"Like I said, Keegan is over the guards," Uncle Conall said as they neared the gatehouse. "If there is any trouble he will be of great help."
Dirk hoped and prayed there was no trouble. He didn't want to fight his own clansmen and kin.
At the gatehouse, two obscure figures inside watched them in the torchlight.
"Who is that with you, Conall?" one of the guards asked.
"Dirk?" the other figure inside the small guard house asked in a shocked but familiar voice.
"Aye," Dirk said. "Keegan, is that you?"
"Indeed." Conall's eldest son emerged while the other guard raised the portcullis.
They proceeded into the stone-paved bailey and toward the stables where they dismounted. Two lanky stable lads of around fifteen took the horses.
Dirk turned toward his cousin. "Keegan, 'tis good to see you."
His sandy-brown hair was pulled back in a queue. The boyish face Dirk remembered had matured into a man's with a strong jaw and chin. Underneath a woolen mantle, he wore metal studded leather armor with his belted plaid.
Keegan clasped his hand and slapped his shoulder in a warrior's welcome. "I wondered if you'd ever come home." Smiling, he turned to Conall. "Why did you not send word earlier that he was here, Da?"
"He only arrived an hour ago, and I thought you'd enjoy the surprise."
Dirk introduced Rebbie and they shook hands.
"Am I ever glad you're here, cousin," Keegan said.
Dirk was glad to be here too, but he wondered what his cousin's cryptic words meant. "Why?"
"There are murmurings that the clan will soon be divided over who will be the best chief—Aiden or Haldane."
"I suppose I'll cause even louder murmurs then," Dirk said, looking forward to seeing the faces of those who'd thought him dead for twelve years. Some of them would be happy to see him. Others not.
Keegan grinned. "Just what we need to stir things up a wee bit more."
As the four of them proceeded toward the portal, both excitement and dread coalesced inside Dirk.
When they entered the great hall with its long tables cluttered with the remains of supper, the clansmen and servants milling about stopped to stare at the newcomers. Scents of bread, venison and ale perfumed the air, taking Dirk back many years. The high table sat crosswise at the far end of the room, near the fireplace. Dirk's gaze fell upon his half-brother occupying the central chief's chair.
Six years younger than Dirk, Aiden had only been nine when he'd last seen him. He didn't look much older than that now. Of course, he was taller, but he appeared frail and thin. Dirk frowned, hoping his brother wasn't ill. Aiden used to follow him around like a wee deerhound, and they'd always been close.
Aiden's face blanched white as his eyes locked to Dirk's. He shoved to his feet.
The brawny young man beside him rose as well, his hand going to rest on his sword hilt, his glare fixed on Dirk. "Who the hell is that?" he growled.
Could he be Haldane, Dirk's youngest half-brother? He had not seen the lad since he was seven summers old. Aye, he resembled Da and Dirk, as well, with ginger hair. Though Haldane had not yet filled out into a man, he was tall and broad-shouldered.
"I'm Dirk MacKay," he said in a strong voice so everyone in the large room would be sure to hear. He was surprised he had to state the obvious, but a lot of time had passed and his brothers had been children when he'd left.
Gasps echoed in the silence of the hall. Dirk quickly scanned faces in the room, most of them familiar.
"Do you not remember your eldest brother?" Conall asked Haldane.
"Dirk died. I remember that much," Haldane said in a harsh tone.
"Nay, he is alive and well, as you can see," Conall said.
Aiden remained transfixed, braced against the table, his wide-eyed gaze searching Dirk's face.
"Aiden, 'tis good to see you again, lad." Dirk gave a slight grin, hoping to put everyone at ease.
"Is it really you, brother?" he asked in an awed tone.
"Aye." Dirk moved forward and extended his hand.
His brother studied his face intently, clasped his hand, then embraced him.
"But how can this be? We thought you dead, fallen from a cliff at Faraid Head."
"I'm not so easy to kill." Dirk's gaze slid over Haldane, his expression clearly hostile. "Haldane, you've grown," Dirk said by way of greeting.
His youngest brother merely glared in response.
Both young men had the green eyes of their mother. Dirk scanned the room, wondering where the murderous hag might be and who else here was unfriendly. He expected hostilities, of course. But the person who stood to lose the most, Aiden, was the one who'd welcomed him with the greatest warmth.
Dirk had not come to greedily take over. Hell, he did not even want the responsibility. But it was his birthright, and his father had groomed him to be the next chief from the time he was a babe.
In their youth, Aiden had not been trained the same way. His mother had pushed him toward the training, but his father had ignored her. Nor had Aiden held any interest in fighting or leading. He was fascinated by music and took to playing the pipes early, as well as other instruments.
Dirk had a feeling Haldane was far different. He had a militant MacKay look about him that was only intensified by his mother's Gordon blood.
Dirk turned to the elders, including two of his great uncles, who entered the room and shook their hands. They all murmured in amazement and welcomed him.
"He's an imposter," Haldane shouted, his face red.
"Nay, lad," Conall said, his bushy gray brows lowered.
"He fell from a cliff onto the rocks below and died."
"You were not there and did not see this. Besides, you were naught more than a bairn of seven summers," Conall growled. "His body was never recovered, was it?" he asked the group at large.
Several, including the elders, shook their heads.
"Dirk did not fall onto the rocks below," Conall proclaimed, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Someone pushed him—the same man who killed Will MacKay! But Dirk fell a short distance down the cliff face and caught on a small outcropping of rocks. I know this because I threw a rope down and pulled him back up."
Dirk nodded, the icy, dark claws of fear raking through him once again. For years, he had nightmares about hanging off the side of a cliff, grieving the loss of his best friend, knowing he would be next if the rock gave way.
"You did?" Aiden asked, his eyes wide. "Why did you not tell us he survived? Why did you let us believe the worst… including Da? It near killed him when he thought Dirk died."
"Because someone wanted him dead!" Conall smashed a beefy fist down onto the wide-planked table. "He was a lad of but fifteen summers. He was well-trained for his age, but he was not yet experienced enough to defend himself against someone intent upon murder."
"Who would want to murder him?" Haldane asked. "An enemy clan?"
"Nay. A traitorous member of the MacKay clan," Conall said.
The murmurs of the clan around them grew louder.
"Who?" Haldane demanded.
Conall hesitated, his fierce blue eyes scanning the room. Did he dare blurt out the truth, Dirk wondered.
"I have no proof as to the murderer's identity," Conall finally admitted.