Chapter 5
Nora had expected a knock on her door the following morning. It came barely an hour after sunup. She inched open the door, and there stood two wary-looking MacColl soldiers.
“Lady Nora,” said the older-looking one, who appeared to be somewhere in his late twenties. “Me name is Theodore. Theodore Matheson. Ye can call me Theo, if ye like. I’ve been tasked to bring ye to breakfast today.”
There was a sullen edge in his voice, a subtle hint that he might not be eager to escort a woman to the feasting hall.
Nora guessed that his family had not always lived in Scotland, judging by a faint olive tint to his skin, jet-black hair, and a pair of heavy green-gray eyes.
He crossed his muscular arms over his chest and sighed.
“Are ye ready to go, then?”
She cleared her throat, nodding tightly. “Aye, I’m ready.”
Today’s dress was a rough blue woolen one, less grubby than the green one but with some visible darning around the hem. She hoped that nobody would notice. Laurie probably would.
“Ye must be hungry and tired after yer long trip,” the second soldier said. When she looked at him, his eyes shifted away from hers, as if afraid to meet her gaze.
“I am tired,” she confessed. “I slept poorly, and it’s strange to be in an unfamiliar bed. But I cannae complain of hunger. Laird MacColl sent me food last night, and plenty of it,” she said herself, flushing.
“This is Andrew,” Theo explained, waving at the younger man. “Guardin’ ye is an important job, and the Laird chose us personally. That means that ye can trust us.”
Nora bit back a retort. Just because Creighton trusted these men did not mean that she should.
As if he read her thoughts, Theo gave a tight smile, taking a step toward us.
“But it does nae necessarily mean that we will trust ye. There’s been talk that ye asked about guards and the changin’ of the sentries.”
Nora cursed herself for her carelessness. “It was just a question.”
“Is it?” Theo murmured, narrowing his eyes. “I suppose we’ll see. Follow us; breakfast has already begun.”
He and Andrew walked together in step, leaving Nora to hurry after them.
Andrew gave her a quick, nervous glance over his shoulder.
She guessed he wasn’t older than two-and-twenty, with blond hair and blue eyes that made him look a bit younger than he was.
As before, when their eyes met, he quickly looked away, clutching a small, tarnished cross hanging around his neck.
Is he…afraid of me?
If so, why?
Ahead of her, Andrew and Theo began to murmur in low voices.
Andrew began to say something, perhaps a name, and Theo urgently hushed him, shooting a none-too-subtle glare over his shoulder at Nora.
Reddening, Andrew cleared his throat and started again, this time substituting the name for a code word.
“...and so the Wild Oak told us that drills would begin in the morning. We’re to start with…”
She laughed, turning it into a cough at the last minute.
How ridiculous, grown men, soldiers, actin’ as though I’m goin’ to learn all their secrets.
Theo and Andrew stopped dead, eyeing her narrowly.
“Sorry about that,” Nora said innocently, patting her throat. “Wee bit of dust in me throat, that’s all.”
Andrew reddened further, if that was possible. The man was beet-red to his hairline, now. Theo only scowled.
“Just a little further,” he said at last, tossing his head.
Sure enough, the next doorway opened up to a long, thin room, dominated by a rough wooden table. Only a small section of the table was set for a meal, with a handful of people gathered around it, talking in low voices. A few she recognized.
There was Creighton, of course, not eating, lounging at the head of the table, and staring at nothing in particular. Laurie sat on his right, a handful of cushions wedged under her bottom to push her up to reach the table.
The chair on Creighton’s left-hand side was not reserved for Nora, as she’d half-expected. A man of about fifty sat there, with graying black hair and the same olive skin and heavy green-gray eyes as Theo.
“Me father,” Theo explained, his earlier animosity seeming to vanish. “Marcus Matheson. He has the Laird’s ear.”
Was that a boast or a threat? Nora eyed the man, trying to work it out.
“Ye must be proud of him,” she heard herself say. Glancing at Andrew—his gaze slid away—she lifted her eyebrows. “The other man at the table, is that yer father, too?”
“We’re nae quite as nepotistic as all that,” came a voice from the table. They had gotten progressively closer as she spoke to Theo, close enough to be heard, apparently.
“Me name is Dallas Anderson,” the man said, rising to his feet. “Like Marcus here, I am one of the Laird’s councilors. Come, Lady Nora, join us. We’re glad to have ye here. Today is the first day of a great peace between our clans, or so we hope.”
