MacKinnons' Hope: A Highland Christmas Carol Read Online Free PDF Page A

greatly pleased Elizabet had insisted on coming along. Not only could the MacKinnons use all the help they could get, but he never relished leaving his family alone for very long. Dunloppe he could lose if it be God’s will, but Broc could never bear to lose the love of his life or the children they’d born together.
    “We’ll arrive there soon,” he ventured to say.
    Elizabet’s answering smile could scarce hide her fatigue. “Do not fash yourself, Broc Ceannfhionn.” He smiled, because she’d used the name he’d given her when they’d first met, Broc the blond . His wife kept him humble—as did the name itself, given to him by Iain MacKinnon on the day Broc arrived at Chreagach Mhor .
    “’Twill be alright, Broc Ceannfhionn,” Iain had said, giving Broc hope.
    Now it was Broc’s turn to return the favor.
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    A idan dún Scoti arrived with more than two-dozen strong backs to join the reconstruction. Each man saw to his own mount as Iain greeted the dún Scoti laird.
    It humbled him to know that a man like Aidan—who rarely left his vale in the Mounth—would come so far to help. Allies though they were, they were hardly neighbors. Now, more than ever Iain was coming to realize the value of the brotherhood they’d formed ten years before—a bond of seven noble clans that included all of the dún Scoti—the hill Scots—who bore no other name, the MacLeans, the Montgomeries, the Brodies, and the last of the McNaught and MacEanraig clans.
    All except Jaime Steorling had come to offer aid, and Jaime, ’twas said, had been summoned to yet another of David’s councils. The rest of the clans had been spared the majority of these, for David only levied their men whenever it was unavoidable. He knew better than to abuse the fragile oath they’d all sworn.
    “I believe the last time you were here was for your sister’s wedding,” Iain said.
    In fact, Aidan had weathered that situation rather nobly, for his sister had been ripped from the bosom of her family by none other than David of Scotia, with the sole premise of bartering her politically to England—much the same as was done to his own son. But unlike Malcom, Catrìona had escaped her captors, and promptly found herself a Brodie husband.
    Aidan arched a dark brow, the twinkle in his eyes unmistakable. “Aye, well, it took me all this long to get over the foul temper it left me in.” He removed his riding gloves, tucking them into his waist, and said, “South was never my favorite way to ride.”
    Iain couldn’t resist a bit of ribbing. “What the bloody hell lies north o’ ye?”
    Aidan’s smile tightened. “Only Moray, but ’tis precisely the way I like it.”
    Iain laughed, clapping Aidan fully on the back. “Welcome, friend,” he said. “Welcome. No matter how many years go by, I am no less pleased to see you.”
    Both men sobered over that, for far too many years had passed, and both were now sporting a bit more silver in their manes—Iain a bit more than most.
    “I would have brought you more,” Aidan said by way of apology, speaking of his men and the supplies they’d brought, “but the rest were needed in the vale.”
    Dark times lay ahead, but it needn’t be said. In fact, the less it were spoken, the more one could hope to be spared.
    There were whispers of war in the air. By all accounts David of Scotia was taking stock of his armies and his allies. Henry of England was in Normandy, fighting to secure his holdings, and ’twas said his daughter’s rebellions were taking a toll on his health.
    “We are eternally grateful for all ye ha’e provided,” Iain said. “Tis a generous offering, no less.”
    “And how is your wife?”
    “Page is verra well. And Lìli?”
    Aidan smiled. “We’ve a brand new bairn. ’Tis why she did not come.”
    The keep was bustling with folk dashing about. The men were assembling tables in the hall and the women scrambled to find victuals enough to feed so many hungry mouths. Knowing Page