might think. He’d put up with Eoin MacGregor’s contemptuous attitude for six months, but who had come out the champion? Eoin was a lowly chieftain who paid fealty to the Campbells of Glenorchy. The smug bastard didn’t even own a castle and Aleck doubted he could afford to pay a mason to build one.
Aleck laughed again. Oh, how he’d used the MacGregors to fight off Alexander MacDonald’s men. The greatest ruse? Eoin had made it all possible. He and Sir Grant had fought off the henchmen while Aleck raced ahead and challenged Alexander himself. God bless Grant, he was a good hand.
And Eoin had stood aside and allowed Aleck to claim victory. The onion-eyed milksop. He’ll never amount to anything.
Heavy clouds rolled in and the calm seas turned into angry swells, but Aleck wouldn’t allow that minor inconvenience to darken his mood. He’d move Mary to the castle on Islay where she could take charge of the servants. He’d winter with the widow in his arms, but Mingary would always be his primary estate.
He again chuckled. Now that he had won the king’s favor, he needn’t worry about Duncan Campbell. Many women died in childbirth. With his excuse for Helen’s death, she would no longer cause Aleck consternation. Perhaps he could make an alliance with the house of Stewart with Maggie’s hand. God, he hated the name Maggie. The sooner he sent Helen’s bitch away from his lands, the better. At least he would profit from a formidable alliance first, and now that he’d been granted additional lands, he could use a small portion for the child’s dowry to entice the right suitor.
Mayhap the king will be so kind as to grant me an earldom?
By the time Mingary Castle appeared as a grey speck on the horizon, Aleck had convinced himself that, for the rest of his life, Scotland would be his oyster. He would continue to impress the king and continue to gain lands owned by his now distant and disowned relations, the MacDonalds. By the time they laid him to rest, he would be the most powerful man in Scotland, second only to the king himself.
As they approached the fortress, a small birlinn bobbed in the waves, moored near the sea gate. Aleck didn’t recognize the boat and wondered who on earth would pay Mingary a visit so close to St. Crispin’s Day.
Something unpleasant needled at the back of his neck. He glanced at Grant. “Do you recognize that birlinn?”
“Nay.” The henchman frowned and scratched his chin. “Perhaps Lady Helen’s mother has come to call.”
Aleck narrowed his gaze. At times he believed his henchman a bit soft-hearted, especially in matters where Helen was involved. Aleck had frequently reminded Grant that it behooved him to remember who paid his wages—and kept his mother fed. “Hold your tongue and your insolence. The next time you make such an untoward statement, I shall cut that useless thing out.”
“Forgive me, m’lord. I couldn’t help but wonder how Lady Helen has fared during the lengthy duration of our absence.” Grant bowed his head and moved toward the stern.
Blast him, and blast any man who has a soft spot for that woman. Aleck expected to receive word of the birth of his son any day and then he would finally be free to dispose of Helen.
Aleck’s heart twisted. Was that birlinn from Duntulm Castle, bringing word that Mary had delivered his son? Of course. Why shouldn’t his good fortune continue?
Once the galley pulled onto the shore, Aleck hastened toward the keep.
An old guard fell in step beside him. “Welcome back m’laird. I…um…there’s something I should t-tell you.”
Aleck dismissed him with a flick of his wrist. “I see we have guests. I trust it is a messenger from Duntulm.” He walked into the great hall with purpose.
A monk wearing a brown habit stood and bowed. “Sir Aleck MacIain, I presume?”
“Aye.” That his uncle opted to send a cleric struck him as odd. “And what news have you for me?”
“I’ve a missive from the Pope—was told I could deliver it only to you. I’ve been here for a fortnight.”
The grey-haired guard stood in the doorway and wrung his hands, his gaze trailing to the stairwell.
Aleck frowned at the monk. “What the devil would the Pope want with me?”
“I am merely a messenger of God—not of the Devil.”
Plucking the missive from the holy man’s fingers, Aleck examined the stamp. Indeed, it bore the seal of His Holiness. He slid his finger under the wax and shook open