Chapter 12 #2
Marcus was clearly not happy. He kept huffing and shifting his weight, eating more and more food, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. Theo and Andrew both listened carefully, with Andrew occasionally asking questions.
After a moment, as Creighton had known he would, Marcus leaned forward and whispered loudly across the table, “Are we her personal stewards now?”
“We certainly are nae,” Creighton responded smoothly. “But ye are mine, and I am tellin’ ye to oblige her, Marcus.”
Marcus reddened. “We have a great deal to concern ourselves with, me Laird. We have peace treaties to manage. There are other clans who are nae pleased about this betrothal. They are nae happy that ye chose to ally yerself with the Brydens, and unhappier still that ye chose to wed an ordinary healer instead of one of their women. Do ye nae see how it could look?”
“I do,” he agreed, pouring another goblet of wine and taking a long, luxurious sip. “Do ye think that I can please everyone, Marcus?”
“Well, nay, but…”
“Do ye think I should strive to please everyone?”
“Nay, of course nae, that is impossible.”
“Well, then, what is it that ye want me to do? Other clans were nae keen to ally themselves with me. Clan Bryden, however, offered a plan that worked for both of us. I cannae help it if others are dissatisfied. Or perhaps it ye who are dissatisfied, Marcus. Are ye angry at me for nae takin’ yer advice and allying with a different clan? Do ye resent Nora’s presence here?”
Marcus had gone white. He glanced around the table, finding that others had gone silent. Dallas reached out and placed a warning hand on his forearm.
“Nay, me Laird,” Marcus managed at last, bewildered. “I daenae think that. How could ye imagine that I did? I am nae dissatisfied, and nor am I angry that ye did nae take me advice. I only wonder where it will end, her influence here.”
“Her influence will end when the Laird decrees it so,” Dallas said softly, patting Marcus reassuringly on the arm.
The other man pulled his arm away irritably, sitting back heavily. Anger and humiliation flickered across his face.
Creighton pressed his fingertips into the surface of the table, conscious of a stab of guilt. He should not snap so at Marcus.
“I did nae mean to imply that ye did nae have our interests at heart,” he said at last, making himself meet Marcus’ eyes. “But this is important to me.”
She is important to me.
The thought took him almost by surprise, a sharp realization that troubled him more than he cared to admit. She was important to him. Her missing sister was important.
That means nothin’. It only means that I want to right a wrong. If her sister was taken by MacColl men, then she must be returned. Justice must be delivered.
Before he could speak again, perhaps to deliver a more pointed apology to Marcus, Nora gave a wordless cry which made him flinch.
“What is it?” he demanded. “Are ye happy? Sad? Somethin’ in between?”
“Hopeful,” Nora breathed, eyes glowing. “Tell him what ye told me, Andrew.”
Andrew cleared his throat, leaning forward. “I was just sayin’ that I have met a woman who fits Lady Nora’s description before. She fits it so well, I think we have to talk to her, to investigate.”
“And is her name Margaret?” Creighton observed.
“I daenae ken, I did nae ask. I did nae speak to her much, but she… she looks the way Lady Nora describes. She is at the market, at a stall sellin’ fabrics.”
Creighton considered this, tapping his fingers on the countertop. “But we believed that she had been kidnapped. Did this woman seem under duress?”
Andrew frowned. “I did nae think of it at the time, and I cannae recall now. But if I am nae mistaken, she fits Lady Nora’s description perfectly.”
“And he is never mistaken,” Theo added. “He remembers everythin’.”
Andrew reddened at the praise, clearly pleased to have been useful.
“So, what now?” Nora breathed. Her face was aglow with excitement, and she could barely keep the smile from her face.
He wanted to wrap his arm around her and pull her close in a tight hug.
Of course, he did no such thing.
“Well, the market happens a few times a month,” Creighton observed, glancing over at Laurie.
Her broth was mostly gone. She would have to go to bed shortly after her medicine.
And the shortbread, of course. That could be brought up to her room later.
“It’s conducted in the courtyard, here. Folks come from all over the clan to show their wares, to buy and sell.
Next time it comes to the Keep, we’ll find this woman, and ye can question her. ”
“I willnae need to question her,” Nora laughed. “Nae if she really is me sister. Oh, I cannae believe that I might finally get Margaret back. Did she seem well when ye saw her, Andrew?”
Before Andrew could answer, Laurie dropped her spoon with a pointed clang.
“I have finished,” she announced, daring anybody to argue. “And I would like me shortbread now.”
“The nurse will bring them when ye get upstairs,” Creighton laughed. “Did ye hear our plan? We will be goin’ to the market soon. What do ye think of that?”
Laurie considered, staring down at her broth.
“I would like Nora and me to get matchin’ fabric, so we can wear the same dress,” she announced.
Nora chuckled, leaning forward to pat Laurie’s hand.
To do that, she had to press herself against Creighton, her shoulder against his, her arm inching into his space.
He could feel her warmth, smell the herbs almost as strongly as if she’d plaited them in her hair.
His heartbeat increased, battering against his chest, and arousal tugged at his gut.
Careful, he warned himself. Steady now.
“I think that is an excellent idea,” Nora assured her. “What do ye all think?”
There was a chorus of laughter and agreement. Creighton did not join in. Nora pulled back, away from him. She did not even look at him, but he did. He looked and looked as though he could not ever stop looking.