Devil of Kilmartin by Laurin Wittig Page B

blossom.
    Now he could be the leader the clan needed. The next time the Lamonts attacked, he would be here, lucid and ready to beat them back. But perhaps he would not wait that long. Perhaps the time had come to take the battle to them.
    And yet, in a strange way, the Lamonts were responsible for his future. Guilt pricked at him. He had sensed the girl’s response to his touch and had pushed his advantage. Perhaps this attraction between them was part of the prophecy. If so, he could not say it wasn’t welcome. Her touch had healed him in more ways than one, and hefound himself hardening at the memory of her soft hungry lips.
    Somehow he would convince her that this was where she wished to be. He had to. Only then could he keep his promise to her and see the prophecy fulfilled. The question was how to go about convincing her. He knew he could not command her, for that was what she seemed most adamant about. Nay, his usual method of attacking problems head-on would not work with Elena. This would call for the subtlety of one of Ranald’s plans. Together the brothers would plot the rise of Clan MacLachlan by the wooing of a lass of Lamont.
     
    S ymon sat, staring into the fire, when a knock sounded at the door. Ranald entered with a tray. The smell of venison made Symon’s stomach rumble.
    Ranald set the tray on a stool before the hearth and filled a wooden goblet with spiced wine.
    “All is well?” Symon asked, waving away the wine in favor of the meat.
    “Aye. There was much muttering when you did not return to the hall, but the lass’s presence seemed enough of a diversion to keep them occupied.”
    “Good.”
    “You would really give this Lamont shelter?”
    Symon turned his attention away from the flames to his brother. “Aye, Auld Mor—”
    “I do not care what the auld witch said.”
    Symon scowled. “Then what is it you wish to know?”
    “Why.”
    Symon rose from his chair and moved closer to the heat of the fire. “You know why.”
    “You would put the clan in deeper danger only to cure yourself?”
    “I would never put the clan in danger if I did not believe it was for just cause. Ridding myself of this curse will let me lead this clan the way I intended; the way our father would have wished.”
    “Or it will bring the wrath of Lamont down upon us, and that of all their allies.”
    “Not if you find that information I need. If we know why Elena found it necessary to flee, we will have the bargaining chip we need to keep Lamonts from our borders and their allies in their own homes. There has to be some powerful reason they would hunt a healer such as Elena. Why is she not revered and honored by her clan? Surely this is the key to both keeping the Lamonts at bay and convincing Elena this is the place she must be.”
    “I have found nothing so far. Tomorrow I will ride out to see what information I can glean.”
    “You will go to Auld Morag, tell her what you seek. She will guide you.”
    “She will spout nonsense.”
    Symon considered his brother. “I do not like being in her presence any more than you do. However, I am still your chief, and, despite your mistrust, that auld woman has counseled this clan too long and too well not to ask her help in this matter. You will do as I say.”
    Ranald’s face was carefully neutral. “Very well. I will go to her at first light. I will do as she deems necessary. But then I will follow my own counsel. We shall see whois better suited to lead this clan, you and that auld witch—or me.”
    With effort, Symon forced himself to calm. He uncurled his fists, relaxed his shoulders, and purposely drained his goblet.
    Ranald glanced at Symon. “Her clan will want her back.”
    “They’ll not get her back. Morag saw her destiny. ’Tis here amongst MacLachlans.”
    Ranald looked at him for a long time, then nodded his head. “There is more to it than that, Symon. You ken it as well as I do.”
    “I ken there is more, but I cannot say what it is.”
    Ranald