haven't been to visit in so long," he said as he kissed her cheek.
"So long as you've been fighting MacLeods, I'll forgive ye," she said with a smile and went back to stirring the pot that hung over the hearth. "Truly, I'm proud of ye."
That was both the reason he had avoided seeing her for weeks and the reason he had needed to come tonight.
"How's my favorite lass?" he said as picked up wee Brigid, the youngest of the large brood.
"Alive, thanks to our chieftain," his sister said. "Ach, that man's a saint."
"The chieftain?" Lachlan asked. "Why do ye say that?"
Flora waved him into a chair at the table, and he sat with Brigid on his lap.
"He came to a meeting here at the house," Flora said. "The MacLeods somehow found out he was here, and we all had to flee for our lives."
Lachlan's chest felt tight at the thought of his sister and her children in such danger. Flora proceeded to tell him how Connor had rescued Brigid, carried her to safety, and then diverted MacLeod warriors from where the family hid on the hillside. So this was where the attack had been the night before he first met Connor. In his mind's eye, he saw the chieftain limping across the field to the castle.
Lachlan leaned his elbow on the table and covered his eyes. Christ above. The man he had tried to kill had saved them.
"The chieftain should have run with the others rather than risk being caught for our sakes," Flora said. "He killed five MacLeod warriors who surely would have found us."
"Have ye told Father this?" Lachlan asked, though he doubted even saving Flora and the children would absolve the chieftain's family in his father's accounting. At least their father had not burdened Flora with their blood debt of honor, if only because she was born female.
"No, I haven't seen Father," Flora said and tossed some herbs into the pot she was stirring. "Malcom doesn't like me to go far from the house these days with the MacLeods and pirates about."
"Malcom is right," Lachlan said. "It would be better still if you and the children moved into the castle."
"I won't leave my home to the thieving MacLeods," Flora said, putting her free hand on her ample hip. Ever the vigilant mother, she shifted her gaze from Lachlan and called out, "Leave your brother alone, or I'll smack ye."
Lachlan sighed, knowing there was no use in trying to persuade her to leave. It was this very MacDonald stubbornness that would drive the MacLeods off their lands in the end.
"I hope Father isn't the reason you've put off marrying," his sister said, demonstrating once again that she could yell at her children and cook without losing her train of thought.
Lachlan loved her to death, but he was grateful that his older sister had so many children to order about. When they were growing up, she'd only had him.
"Just look at ye with my wee Brigid," Flora said, her eyes going all soft. "Ye need to find a lass who will be good to you and give ye bairns of your own."
"With the MacLeods breathing down our necks, this is no time to think of taking a wife and starting a family," Lachlan said, and wondered if the day would ever come when he could.
"Our new chieftain gives me great hope for our clan," Flora said. "May God watch over him."
How could Lachlan satisfy his father's right to vengeance and also protect his clan? When he started this, he believed that one chieftain would serve as well as another. But since then, he had taken both Hugh's and Connor's measure. He had suggested his sister go to Trotternish Castle, knowing Connor would fight to the death to defend the castle and everyone in it. If Hugh Dubh held the castle, Lachlan would not want his sister anywhere near it.
He looked down at his curly-headed niece who had fallen asleep in his lap with her thumb in her mouth. Hugh would never risk his life for wee Brigid.
In the end, that made all the difference to Lachlan. He would give up his father's battle over the past. From this moment forward, he would fight only for his clan's future, and he would do it at Connor's side.
Chapter 25
Connor waited for Ilysa to come to supper, letting the food grow cold before he took up his eating knife to signal the start of the meal. Though his appetite had left him,