Chapter Ten
“I hate to hear you talk about all women as if they were fine ladies instead of rational creatures. None of us want to be in calm waters all our lives.”
“My cousin Laria is mad,” Iain Macqueen said and looked over the rim of his wine goblet at Cyrus. “I fear she has tricked ye, Brother.”
Iain had greeted him with the title “brother” as soon as Cyrus returned the previous afternoon.
Rory MacLeod, Kenan Macdonald, and Asher MacNicol were Cyrus’s blood brothers, having survived their time together at Carlisle Dungeon.
Iain Macqueen hadn’t suffered with him, nor had he been born to his mother.
Cyrus clenched his teeth to keep himself civil.
Iain continued. “My mother is alive and happily praying in Edinburgh. Despite her weakness as a mother, she is quite strong in her faith.” It had taken Cyrus a full night to gain an audience with the young Macqueen chief, catching him while he broke his fast in the Great Hall that morn.
Iain flipped his long fingers toward the steps.
“I have a letter from her in my study explaining why she didn’t wish to return for my wedding.
” He shook his head. “I don’t see Jasper taking the time to write false letters in her place to hide some sort of treacherous murder.
” He laughed. “I don’t even think the man can read. ”
“But ye can write,” Cyrus said.
“Cy,” Grace started, her frown as fierce as when they’d bickered as children. He could expect vicious pinches from her if he got within reach.
“’Tis well, my love,” Iain said, settling his hand over Grace’s on the table.
“Yer brother merely wants to make certain ye are well cared for here at Tuath Tower.” He turned his bright eyes on Cyrus.
“I promise ye that I will protect and cherish yer sister. She is exceedingly safe here, as are ye and all yer kin.” He nodded to their mother down the table and turned back to his meal of venison pie, warm bread, and candied lemon peels.
Cyrus let Iain take a full bite before his next question. “Did ye know our brother, Patrick?”
Iain froze for the slightest moment, his eyes opening a bit wider, but then he continued to chew slowly and finally swallow.
“Nay. I never had the pleasure. I hear he was groomed to be the next chief of the Mackinnons of Dun Haakon after yer father.” He spooned another bite of pie.
“Luckily, he has a second son who survived England’s mistreatment. ”
“Cy’s unfair incarceration can make him suspect innocent people of wrongdoing,” Grace said, glaring at Cyrus.
“How did ye manage to escape King Henry’s clutches?” Iain asked, efficiently re-directing the conversation.
Cyrus weighed Iain’s every smile, twitch, and pause. “I was helped by three other forgotten sons.”
“You weren’t forgotten,” his mother said. “We were trying to figure out a way to pay your ransom without Queen Mary’s regent marking us as traitors for aiding King Henry.”
He didn’t look at his mother. ’Twas an old argument that wouldn’t end without her admitting that they didn’t send down a single thing to aid him after he’d traded places with Patrick in prison after Solway Moss. No food, clothing, or blankets, nor coin to bribe the guards for cups of water.
“Four blankets were sent to us on Beltane,” Cyrus said without looking at his mother. “From an anonymous benefactor. We used the tools sewn into the hems to escape together.”
“How exciting,” Iain said, like he was envisioning an act on the stage.
“Our stomachs were empty, our clothes torn and grimy, our backs still healing from English brutality,” Cyrus said as he stared back. “The only exciting part of the ordeal was getting to break the necks of several English guards.”
“Cyrus Mackinnon,” his mother said. “Don’t be rude.”
“’Tis not rude. ’Tis the truth.” He kept his gaze on Iain. “I would like to speak with yer man, Jasper Whitt.”
Iain’s smile faltered slightly. “He is not at Tuath presently.” The man was probably hunting for Laria and her people. Cyrus had taken a circular route back the day before, leaving as few marks as possible to hide his tracks.
“I would speak to him as soon as he returns.”
Iain shrugged. “Ye’re welcome to question the man.” He pointed his eating knife at Cyrus. “And I would believe anything he says over Laria. The man is loyal to my family. He’d never murder a woman, especially my mother.”
Rory walked in from the bailey, Sara on his arm. “We will be leaving soon to return to Dunvegan.” He nodded to Cyrus. “Since it seems ye are safe from unwanted nighttime guests.”
“You had a nighttime guest?” Grace asked.
Iain stood. “He thought he heard someone trying to enter his bedchamber through the hidden passage,” he lied easily. “Thought it might be my cousin, since the bedchamber had been hers at one time.”
