Page 22 of The Splendor of Fire
Léo wasn’t sure how to respond. “Congratulations.”
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “It isn’t a promotion of honor. It’s a death sentence. A promise that I shall never leave Cràdh, delivered to me by your brother.”
He had suspected as much. “At least you have the freedom to roam and to come outside.”
The man narrowed his eyes, wiping mist from his forehead. “You were a marmalade for King Charles of France?”
Léo rolled his eyes. “Marmouset.”
The man rolled his eyes back. “An advisor. Vizier.”
“Oui.Intendant en Chef des Greniers Royaux.”
The man looked at him as if he had just spoken in angelic language. “Sorry?”
“Chief Steward of the Royal Granaries. Responsible for the tax, construction, and maintenance of storage facilities, protection of the grain…”
“That’s what I meant. You’re a nobleman. Used to leading men and seeing to their care.”
“Oui. Aye.”
“What if I could grant you the freedom to roam the prison like I do? I need someone to help me run this hellish place. To help me plan the guard rotations, work on cleanliness, minimize disease and infestation…”
Léo kept his face neutral and watched the lightning flashing around the heavens, thinking regular access to fresh air could work wonders for his health and for his very soul. He eyed the man’s tartan, skeptical. Nothing with the MacKinnons was ever granted for free.
“Why would you choose me for this?”
The guard shifted in his boots and looked back out over the sea. “I was given guard assignment years ago. It was a punishment for offending Niall, just after Colm’s death. It’s a punishment for us all.”
The man’s casual use of his father and brother’s Christian name brought Léo to attention. He studied the man’s face trying to place him. “What was your role before you came to Cràdh?”
The man moved in front of him, looking him in the eye.“Chieftain of Mishnish since my father’s death in 1370. Respected warrior under your father, during the MacLean conflicts of the 60s.”
A memory resurrected in Léo’s darkened mind. “Mowbray MacKinnon? Of Mull?”
“Aye. Born and raised.”
Léo’s mouth fell open. Mowbray had been a close ally of his father and integral to negotiating the tentative peace the clan formed with the MacLeans before the days of the Duart and Lochbuie houses. “I remember you.”
“It’s why I brought you out here. Couldn’t stand the sight of Colm’s son caged like an animal day in and day out any longer.”
“What did you do to offend my brother?”
“I told him he was a terrible leader.”
It was the first belly laugh Léo’d had in seven long months. Tears streamed down his face and mingled with the rain.
“It’s true. We’ve had no shortage of problems for fourteen years. One conflict after another, Fingon helping himself to clan gold til it was gone. Now this business with the Wolf. I know that’s why you’re here. You helped Hector MacLean save his wife.”
Laughter ebbed away. Some days it was easy to forget why he was here and how long he would stay. That he had once done a noble thing and been imprisoned for it at the expense of his freedom and son was now hard to swallow. “Aye.”
“There’s a rumor you are good friends wi’ the man. Like brothers.”
“Aye.” Why deny it? Hector was closer than his real brothers. Would he sacrifice his freedom to save Hector’s wife and child again? Yes. The hard truth settled in his gut. He owed Hector his very life.
“Battle bonded? Some say Hector got blootered and ended up in France durin’ the war days.”
“Pontvallain.” The most terrifying day of his life thus far.
