Chapter Eleven
‘Where are you going?’
A child’s voice chimed behind Rory as he stormed out of the almost-empty castle. A few of his men had been at the end of the hallway. Enough to give privacy and security. With so much unsettled, he ordered them to stay.
‘You’re him, are you not? You’re the one everyone’s talking about.’ Another voice. Just as young, just as avoidable.
‘Of course it’s him. We’ve seen everyone else.’ Two childish voices, girls, moving in close behind him. Their words beginning to register, though he continued to ignore them. Where was Ailsa’s father? The keep was small, the rooms mostly empty except for those cleaning from the night before.
Paiden and Hamish were both sleeping beyond that of normal rest. Was it a coincidence? Ailsa didn’t seem surprised that Hamish was sleeping, but she did seem concerned. Hamish could merely be suffering from his illness...or he could be suffering from the same poison as Paiden.
‘We haven’t been allowed to see everyone. He could be anyone.’
‘You know that’s him. We saw him yesterday with Ailsa.’
‘From a distance.’
Louder, a hint of that tone and pitch only children arguing could hit. He’d walked away from the keep, around a corner, and they were still there. He wouldn’t find Frederick at this rate. Stopping abruptly, he turned.
Only to be almost ploughed into by two girls with longer limbs than bodies.
The one on his right immediately straightened and brushed her skirts, the other pointed her finger at him and announced, ‘You’re him!’
Eyes with more brown than green. Hair with more orange than darkening sunsets. But there was no mistaking them for anyone other than Ailsa’s identical sisters.
‘I’m him.’
The one who pointed hit her sister in the chest.
The one who straightened her gown merely jutted her chin and raised her brow. ‘Ailsa’s not out here.’
Rory blinked. These girls were mirrors of each other and they equally shared their older sister’s blunt speech, but their mannerisms were very different.
He’d been trained as a warrior, a man to follow his father into battle, a man to lead. His first reaction to such directness was to immediately answer. A habit he would break. He was married to a McCrieff and McCrieffs didn’t seem to obey the same niceties.
‘And you are?’ he enquired instead.
The stiff-backed one sighed as if put out, the one who pointed her finger sniggered. ‘It won’t matter because you won’t know.’
‘So you are impolite?’ he said.
One blushed, the other did not. ‘It’s not as if you told us who you are.’
‘True, but being clever you already guessed. So my guess is that you are my wife’s sisters who were ordered to stay away from me.’
Now both blushed.
At least when it came to these McCrieffs he could retain some control. ‘So, if you want to keep in my good graces, or if you wish me to keep secrets, the least I can acquire are names.’
Silence from them both. If they stood out here much longer, they’d be discovered and any secrets they wanted to hide would be lost. Of course, maybe they wanted to be discovered in his presence.
Though he didn’t know why their identity was being kept from him.
Was it simply him being a Lochmore or something else?
A slight shuffling of feet, an elbow in the ribs, and the fussy one sighed. ‘We’re Gormlaith and Grizel.’
Ah, so that’s how it was to be played. With a nod towards the more violent one, he said, ‘Well, good hunting day to you, Grizel.’ When she gasped, Rory nodded his head to her sister, who straightened her spine. ‘And a pleasant day for you, Gormlaith.’
‘Who told you?’ Grizel said in equal parts awe and cross.
Rory shrugged. ‘Just as you’ve been kept away from me, I’ve been kept away from you.’
‘Then you guessed?’ Gormlaith said with an imperial brow raised.
‘That’s for you to find out, isn’t it?’ he said, turning away. He was intrigued by the two sisters. Very much so, and in the brief time since he met them, he envied their sibling rivalry. He’d found that kind of comraderie with Paiden, which was why he wasn’t about to lose him.
‘What if it isn’t for us to find out?’
Rory turned back to face the two girls who hadn’t moved. How old could they be? They were so much younger than their sister and it begged questions. He had so many already.
‘You were meant to stay away from me—what will happen if we’re caught?’
Grizel gave a grin. ‘Nothing. Father told us to.’
Gormlaith scoffed. ‘Grizel! He shouldn’t know!’
Yet he did know. Ailsa almost confirmed it.
‘Why not?’ Grizel said. ‘It’s not as if it hasn’t been amusing.’
‘Amusing,’ Rory repeated. ‘Since you both stayed away so well, I thought it was Hamish who ordered it.’
Both girls paled. Grizel managed to shake her head, but Gormlaith looked ready to faint.
The girls’ response only confirmed what he needed to do. ‘Amusing or not, I’ll make my way so we don’t get caught...’ He gave the girls a wink before he turned to leave, but the uneasiness prevailed.
