Chapter Nine #2
“Something that small could encourage cruelty?”
Laria shrugged, then pulled her arms out of the heat of the blanket to settle on top as if they lay together in a bedchamber.
“’Tis mostly physical imperfections that bring out the worst in Iain.
” She lifted her bare forearms so he could see the circular red-and-white scars.
“But his mother was still beautiful. She kept up her appearance, but when she fell, her ailments were clear. She was suddenly showing her age and infirmities.” She met his gaze.
“His anger toward her was quiet but obvious, so she stopped coming below and stayed in her rooms.”
“If she was tucked away from sight,” Cyrus said, “why would he send her away?” He sat up out of the blankets and glanced around for his tunic. Grabbing it, he threw it over his head.
“Sophie complained that her daughter-in-law didn’t feel welcome in her own hall, that she demanded Aunt Jane be allowed downstairs, even if we had to feed her until her hand healed.” Laria rubbed her mouth. “And then… There was a letter from Clan Mackinnon asking for a meeting to form an alliance.”
His fingers paused on the ties at the base of his throat. “My letter about Grace being a candidate for marriage?”
She sat up and twisted to grab her own tunic. The sight of her beautifully sculpted body stopped his whirling thoughts for a moment, but a boulder of angst sat heavily on his chest.
“Iain didn’t want his mother at Tuath Tower when your party came to negotiate, nor did he want her there for the wedding or the rest of her days, slowly declining.
” She shook her head and pulled her legs out of the nest they’d made, showing no embarrassment over her nakedness.
“Aunt Jane wasn’t even complaining about being tucked away.
She had Ginny, who I walked, and Grandmama would sit with her in her rooms, sewing and chatting about old stories. ”
Laria rolled onto her hip, pulling the breeches up over her sweet arse. Cyrus caught a glimpse of a small brown birthmark. “Then I noticed that Grandmama was having trouble remembering that the past was in the far past and not last week.”
“Had Iain mentioned the convent to yer aunt then?”
Laria stood, tying closed the flap on her breeches, hiding the mound he’d worshipped under the stars last night. “Yes, and Aunt Jane refused to discuss it. She wanted to stay at Tuath Tower with her family.”
Cyrus tethered his plaid around his waist. “So he…”
“Drugged her and led her away,” Laria finished when he trailed off. “To be murdered and buried on a moor away from her family.”
Cyrus heard Laria sniff, but her face was turned to the leaf litter as she jammed her small feet into hose and boots.
“I’ll discover what’s going on with him,” Cyrus murmured.
Laria’s face jerked up. “If you go back there, he’ll kill you. ’Tis what I was tasked to do. I failed, so he will try a different means.”
“Poison?”
“Possibly.”
Cyrus frowned. “My mother insisted that we bring our own cook with us from Dun Haakon.” After Rory MacLeod’s brother had been poisoned, Olive had met with the staff and stressed the need for vigilance at the Mackinnon castle.
“Warn your cook to use only fresh ingredients or those that are used in Iain’s food.” Laria stood before him. The risen sun shone against the gold strands in her brown hair. Her brows were high with warning, making her eyes seem even larger. There was no deceit in the greenish orbs.
“And Iain ordered ye to kill me.” He exhaled. Could the man be so conniving, so dangerous? Because Laria didn’t seem like she’d seduce him and try to kill him without a good reason.
She nodded.
Cyrus ran his hands from her shoulders down her arms, staring into her concerned eyes. He could lose himself in them, but he focused on her claim. “He took ye aside and looked ye in the face and said, ‘Kill Cyrus Mackinnon tonight and I’ll give ye shelter for the winter’?”
Laria frowned, breathing out through her delicate nose.
“Iain does nothing that can be tracked back to him. He wants everyone to think he’s a benevolent chief, protective and proud of his people.
His henchman, Jasper Whitt, told me to kill you.
In return, he said, Iain would let my people, including my grandmother, inhabit three cottages on the far edge of Staffin Village for the winter. ”
Cyrus’s gaze lifted over her head to the colorful leaves glittering with dew. Laria didn’t know for certain that Iain had ordered the slaying. Or ordered his own mother to be killed and buried on the moor. It could all be from this Jasper Whitt fellow.
“Iain just signed a peace treaty with me,” Cyrus said, looking back at her, “and married my sister. My father is still alive, so killing me doesn’t give him Dun Haakon through Grace.”
“Your older brother was killed,” Laria said, crossing her arms, which dislodged his hold on her. A mutinous frown tilted her lips downward.
“From a tainted sword slash he got during a raid with the Macdonalds. Kenan Macdonald’s war-loving father, Walter Macdonald, was the instigator.”
Laria blinked, her eyes widening. She leaned in, her fingers curling his tunic into her fist. “Iain Macqueen used to visit the Macdonalds, trying to join forces to destroy the clans in between them on Skye. He could have encouraged someone to add poison to the blade meant for your brother.” Her fingers went wide as she talked, arms out to her sides.
“Don’t you see, Cyrus? Iain’s been planning to take over all of Skye from the very beginning.
He’s a patient schemer, and except for not dying, you’re helping him succeed. ”