Infochla.” Jenna’s eyebrows raised and Mahon nodded. “I’m sure Tiarna MacEagan will explain,” Mahon said.
Mahon fell in alongside her as Kyle MacEagan came over. They embraced once, as friends would, then Kyle took a step back. His round features folded into a moue of apology as they started walking toward the carriage that waited to take them up the mountain to Dun Kiil Keep. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you and Meriel to Inishfeirm. Did you give Meriel my apologies?”
“I did,” Jenna told him. “She understood. I gave her the letter you sent.”
“Thanks. I really wanted to be there, but settling the land dispute in the Comhairle took longer than I thought. How is she?”
“She blames me. She thinks I’m trying to get rid of her.”
“You could have told her the truth.”
Jenna sighed—it was an old argument between them. “She’s old enough to know, Jenna. About the age you were when you were given your burden.” Jenna could only shake her head. “You can’t keep her sheltered forever, Jenna,” Kyle had persisted. “Do that, and she’ll never be ready to handle things herself. And that includes telling her the truth about me. She should know who her real da was.”
“I don’t want to scare her, Kyle,” she said. “Doyle made definite threats against her. Against all of those I love.”
He didn’t argue; he never did—it was one of the traits she admired about Kyle. He would make his point and speak his mind, but once she made a decision, he backed her without question. He had been a steadfast ally for her over the years, a true friend even if they’d never shared their marriage bed. He had also been a wonderful da to Meriel; Jenna had to admit that she was sometimes jealous of the easy, loving relationship the two of them had, so much different from the way Meriel was with her.
Kyle nodded in Mahon’s direction. “I take it Mahon’s told you about the delegation that arrived here yesterday.”
“Aye. From Infochla. Is it a problem or just routine?”
“A problem,” Kyle said.
“Let me guess. The north islands of the Stepping Stones.”
Kyle nodded. “Aye. They’re claiming that the Ards of the Northern Clans had no right to secede from Tuath Infochla, that they still owe their tribute to Rí Infochla, and that allowing them a vote in the Comhairle breaks the terms of our current treaty with the Tuatha and the Rí Ard.”
“And does it?”
Kyle’s lips tugged upward in a slight smile as he shrugged. “Probably. Though that hasn’t stopped us from picking off other islands in recent years. The delegation’s carrying a formal protest to you and the Comhairle; they insist on meeting you today to read it.”
“Today.” Jenna sighed.
“Aye.”
“Send them home,” Jenna said, grimacing. “I don’t need to listen to their whining. If Rí Mas Sithig wants to come here and complain to me in person, then I’ll listen to him. But I’m not going to be lectured by his lackeys.” Mahon snorted quiet, discreet laughter at that. Kyle looked less amused.
“Jenna, I’m not so certain that’s the right tactic at the moment. Considering the threats Doyle gave you and the Rí Ard’s health, this may be the provocation that the Tuatha are looking for—an excuse to pull their armies together again.”
“They’ll come at us one day no matter what we do,” Jenna answered. “We all know that. Today, tomorrow, what’s it matter?”
“I’d rather avoid it entirely if we can. So would you, if you still remember Dún Kiil.”
“I remember,” Jenna said. “All too well.” She rubbed at her right arm, stiff and icy after the voyage. The scars mottling her flesh were in her mind as well, etched just as deeply. She looked at Mahon, whose da had died in the battle of Dun Kiil; his gray eyes had gone steely, and she knew that he, at least, wouldn’t mind if it came to war. She suspected that there were others like him. The Inishlanders had long memories
Mahon fell in alongside her as Kyle MacEagan came over. They embraced once, as friends would, then Kyle took a step back. His round features folded into a moue of apology as they started walking toward the carriage that waited to take them up the mountain to Dun Kiil Keep. “I’m sorry I couldn’t go with you and Meriel to Inishfeirm. Did you give Meriel my apologies?”
“I did,” Jenna told him. “She understood. I gave her the letter you sent.”
“Thanks. I really wanted to be there, but settling the land dispute in the Comhairle took longer than I thought. How is she?”
“She blames me. She thinks I’m trying to get rid of her.”
“You could have told her the truth.”
Jenna sighed—it was an old argument between them. “She’s old enough to know, Jenna. About the age you were when you were given your burden.” Jenna could only shake her head. “You can’t keep her sheltered forever, Jenna,” Kyle had persisted. “Do that, and she’ll never be ready to handle things herself. And that includes telling her the truth about me. She should know who her real da was.”
“I don’t want to scare her, Kyle,” she said. “Doyle made definite threats against her. Against all of those I love.”
He didn’t argue; he never did—it was one of the traits she admired about Kyle. He would make his point and speak his mind, but once she made a decision, he backed her without question. He had been a steadfast ally for her over the years, a true friend even if they’d never shared their marriage bed. He had also been a wonderful da to Meriel; Jenna had to admit that she was sometimes jealous of the easy, loving relationship the two of them had, so much different from the way Meriel was with her.
Kyle nodded in Mahon’s direction. “I take it Mahon’s told you about the delegation that arrived here yesterday.”
“Aye. From Infochla. Is it a problem or just routine?”
“A problem,” Kyle said.
“Let me guess. The north islands of the Stepping Stones.”
Kyle nodded. “Aye. They’re claiming that the Ards of the Northern Clans had no right to secede from Tuath Infochla, that they still owe their tribute to Rí Infochla, and that allowing them a vote in the Comhairle breaks the terms of our current treaty with the Tuatha and the Rí Ard.”
“And does it?”
Kyle’s lips tugged upward in a slight smile as he shrugged. “Probably. Though that hasn’t stopped us from picking off other islands in recent years. The delegation’s carrying a formal protest to you and the Comhairle; they insist on meeting you today to read it.”
“Today.” Jenna sighed.
“Aye.”
“Send them home,” Jenna said, grimacing. “I don’t need to listen to their whining. If Rí Mas Sithig wants to come here and complain to me in person, then I’ll listen to him. But I’m not going to be lectured by his lackeys.” Mahon snorted quiet, discreet laughter at that. Kyle looked less amused.
“Jenna, I’m not so certain that’s the right tactic at the moment. Considering the threats Doyle gave you and the Rí Ard’s health, this may be the provocation that the Tuatha are looking for—an excuse to pull their armies together again.”
“They’ll come at us one day no matter what we do,” Jenna answered. “We all know that. Today, tomorrow, what’s it matter?”
“I’d rather avoid it entirely if we can. So would you, if you still remember Dún Kiil.”
“I remember,” Jenna said. “All too well.” She rubbed at her right arm, stiff and icy after the voyage. The scars mottling her flesh were in her mind as well, etched just as deeply. She looked at Mahon, whose da had died in the battle of Dun Kiil; his gray eyes had gone steely, and she knew that he, at least, wouldn’t mind if it came to war. She suspected that there were others like him. The Inishlanders had long memories
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