Page 19 of The Chief

Chapter 10

Everything had gone to hell.

Rory could not stop thinking about Cristane and what she’d said to him. That he pretended not to want the title he coveted for fear he would not be deemed worthy of it. Truth was, Terric had admitted that he was inclined to stay in England for his wife Roysa’s sake. He’d said he would gladly relinquish the position of clan chief, if the council approved it, to focus on the earldom.

And yet, he’d still tabled any further discussion of the transfer of power, saying it could wait until spring, so Rory had done what he’d always done in the past. He’d told his brother he didn’t want it, fearing the delayed discussion meant Terric still didn’t believe him capable of fulfilling the role.

Cristane had deemed him worthy, but no longer.

Well, if Rory had wanted to prove himself, it seemed his opportunity was before him.

His brother had challenged him to bring an elder in the clan to heel—Angus McFarland, who had officially declared Clan Kennaugh to be at war with Clan McKinnon. Without the council’s approval, of course. The wily old man may have been one of his father’s favorites, but he certainly didn’t feel the need to consult with Rory. He fought Rory and Terric at every turn, making clan business a tricky dance.

Rory heaved a loud sigh. Turning to his friend who walked up behind him in the hall, he said, “This week could not possibly get any worse.”

By the way Darron looked at him, Rory was sure his words would soon be proven wrong. It had been four days since Cristane’s brief abduction. Four endless days of back-to-back meetings with clan elders and preparations for retaliation against the McKinnons.

Four days of unbearable silence from Cristane.

He’d seen her only twice, both times in passing. Knowing her usual routine, Rory had looked for her in the kitchens and the stables, but short of seeking her out in her bedchamber, he’d run out of ideas about where to find her.

“You’ll not want to hear this, then.” Darron turned to leave, but Rory stopped him.

“Darron,” he warned.

“We’ve just received word from Kerr that McKinnon stole some twenty cattle from them, shuffling them to reivers.”

“So Kerr has no proof?”

Darron’s frown confirmed it.

“Nay, but two of his men spied the bastards with their own eyes.”

Proof enough for him.

“Send word to Kerr that we will support any effort they deem necessary.”

McFarland may be an old loon, but it appeared he was right this time. They were officially at war, again, with Clan McKinnon. But this time Terric wasn’t on hand to take command of the situation.

“And if they ask for men?” his friend pressed.

Rory sighed. “We provide them. But we’ll do nothing before. If we attack, we do it together.” Perhaps the weather would work in their favor. If McKinnon had a mind to bring in his French allies, they’d have a devil of a time crossing the River Seine to get to them. Either way, it would be safer to ignore the chief’s provocations until they could form a united front with the Kerrs. It was a burr in his throat to ignore such insults, but he’d do what he must to keep his clan safe. No matter what the council thought.

“Darron,” he said, calling him back. “Send a messenger to Dromsley too. Tell my brother Clan Kennaugh is prepared to attack McKinnon with Clan Kerr.”

Darron’s sour expression told him what he thought of waiting, but he’d sooner see his people safe than sated.

Rory stood.

“I need no hand-holding,” Darron said as he cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s not my purpose.”

“So where do you go, then?”

“Mayhap there’s someone else whose hand I’d like to hold,” he said, grabbing his mantle before walking through the door and into the corridor.

“What a darling . . .”