the MacWrays just as much as the Morgans. Both clans got what they wanted. But apparently the topaz mine isnae enough for ye, ye greedy bastard. Now ye want my bog as well.”
“We have naught!” MacWray bellowed. “No topaz. No trade. No food. And meanwhile ye bask in wealth and prosperity. It is time we took some for ourselves.”
Her father was so furious that his face began to mottle red and his clenched hands shook at his sides. Oh God. He was going to have another apoplectic fit in another instant.
“What do ye mean?” Birdie blurted. “How can ye have naught when the treaty gave ye the mine?”
Everyone fell silent at Birdie’s question. The air nigh vibrated with tension, but it seemed that the Morgans and Gunns would at least grant MacWray a chance to answer.
A taut breath slipped out through MacWray’s clenched teeth.
“The mine used to produce gems as big as a thumb,” he muttered. “Like the one Eatha MacWray brought into the Morgan Laird’s family two generations past.” He gestured with his bearded chin at the topaz dangling from Birdie’s neck. “But those had all been gathered in a few years’ time. Then we collected all the gems the size of a fingernail, then the size of a bannock crumb. And then there was naught left.”
Birdie frowned. “When was that?”
“Five years ago, when I took over the Lairdship from my uncle. He nearly ran the clan into the ground, so determined was he that there was more topaz to be found in that spent mine.” MacWray shook his head. “I dinnae ken how many months—years—of manpower we wasted on that mine, digging and digging, with naught but our dwindling coffers to show for it.”
“I didnae hear a peep from ye when ye became Laird after yer uncle’s passing,” her father said, glaring daggers at MacWray. Thankfully, at least some of the redness had drained from his face.
MacWray stiffened. “I intended to lead my clan in a new direction—without outside aid. And I did. We abandoned that worthless mine and turned to other pursuits. We had naught to trade, so we tried farming.”
He jerked his head toward the mass of Ben Loyal looming over them. “But the land south of the mountain is naught but rocks and gorse. Every effort we made resulted in little more than a few handfuls of grain and countless split ploughs and hoes good for naught but firewood.” The edge to his voice slipped. “We scraped by for a few years, but last winter…”
The MacWrays standing around Birdie dropped their eyes, some shifting, and other murmuring curses.
“We’d over-slaughtered our herds of sheep and cattle the previous summer just to keep food in our bellies. But that meant no new wool for blankets, no leather for clothes and shoes. My people were cold and starving. And then a fever swept through the clan.”
MacWray swallowed, his voice dropping further. “One such calamity we could have weathered. If we’d been in good health to begin with, more might have survived the fever. But it took nearly a quarter of the clan. My bonny Shona and our wee daughter Abigail…they werenae strong enough.”
Silence hung heavy over them all while MacWray fought for his composure.
“Why didnae ye reach out to us?” Birdie’s father murmured, his brows knitted in stunned dismay.
“I did,” MacWray practically spat. “I sent word last winter, no’ long after my wife and bairn died. I waited until spring for a response, but none came. I couldnae stand by and watch my people suffer and starve any longer. That is when we took matters into our own hands.”
Her father shook his head. “No missive ever came.”
Birdie’s stomach turned to stone as a realization dawned. “Ye sent word last winter?” She asked faintly.
MacWray frowned down at her. “Aye. Just after the first snowfall.”
She turned over every other possible explanation in her mind, but they all led back to the same answer.
“I am responsible for this.”
“What?” MacWray snapped, even as her father said, “That isnae possib—”
“This is my fault,” she said over them. Tears burned in her eyes. Uncertain where to look, her blurry gaze landed on Gregor. He was frowning in confusion at her, though his dark scowl softened when their eyes met.
“Go on, Birdie,” he urged gently.
“This time last year, my father had an accident,” she said to MacWray, though her gaze lingered on Gregor, drawing strength from him.
“Birdie—” her father warned, but she ignored him.
“An apoplexia that left him weak and bedridden for more than a