There was much wrong in Clan McCrieff and Hamish, though bedridden, was still ruling or at least people were obeying because they feared him. It wasn’t unusual for chiefs to rule when sick, but Hamish was truly ill if not dying while Frederick commanded the clan and sat at the high table.
But that simply revealed the difficulty he found himself in.
Was he to believe Hamish, who couldn’t wake, or Frederick, whom he couldn’t find, when it came to King Edward’s decree being honoured?
If Hamish still ruled, then why did he feel that Frederick wasn’t ruling according to the Chief’s wishes?
There was much to support this. The girls’ paling, Frederick’s proposal and then his guarding the door of the small room.
Too many questions and too much at stake, and he’d married into this. Whatever this was. It could be a folly or he could bring great fortune to Lochmores.
To Lochmores. Could he say that any more?
He’d married a McCrieff. The Tanist’s daughter.
He shared a night in her bed. Folly or not.
Marriage consummated or not. The curiosity and intrigue he felt with Ailsa only increased with desire and need.
Something he either needed to end now or be completed. But first, he would talk to her father.
In the end, it wasn’t Rory who found Frederick, but rather the old warrior who found him.
Hours had passed, Rory was hungry, worried for Paiden and restless with an understanding that he been too long without Ailsa.
At first, he’d wandered, believing he’d find Frederick naturally, but as the sun continued to rise, he asked his whereabouts.
From some, he was given different directions from others, a narrowed gaze or a tightened jaw.
He suspected this, too, had something to do with the clan differences, but what he didn’t know.
More seething frustration until he turned another corner. ‘Ah, there you are!’ Boomed Frederick as he emerged from a nondescript hut. It was neither in ill repair nor in a fine state. It also did not look like a home or a building to hold wares.
It was, however, the perfect location if a Tanist needed privacy from a dying chief, or from a new son-in-law who was from an enemy clan.
Rory waited for Frederick to walk closer. ‘Yes, here I am,’ he said, as if Frederick was truly looking for him. A lie and they both knew it. He continued the ruse for other ears by saying, ‘I apologise for not being where we agreed. I don’t know my way around yet.’
Frederick’s brow rose, a tiny gleam of relief and wariness in his eyes as he nodded. ‘The mews are not as large, I’m sure, as Lochmore’s, but they are very fine indeed. I’ll show you the way and next time, you’ll not be so lost.’
The mews. He didn’t care for birds. They were useful for small game, but too unpredictable for him to find any fascination with.
He lived with enough uncertainty in his life, he didn’t need to add any more to it.
Birds frustrated him, as did Frederick’s discussion of them.
Rory wanted to confront the spies that kept their eyes and ears on them, not talk of birds.
He was at a disadvantage with too many unpredictable perils surrounding him. Too many dangers and Paiden had been the one to pay. Even now his friend could be drawing his last breath and he was out here being followed by two children and a man who had answers, but didn’t share them.
‘We need to talk,’ he said.
‘Your man still lives?’
Rory nodded. ‘Or we wouldn’t be talking.’
Frederick’s lips thinned, but he gave a curt nod. ‘How fares my daughter?’
‘Why do you ask me of her?’
Frederick’s gaze pierced his. ‘It was her marriage night.’
Ah. Tanist. Father. ‘You have many roles here.’
‘Not as many as some.’
Rory suspected he had more. ‘You should ask her how it went if you truly want to know.’
A flush upon his wrinkled cheeks. ‘Probably not.’
They kept their pace slow, steady, allowing many to see them. Villagers, some he recognised from earlier, greeted them. Most went about their day, but many stopped and simply watched. Rory resented their gawking, but not as much as he resented being manipulated.
He might not have had a sword to the back of his neck since he arrived, but he felt it all the same. Still, it had been his decision to marry Ailsa. There was much to gain here, but only if he did it on his terms, not the McCrieffs’ and certainly not Frederick’s.
‘Is there a reason you avoid your daughter this morning?’
A frown. ‘I did not avoid her.’
‘Then it is I whom you didn’t want to see.’
An abrupt stop as Frederick pointed. ‘Here we are.’
Rory gazed at the simple, tall building that he’d walked past many times today.
‘You don’t want to go in,’ Frederick said.
Mews smelled, feathers flew and, if the birds inside were loose, he’d have waste splattered on him. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
Smiling, he pushed the door and walked in and Frederick quickly closed it after them.
The building was large, the bird collection...not so much. Three hunting birds at most. Not enough to foul the air or his clothing.