Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,115

others were gathered below, near the stone-lined tunnel of steps that led down to the sea-gate. There, supported on either side by his legitimate sons, William and Tormod, stood Alasdair Crotach, the great MacLeod himself. Bent and frail, his flowing white hair covered by a tartan bonnet, he had ruled over their clan for seven decades.

“’Tis hard to believe he is truly going,” muttered Magnus.

Lennox nodded. For years, the old man had dreamed of sailing away to the Isle of Harris to live out his remaining days at the monastery there, but he had been unwilling to relinquish his leadership of the clan…until today.

Now, as dozens of clan members gathered in the gun court, Alasdair Crotach formally proclaimed that, henceforth, his eldest legitimate son, William, would be the ninth chief of clan MacLeod. With that, the old chief put his own massive claymore in William’s hands.

Lennox was about to move back in the crowd to stand with Nora and Brienne when his grandfather suddenly raised his voice.

“Lennox MacLeod! Come here, lad. There is one more act I would perform as chief.”

All eyes were on Lennox as he walked forward to stand in front of the old man. Wounded many years ago by a battle axe, Alasdair Crotach had lived most of his adult life with a hunched back. His legend was about more than his injury, however, because the grievously wounded MacLeod had found the strength to wield his own dirk. After killing his attacker, young Alasdair had cut off his head as a trophy.

Now, looking down at his frail grandfather, Lennox felt a tide of affection for the old warrior. “How may I serve ye, Grandfather?” he asked.

“I am pleased to see ye back among your own people,” Alasdair Crotach rasped. “There is something I have been keeping for ye, waiting for this day.”

With that, the old man opened his hand to reveal a gleaming clan brooch. Crowned by a gold bull’s head, it featured the MacLeod clan motto: Hold Fast.

Lennox’s heart began to pound. His eyes stung. For so long, he had believed his grandfather withheld this honor because Lennox didn’t meet Alasdair Crotach’s standards for a fierce clan warrior. Later, upon learning the secret of his parentage, Lennox had assumed it was his illegitimacy that prevented him from receiving this sign that he was a true MacLeod.

Yet now, Alasdair Crotach was reaching up to pin the MacLeod clan brooch to Lennox’s sash. At last. For a moment their eyes met in silent understanding.

“That bull’s head looks very fine on ye, lad.” A smile flickered at the corners of his grandfather’s thin, dry mouth. “Ye have always been a MacLeod. But, as I said before ye went away, ’twas a discovery ye had to make for yourself.”

“Aye.” Lennox’s voice was hoarse. “I’ll wear this brooch all my days, Grandfather. I am grateful to be a MacLeod.”

Lennox turned away then and went to stand with Ciaran, Fiona, and their families. They stood together, watching as William, Tormod, and Da guided Alasdair Crotach to the sea-gate and then half-carried him down the winding path to the birlinn that would bear the ancient clan chief away from the Isle of Skye. Gray clouds scudded over the sun and a misty rain blew in from the Minch.

“Remember the day Ma died, when we still lived at Duntulm Castle?” Ciaran asked, looking from Fiona to Lennox. “We three have come a long way since we joined at her bedside to bid her farewell.”

As Fi leaned against him, sighing, Lennox saw that she was wearing the serpent brooch Ma had given to her on the day she died. It had been stored inside the same case where Lennox had later discovered the miniature of the Duke of Hastings.

“Ye were a rogue through and through, Ciaran MacLeod,” Lennox replied to his brother. Laughing, he added, “Praise the saints for sending this magnificent woman who tolerates your shortcomings.”

Violette wrapped an arm around Ciaran, who held a sleeping Niall in his strong arms. “Let’s go inside,” she said with a smile. “This is a conversation best served with wine.”

The birlinn holding Alasdair Crotach and his sons pushed out into the loch, followed by other assorted galleys filled with his servants and an array of possessions. When it had been rowed out of sight, passing behind a wooded bend in the coastline, Lennox and Nora followed the others back to the castle. Brienne cuddled close in her mother’s arms.

As they walked, Christophe St. Briac fell into step beside