Rivals for the Crown - Softcover

September 1290

Loch Gannon, Scotland

Margaret MacDonald MacMagnus lifted her head and let the wind blow through her hair while she caught her breath. Even after all these years, she still climbed to the top of this headland to wait for her man to come home. Two ships today, and neither of them his, but there were still hours of daylight left. She was not worried, for Gannon MacMagnus was a man to trust. He'd said he'd be home this day, and home he would be.

She'd missed him. Wasn't that absurd, to live with a man for nigh on thirty years, then miss him terribly when he'd only been gone a few days? He'd not gone anywhere unusual or dangerous, only to Skye to visit her brother Davey, then down to Ayrshire to visit their oldest son, Magnus, who lived on the lands the king had granted to Gannon so many years ago.

And there it was, the sail she'd expected and had hoped to see. Gannon's ship was approaching rapidly from the south, its rail almost under water, its white sail mirroring the foam at its bow as the black hull sliced through the dark blue water. But it was not alone on the sea, for there, in the north, was a second sail, one that made her draw her breath in sharply. A dragon ship. A longship, of Viking design, its wide beam and shallow hull bringing back a flood of unwelcome memories. Dark storm clouds billowed behind it, putting the square sail, red with yellow stripes, into high relief. She clasped her arms and ignored the chill that swept through her, reminding herself that it was not a warship -- those days were over forever. It would be a messenger from the north, nothing more. Still...She looked south, where Gannon's ship was nearing the entrance to the sea loch, and was comforted. Whatever the news the dragon ship brought, she and Gannon would face it together, as they had everything else life had brought them.

She turned to start down the slope, then took a moment to look over the glen that was her home, where she and Gannon had built a life together, binding the remnants of her family and clan into a thriving community. The sea loch was now known as Loch Gannon, which never failed to amuse her husband. But the honor was appropriate, for without him, none of them would be here. Across the usually placid waters, ruffled now by the wind, the mountains rose to the north and the east, protecting them from the world beyond. Below her the fortress grew out of the rocky promontory on which it rested, and to which she now hurried, hearing the horns sounding twice, first with the familiar notes that let all below know that the laird of the glen was coming home, then again, with the message that a ship was approaching and that it was not one of their own. Gannon had the men of the clan well trained, and her staff would know to prepare a meal to welcome him and his men home. But she would greet him -- and the visitors -- herself.

Rory, her younger son, tall, strong, and ready for the world, met her on the path to the postern gate, his blond hair catching the light, the same pale shade as his father's. He was so like his father. He had Gannon's chin, Gannon's blue eyes, his wide shoulders. And his impatience.

"Mother! Do ye ken who it is? Da and who else?"

She shook her head, not wanting to betray how breathless her headlong dash had made her. She often forgot that she was no longer young, but her body never did. "Aye, yer father's coming. But the other is a dragon ship."

Rory's eyebrows drew together, just as his father's always did when he turned thoughtful. "From Orkney? Perhaps with news of the queen's progress?"

Margaret's mood lifted at once. Margaret, Maid of Norway, only seven years old, was on her way to accept the throne of Scotland that she had held since she was three. "Of course. That's what it is. Drason did say he'd let us ken when she stopped in Orkney on her way to London. I'll just -- "

"Go to meet Da," Rory finished with a laugh. "As if ye dinna always do that?"

"And someday, my lad, if ye are as fortunate as yer father, yer own wife will do the same."

"Ye'll have to teach her to adore me, as ye do Da."

"Adore! He's been spreading rumors again, has he?"

She laughed with him and led the way into the fortress that Gannon had built to keep them all safe. Wooden walls at first, replaced over the years with thick stone walls, filled with rubble to withstand siege machines. And unable to be burnt to the ground, as both Inverstrath and Somerstrath had been. But she would not remember that now, any of it. Those memories belonged to a time past, when she and her sister Nell and young Davey had faced horrors no one should have to endure. When Gannon had entered her life and changed it forever.

She'd been Gannon MacMagnus's wife for twenty-seven years, had borne five children and seen two live to be grown men. Magnus, already married, was learning how to manage lands and people. And Rory was young, but Rory would do well, for Rory excelled at everything he attempted. All he needed -- eventually -- was a home of his own, and a woman to love and, yes, to adore him, for he deserved it. But that would come in time.

