Page 86 of The Daughters of Avalon
Elspeth could barely breathe, much less speak, swallowed as she was by enormous arms—strong, burly arms, nearly as strong as his son’s. At long last, the MacKinnon released her, and stepped back, bowing to greet her. “Tis glad I am tae meet ye, Lady Aldergh.” He winked, his amber eyes glinting, with unfailing good humor, very much like his son’s. “I prayed my son would get himself a good lady to warm his bones and cool his hot head. I ha’e never known a lad so cross.”
Malcom chuckled,though his wife was quick to argue.
“Nay, my lord, I have never known your son to be aught but full of mirth. In truth, he has the same twinkle in his eyes as you do.”
His father laughed again and peered at Malcom, winking. “’Tis guid to hear,” he said. “Tis guid to hear.” And then he gave Malcom his back, wooed by Elspeth’s smile and demeanor. Taking Elspeth by the hand, he bade her tell him her story, from beginning to end, promising to be only ears and Malcom watched as she led them toward the keep, enjoying the sight of his father and bride walking hand in hand. Half-drunk with joy alone, he overheard his father say, “Ye’ll visit for the Yule, daughter, and I’ll be hearing nae argument over the matter.”
Elspeth peered back at Malcom, smiling beautifully, and he gave her a nod.
“That would be so lovely,” she said, leading the burly man into their hall, and Malcom stopped, if only for a moment, to watch the two conversing as though they’d known each other an eternity. The sight of them made his heart glad, even as he realized their tribulations were far from over.
Morwen Pendragon was still out there, scheming.
Elspeth’s sisters still needed saving.
And even now, the northern barons were being rallied, and the Scots clans were gathering under David’s banner.
Malcom had no doubt that David of Scotia would ask him to bend the knee. But right now, for the moment, he was a man unfettered, save for the loyalty he bore his kin.
Eleven years ago, he’d wanted naught more than to leave his father’s home. Today, he would be pleased enough to return. He called his steward over, asking, “How is Cora?”
“Well, m’lord. She is well. I am only grateful ye asked.”
Much like his father had done, Malcom clapped the man on the back. “Do me a favor and see that our tables are laden this evening. Make certain our wine flows freely and bring up the Spanish wine. Everyone is welcome. Have the poor lad in the field returned to his parents and see he is given a proper burial. Then, after you have seen to these matters, see to your wife as I will to mine.”
“Aye, m’lord,” the man said, with gratitude.
“Go, then,” Malcom said, and then he hurried to catch his wife, who was even now regaling his father with some overwrought tale of Malcom’s heroics.
“And when did you realize you loved the fool?” his father asked jovially, sliding an arm about Elspeth’s waist.
“But, of course,” she said with a giggle that Malcom had never heard before—girlish laughter that, for the instant, was free of strife. “Once I learned the name of his horse.”
“Oh? And what might this be?” his father inquired.
“Merry Bells,” Elspeth replied, laughing. “To this day, I cannot imagine such a name for a warrior’s horse.”
His father peered over his shoulder, blinking, meeting Malcom’s gaze, his old amber eyes filled with some unnamed emotion. His jaw was taut, his lips in danger of quivering. Butso was Malcom’s.Ach, Da, I never really left ye,he said, never moving his lips.My heart remains in Chreagach Mhor
His father pulled Elspeth closer, and something about his gaze said,I know, my son. I know.
But perhaps it was only Malcom’s imagination—a contrivance of the moment because the MacKinnon spoke not a word to him. He turned about, following his wife into the hall, laughing joyfully as he went with her hand in hand. “Yule,” he said again, with great meaning.
“You can be sure I will insist,” Elspeth promised.
But she wouldn’t have to.So long as Malcom had breath in his body, and war did not keep him, he would move heaven and earth to be in Chreagach Mhor on the Yuletide.
