DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

‘Not a chance,’ replied Brother Solstice. ‘Would you, if the situation was entirely reversed?’

The Long Laird shook his head sadly. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Entirely reversed? I think if I’d found Llysona in bed with my sister I’d have died of shock.’

‘To entirely reverse it she would have to have been in bed with your brother,’ said the druid, pedantically.

‘I know, I know. I was looking for a little levity. Damn, it’s not as if the sister was worth it. She promised much and delivered little. But I miss Llysona – and the babe, watching her grow.’

‘The babe is now seventeen and will probably wed next spring.’

‘You see what I mean?’ said the Long Laird. ‘The years are flying by like winter geese.’ The comfortable silence returned and they drank second cups of uisge. Then the Long Laird spoke again. ‘You think the Sea Wolves will raid in force in the spring?’

‘Impossible to say,’ admitted Brother Solstice. ‘There have been occasional raids these last few years. But none on our coast. What makes you think they might?’

‘Maybe they won’t. But we’ve been lucky for too long. I wish I had a son. There is no-one to follow me. No-one I trust, anyway.’

‘You trust Maccus. He is a good man.’

‘Aye, he is. But what little ambition he had died with his wife. As to the rest? Fiallach is lacking in wisdom, and he is not liked. The others are all petty rivals. If any one of them became laird you would see no end of petty grievances. Perhaps even civil disobedience. At worst there would be a war. Then, if the Sea Wolves came in real force, they might win. And that, my friend, is an intolerable thought.’

‘What will you do?’ asked Brother Solstice.

‘I’m not sure. I like the look – and the sound – of young Connavar. He has the makings of greatness. Bringing back the stallions was a fine idea. Given a few years we’ll have bigger, stronger, faster war mounts. But he’s young. If I had five years to train him . . .’

‘Give him some mission to perform. Then you can see how he handles himself.’

‘Mission?’ queried the Long Laird. ‘What kind of mission?’

‘Send him to Llysona at the coast.’

‘For what purpose?’

‘You think the Sea Wolves might attack. If they do they will sail up the estuary to Seven Willows. Therefore you send a warrior to organize possible defences, and to advise Llysona. Then we will see what diplomatic skills Connavar can muster.’

‘She already has Fiallach. He’s a hard and proud man. He’ll take no advice from a boy.’

‘Connavar is not a boy, my friend. He is a few months younger than you were when your father died. Besides, that is partly what makes it a mission. If Connavar cannot . . . make his presence felt, then he would not prove a good laird.’

‘How long have you been thinking about this, Druid?’

‘A little while,’ answered Brother Solstice, with a smile.

‘Since the Fire Night when he danced with my daughter? I may be old, but I still know how to listen. Maccus told me that Connavar forced Fiallach to back down. In front of a crowd. Theirs will not be an easy meeting in future.’

‘I think Tae took quite a fancy to the lad,’ observed the druid.

The Long Laird chuckled. ‘So now you are a matchmaker.’ His smile faded. ‘Has it occurred to you that Fiallach might challenge and kill him?’

‘Aye, or a tree may fall on him, or his horse throw him, or an illness strike him. You are looking for an heir. I believe Connavar may be that man. If he is then he will prove himself at Seven Willows.’

The Long Laird shook his head and gave a wry grin. ‘You know the Sea Wolves were the main reason Llysona chose Seven Willows. She knew I would worry. It must have annoyed her terribly when the Sea Wolves didn’t attack. Probably knew she was there. By Taranis, I’d rather face a hostile army than come again under the lash of that tongue.’

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