Gannon's Lady sailed into Loch Gannon under full sail, her husband at the helm. Margaret stood, as she always did, at the end of the dock, waiting for him, Rory at her side. The sky was darkening and the wind rising, bringing the smell of the storm with it. This one would be more than simple showers, for already the mountaintops across the loch were obscured, and the seabirds were flying inland, seeking shelter. The autumnal equinox often brought fierce storms, and this one, coming nine days later, looked to be no exception. Rory's hair was whipping around his head, and he brushed it back with a gesture that was so like his father's that she smiled.

And then Gannon himself was calling to her, his tall form alive with movement. As always, she saw nothing else. He wore the clothes of a Scotsman, plaided trews, knit leggings, and a saffron overtunic. He'd abandoned his Irish clothing long ago. Sometimes she herself forgot that he was of Ireland and not a native of the western shore of Scotland that had always been her home. But the painted carvings along the railing of his ship, Celtic symbols and Norse runes painted gold against the black of the rail, reminded her that he was her gift from the sea, Ireland's loss and Scotland's gain.

She waved in return, her smile wide. Her man was home and all was well...for a moment at least, for there, rounding the last turn through the barren entrance that hid Loch Gannon from the world, came the dragon ship. She recognized it as Drason's at once. The Orkneyman had been their friend since their fateful meeting that long-ago summer of 1263. Their friendship had begun strangely. They'd been enemies who quickly discovered that they were united in their hatred of Nor Thorkelson, Drason's uncle and the man who had murdered her family. They'd joined forces and had finally defeated Nor in a mighty battle on the Isle of Skye that was still talked about all over Scotland. Drason waved, but not with his customary exuberance, and her heart lurched. Whatever news he brought was not good. She was certain it did not concern Magnus, or her brother Davey and his family, for Gannon had just come from them. And surely not Nell, who was in Stirling to greet the child queen, nowhere near the Orkneys nor the sea.

But something had happened.

"Lass," Gannon called, as his ship neared the dock. "Ye do see Drason, aye? Send word to bar the door to the wine cellar. He'll drink us out of house and home."

She smiled, but saw Gannon's eyes narrow as he looked at the dragon ship and knew he saw the same tension in Drason's stance, that she did. Drason was wearing leather armor and a leather helmet that hid his blond hair. Not the garb of a man simply visiting friends, but what a prudent man might wear in uncertain times. She kept her silence, waiting while the clansmen caught the ropes and secured Gannon's Lady. She wrapped her arms around Gannon when he caught her in his embrace and kissed her for all the clan to see, his ardor never failing to please her.

He smiled down at her. "I missed ye, Margaret. How are ye?"

"Wonderful now that ye're here," she said.

She laid her hand along his cheek and kissed him again. He was no longer young, this splendid man of hers. There were lines around his sea blue eyes and gray at his temples now, but he still moved quickly and his back was still straight. He was still the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and she was the most fortunate of women to love this fierce warrior and have him love her in return. She smiled again as Gannon embraced Rory, clapping the boy on his shoulder.

"Tell me it's ye growing and not me shrinking," Gannon said to his son.

"It's me growing, Da," Rory said, and they both laughed.

"All is well here, love," she said. "It's good to have ye home. How is everyone?"

"Well. Everyone's well," Gannon said. "Magnus is learning how to run his own home, and Jocelyn is the same as she always is."

Which meant, Margaret thought, that their daughter-in-law, difficult at best, was as prickly and spoiled as ever. Magnus was a good man, but serious and cautious, and Margaret had hoped he would marry a woman with laughter in her soul, rather than a woman like Jocelyn. Still, she pleased Magnus, and what else could a mother want for her son?

"Yer brother sends his love," Gannon told her. "His pile of rocks is beginning to look like a castle instead of a rubble heap. It'll be a good fortress when it's finished. Davey wants ye to come and see it soon. Everyone there is fine." He looked at Drason's ship and his tone deepened. "We'll see what news he brings. Ye've heard nothing?"

Margaret shook her head. "No. Rory thinks it must be about the queen's journey from Norway. She was to stop in the Orkneys."

Gannon wrapped an arm around her. "That must be it."

"Drason himself," Rory said. "Must be important."

"W...