last seen it, she still remembered the fortress clearly.
Shifting her gaze back to the stone broch looming before her, Ella studied it. “Ye can see it was built on the site of an ancient fort.”
“It is,” Gavin replied. “Although the MacKinnon clan-chiefs have built up from the base of the tower and raised it much higher than the original. It’s now three stories high, whereas the original broch only had one level. The village below is interesting too … they call it ‘the warren’, for it’s a network of narrow lanes that are easy to get lost in.”
