The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,1
chair this way, lad.” He jerked a thumb toward the wall of books behind him. “When Sorcha returns from the village today, she’ll enter the library the same way I did. But ye do well to take cover. I feel sure she’s intent on keeping the oath she made the last time the two of ye met.”
So Magnus had been correct. Lady Sorcha had been away all this time. But she returned today. Sutherland found himself looking forward to it more than fearing it. “I appreciate the warning, Chieftain.” He returned the chair to its original position, thankful Greyloch’s good humor appeared to be as massive as his size. While he matched the chief in both height and build, he had never seen a man with hands so large. The old warrior’s fists were broad as shields.
Determined to ensure there was, in fact, no ill will between them, Sutherland held out his hand. “Since we are finally speaking openly about the matter, allow me to extend my apologies regarding my behavior last summer.” He twitched a shoulder, feeling a bit like a lad confessing about something he knew he shouldn’t have done. “I meant no harm or insult to the lovely Lady Sorcha, but I do regret behaving in such a roguish manner.”
Greyloch rumbled out an even deeper chuckle as he grabbed hold of Sutherland’s forearm and squeezed hard enough that he nearly crushed his bones. “I accept yer apology, sir, but dinna fash yerself.” He winked, still holding tight to Sutherland. “My daughter can take care of herself quite well, and I understand yer position completely. There once was a time when I was known to throw down a wager or two when it came to a challenging conquest.”
Directing Sutherland to sit, he took his own chair. A glint in his eye, he settled back, stroking his closely cropped beard. “But all jests aside, ye would do well to tread lightly around her when she arrives. I fear she possesses her mother’s fire and tendency to foster a grudge—forever.” All levity left him as his silvery head tipped forward. “God rest her soul,” he added quietly.
“God rest her soul, indeed.” Sutherland wasn’t quite certain what to say next. When last they had visited, he’d realized the rumors about the great love Chieftain Greyloch and his wife had shared were not rumors but truth. The man still seemed as stricken with grief as he had last summer.
“It’s been well over two years now since that damned accident robbed me of my lady love.” Greyloch shifted, heaving out a deep sigh as he scrubbed a hand across his face. He sat taller and looked at each of them with a strained smile. “But we must try and move on, aye?”
Sutherland wished he could ease the man’s lingering pain, but all he could do was provide a distraction. “Aye, Chief, and while Clan MacCoinnich’s losses canna begin to compare with yer own, we’re attempting to move on from our own sorrows as well.”
“I heard of the Neal uprising.” Greyloch leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Shameful ungratefulness after all the MacCoinnich did for that clan. Prospered it well beyond what old Neal would ever have done.” The intensity of the man’s stare tightened like an arrow about to be released. Chieftain Greyloch might be getting on in years, but nothing about the man appeared diminished in any way. “Why did the MacCoinnich release them so easily from their oath of fealty? And gave them half the lands along with a share of the herds to boot? The man actually gave them the glens to the south? Those fine glens abutting the Campbells?”
“Aye, sir. But it was a complicated matter, ye ken?” Sutherland wasn’t about to lay out his brother Alexander’s choices and the why’s of them to the chieftain. The ending of the feud with the Neals had come at great cost, but the decisions made had been necessary. Not only for the good of the clan but for the protection of the MacCoinnichs politically. Sutherland gave Chieftain Greyloch a look he hoped the man would understand and not take offense. “Such a story is better left for yerself and the MacCoinnich to share over a dram or two.”
“Speaking of which,” Greyloch thumped both hands on the desk and pushed himself to his feet, “it appears I have forgotten my manners. I’m sure yer throats are dry, and yer bones are cold from this dreary day. ’Tis still bitter cold