He indicated a spare chair beside him.
Creighton said nothing. He gave no indication at all that he even knew she was there.
When she looked up, however, his eyes were fixed on her, dark and a little heavy.
There was a line between his brows, very faint but still visible.
His fingers tapped on the tabletop, over and over again in a mad rhythm, faster and faster.
Dallas’ eyes jumped toward Creighton’s drumming fingers with obvious disapproval, but he said nothing. Perhaps he didn’t dare.
Once Nora was settled into her seat, the others resumed their conversation. The meal, it seemed, was nearly over. Had Theo and Andrew come late to fetch her?
She helped herself to a piece of cold chicken and a few radishes, but for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t ravenously hungry.
Back at Bryden Keep, food was still rationed.
Things had improved since Evander became laird, but not enough that starvation was a distant memory.
Meals were carefully portioned out, and nobody ate lunch.
They had breakfast, and as hearty a dinner as they could get, and that was it.
Last night, however, Creighton had sent an eye-watering amount of food to Nora’s room. Chicken, cold pork, potatoes baked in their skins, vegetables and fruits of all descriptions, sweet meats, stew, more and more and more.
The dishes kept coming, and Nora could barely take more than a couple of bites from each dish. The maid had assured her, with an odd look, that the food wouldn’t be wasted when it was taken away, barely touched.
Nora could almost still taste the heavy meal, or at least feel it in the pit of her stomach. She took a bite out of a radish and considered eating the chicken.
Movement caught her eye. Theo rounded the head of the table, leaning down to whisper in Creighton’s ear.
“We have reports on the last few attacks, me Laird,” he murmured. “Some of the more… notable ones. I collected lists of hostages taken, eyewitness accounts, and so on. Do ye want to review them now?”
“Later,” Creighton responded. “Take the reports to me room, nae my study. It’s safer there. I’ll read them later, and we’ll discuss yer findings.”
Theo nodded. “Aye, me Laird.”
Straightening up, he caught Andrew’s eye. For the first time, Nora saw a sheaf of paper, neatly tied up with a strip of string, tucked under the man’s arm.
Reports. Reports on attacks. Is there any information on Margaret?
That seemed likely. After all, he’d mentioned a list of hostages. It was a long shot, but it was something.
A clue, and only on me second day here, Nora thought, heart thumping.
Andrew and Theo disappeared, deep in conversation. With a jolt, she realized that they were taking the reports to Creighton’s room now.
When they return, I’ll excuse meself. I’ll go to his room and see what I can find in those reports.
That was tricky, of course, but searching for information in this place was never going to be easy.
Clearing her throat, Nora glanced around, surreptitiously eyeing the faces of the others.
She half-expected to find Creighton staring accusingly at her.
The man’s stare was direct enough to read a person’s thoughts.
But no, he was staring into space instead, brows knitted, lost in some unpleasant thought of his own.
Beside him, Marcus and Dallas were deep in conversation. Dallas had his back to Nora and appeared to have forgotten about her existence entirely.
Laurie was simply eating her breakfast, swinging her legs, and humming to herself.
Footsteps echoed down the hall, and she heard Theo’s voice. They were back, then. Clearing her throat, Nora carefully pushed back her seat.
“I’m sorry to leave the table so soon,” she announced, as casually as she could. “But I’m feelin’ a wee bit ill. Do excuse me.”
Creighton grunt in response, not looking up. Dallas said something polite. Marcus said nothing at all. It was the closest thing to permission she was going to get, not that she had any intention of waiting for permission.
Clearing her throat again, Nora got to her feet, sweeping out of the feasting hall with as much calmness and dignity as she could manage.
“Nay need to show me the way, lads,” she said grandly, as she passed Theo and Andrew. “I ken where I am goin’.”
They didn’t argue, and in a handful of steps, she had turned a corner and was out of sight of them all. Allowing herself a quick exhale of relief, Nora lifted her skirts and scuttled on down the hallway.
She did remember the way back to her room, but then came the business of sneaking into Creighton’s room.
Since their chambers were interlocked, there was no need to guess which door was his.
She curled her fingers around the brass handle—still warm, probably from Theo or Andrew’s hands—and steeled herself.
Here goes nothin’.
“What are ye doin’?”
With a squeak of alarm, Nora whipped back her hand, spinning around.
Laurie stood there, eyeing her with mild interest.
“I was just… going to me room,” Nora gasped.
Laurie blinked. “That’s nae yer room. That’s Creighton’s room.”