Father chuckled. “Don’t you? You are obviously in love with this young man.”
Bannon shook his head, ready to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. It was true he was in love with Ciaran. “But he yelled at me. He didn’t even listen to what I said. And I was right. Captain Kindros came, like I knew she would, and now Ciaran and his clan are in even more danger than before. The IN will send men to find out why the base isn’t in contact with them. And then what?”
His sire grabbed his hand. “Look at me, son. You heard King-Consort Raleigh. He’s going to send someone after Winstol and send reinforcements.”
“If Ciaran is the leader you say he is, he will be fine until troops get there. And if he’s the man you say he is, then he’s also regretting his actions and missing you. Love isn’t easy, son, and there are no rule books. You should have learned that watching your brother and Dalton.” Father lifted his chin and glanced over at Blaise and Dalton, who were sitting on the sofa, holding hands and whispering to each other. From the looks of them, their conversation had nothing to do with the recent goings-on.
It was good to see them getting on so well and so happy. “You sound like Marcus. He said the same thing.”
“I’m not surprised. Winstol is a brilliant man and a wonderful friend,” Sire said.
“Indeed he is. It will be great to have him back.” Father nodded, and then he met Bannon’s gaze and sobered. “You did a lot of growing up when you were gone. You need to give Ciaran a chance to explain himself and make amends. We all make mistakes, son.”
For some reason, Bannon got the impression his father was referring to his own mistakes. Could it be that he regretted not listening to Bannon about Blaise and Dalton? “But what if he doesn’t want me anymore?”
“Then you will know for sure.”
That was just it; he didn’t want to find out. The thought terrified him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Sometimes waiting for the right time is the absolute wrong thing to do because sometimes only action will make things right.”
—Ciaran, channeling Timothy and missing his alter ego like the verra devil.
“Are ye going tae just sit there all day again? Ye’ve been sitting on ye arse up on this tower since Red left ye.”
Ciaran sighed at the interruption and continued to stare out at Loch Sterling. First Patrick, then Marcus, then Agatha, and now Maggie of all people. Maybe it was better when she was against him? “I have nothing else tae do.” The fact that he’d chosen Red’s favorite thinking spot was not lost on him. It made him feel closer to Red.
“Ye bum’s oot the windae. Ye have a clan tae run and a mate tae go fetch.”
Ciaran snorted. “I’m nae the chieftain anymore, now am I?”
“Lad, ye are trying my patience.” Maggie sighed. She strode forward, her bootheels clicking on the wood floor of the tower as she walked up next to him, looking out at the loch.
He was feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Red had actually left him without so much as a goodbye. The worst part of it was not the loneliness, though that was there too. He missed Red like he’d miss air if he couldn’t breathe. He suspected it felt similar—a deep abiding ache that would not go away. No, the worst part was the time alone to think, to realize that Red was better off without him. He’d not only let Red down, but he’d let his clan down. He’d disgraced his father’s memory. “I have nae tae offer him. Nae clan, nae wealth, and nae future. I dinna deserve the title of chieftain.”
“What a bunch of horse shite! What would ye da say? Ewan MacKay ne’er gave up. He gave his life fer this clan, fer ye, and this is how ye honor his memory?”
A pang of regret punched Ciaran in the stomach so hard he felt ill. Maggie really cut to the chase, hitting him where it would hurt most. But he could not argue with her, no matter how much he wanted to. His father would not approve of his actions this last fortnight. Frowning, Ciaran glanced up at her.
She stared out at the lake, a soft breeze ruffling the long silver-and-black hair escaping