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not easily found.  “These battle losses are mine to bear.”  He admitted. 
“I call the men to fight.  They trust me.  But there have been too many
problems, too many things gone wrong.” 
    He
looked to the older man.  “Feargus, you fought with my father, you’ve raised
strong men who don’t shy from the fight.  Our families have been united for
generations.  There’s no other man in the highlands I would trust more than
you.”
    “The
MacBedes have always done their part.”
    “Aye,
more than their part.  You’ve offered good counsel.  So I am telling what I’ve
told no other.  I think we have a traitor in the clan.”
    “Impossible!” 
Feargus barked. “It’s the Gunns, that black hearted Angus Gunn.  You know, I
know, it’s him.”
    “Oh,
aye, the Gunns play a part.”  A traitor was unthinkable but not impossible. 
Clan loyalty was taught from the cradle, instilled in every highlander. Still
it was possible. 
    He
tried to explain. “There are those thrown out of the clans, the outlaws.” 
Feargus grunted acknowledgement as Talorc continued.  “Some still have family
inside our care.  Loyalties can be divided.”
    It
cleared his mind to finally speak of this.  “For the life of me, I can’t think
of who would turn against us.  There’s only one MacKay who has family with the
outlaws and there was no love lost when he was banned.”
    Soap
in hand he lathered his chest, his arms, drawn to the smell of it, pine and bay
with a touch of spice.  A fine odor for a man to wear.
    “Laird,”
Feargus argued, “you have it wrong.  We are not a people for turning on our
own.  And the Gunns have been there to fight when we go out.  They’d not fight
the renegade’s battles.”
    The
room quieted but for the crackle of the fire, the soft splash of water as Fiona
scrubbed her husband’s back.
    Feargus
broke into the silence.  “Your wife was a Gunn, rest her soul. I’ve heard they
think you murdered her.  Anger festers and grows.  Do you think that’s what
causing these problems?”
    “Aye,
they claimed I murdered her,” Talorc agreed, “but that was grief speaking and
too long ago to still be fighting over.”
     “She
died in childbirth.”  Fiona remembered.  “That’s no uncommon thing.”
    The
weary rustle of his breath shuddered through the room.  “She was a wee thing,
my Anabel.”  A petite lass who tended towards floral soap for man and woman
alike.  With her gone, the soap of his keep smelled of lye and fat.  A man
needed a wife for such things. 
     “If
I failed to get her with child, the union would have been for naught.  If I did
get her with child, well then, what happened could happen. I lost Anabel to the
birthing.  It was that desperate, we were, that we didn’t want to lose the babe
as well so I cut her open.”
    “That’s
not so strange.  We’ve done the same.”  Fiona encouraged.
    “The
Gunns claimed I tried to take it from the mother while she was fit and fine and
waiting for the pains.  But I don’t believe that’s the thorn that’s causing our
problems.  I think we have a canker of another sort.  I just can’t fathom what
it is.”
              Both men sat, frowning
as they held their own counsel. Fiona moved over to Talorc, eased him forward to
wash his back, “Your late wife, Anabel, did you love her?”  She asked, as she’d
lulled him to peace.
    “Loved
her?”  Talorc scowled.
    Feargus
sputtered and barked.  “Don’t be ridiculous woman, everyone knows The MacKay
married for his clan, not for foolish notions of love.”
    “No,”
Talorc argued, “women wish to know these things, although in truth, I don’t
know.” He admitted, adding, “Holding my wife was like embracing a delicate
flower.  Your heart swells with the beauty, but you fear you’ll bruise it. 
No,” he shook his head against the memory.  “It would take a stronger lass to
win my heart, I’m thinking, one who could meet me on