Cyrus’s mother, Olive, raised her fingers to her mouth, her eyes wide. “A madwoman with access to this tower?”
“Do not worry, gentlewoman. I’ve barred the escape routes from the inside. And my cousin wouldn’t dare try to enter Tuath Tower. She’s trying to hide from me and has a talent for disappearing. Jasper hasn’t been able to locate her and her band of chicken thieves.”
“And yer own grandmother,” Cyrus said.
Iain nodded, frowning. “My poor grandmother. ’Tis really why I have Jasper searching. The others can live out there on their own, but my elderly grandmother should be allowed to come back to her home to live out her days in comfort.”
“Ye aren’t planning to send her to the convent, too?” Rory asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.
A look of annoyance tightened Iain’s face. “Not that ’tis MacLeod business where my grandmother takes refuge, but aye, if Sophie Macqueen wishes to join her daughter in comfortable prayer, I will have her escorted safely there.”
Iain’s head tilted like that of a dog picking up a far-off sound. “The fact that ye both know about Laria’s lies leads me to think that ye found her yesterday.” His gaze centered on Cyrus. “That perhaps ye even remained with her and her band of thieves overnight.”
Grace stood, fluffing out her petticoat. “If Cy encountered yer cousin, he would have brought her in to face the consequences of her thievery. He’s always abhorred injustice.”
His sister had already decided that her new husband was without flaws, so she’d dismissed Laria’s accusations immediately. Perhaps it was best for Grace to be ignorant and biased toward Iain until Cyrus could figure out the truth. If she were belligerent, she might incite her new husband’s anger.
Silence sat heavily in the Great Hall for a moment, and then Sara whisked over to Grace. She already had her cape and head shawl in place. “Many well wishes to you, Lady Grace,” Sara said and gave her a shallow hug. “Please write so we can stay current on the happenings around Skye.”
“Oh yes,” Grace said, glancing down toward Sara’s extending middle. “And let us know as soon as your son is born.”
“Or daughter,” Sara said with a smile.
“Of course,” Grace added and turned to her own mother. “Mother was pleased when I came along. A lass is easier to control.”
Unless she was Laria Macqueen or Sara MacLeod or Tierney Macdonald or Morag Gunn. Cyrus didn’t know where his sister had got the idea that lasses were easier. She certainly wasn’t easy to control.
Cyrus saw Iain’s face tighten. Would he consider the birth of a daughter a blemish on his sister? King Henry certainly had with his second queen.
Rory came up to Cyrus. “I’d stay with ye if Sara wasn’t with child.”
“Stay?” Iain said with a broad smile and raised brows.
He turned to Cyrus. “How long are ye and yer mother planning to remain at Tuath Tower? The wedding celebration is past, and yer sister and I need our privacy.” He winked at Grace, making her giggle.
Bloody hell, his sister never giggled. Did she love Iain? Normally, that would be a grand thing.
Cyrus had seen love between spouses, and it made them strong as they faced the world together. Rory and Sara were a great example. But it wasn’t expected in marriage, especially when the union was critical in forming an alliance.
Cyrus met Iain’s smile with a frown. “Since being tied—” He stopped himself before admitting in front of his mother that he’d been drugged and tied to a bed after having an exceptionally carnal night with a strange woman.
“Since being tied by my curiosity about the thieves here and yer grandmother’s plight, I will remain for now.
” He kept Iain’s gaze, daring him to issue an eviction.
“My mother can travel home with Rory and Sara, and then my man Bartholomew can retrieve her from Dunvegan.” He would feel better if she were out of harm’s way—and he would breathe better without her constant reminders that he needed to act more like Patrick.
“Oh my,” Olive Mackinnon said, rising. “I have nothing packed.”
Sara, being the kind of woman to comfort, smiled and glanced at Rory. “We can stay another night at Tuath, can’t we? So Lady Olive doesn’t have to leave without her belongings?”
“Of course,” Rory said, looking between Iain and Cyrus. He was curious, too, after Cyrus had filled him in on what he’d learned from Laria and her people.
Sara walked over to Olive and looped her arm through hers. “Grace and I can help you gather everything.” The three women walked out of the room to the stairs down the corridor.
Rory crossed his arms. “I can help locate Jasper Whitt.”
“What I need is help locating Laria and rescuing my grandmother,” Iain said. With Grace out of the room, Iain had lost his patient smile.
“What if Sophie Macqueen doesn’t want to be rescued?” Cyrus asked.
“Then she’s as mad as Laria.”
“And what happens to mad people at Tuath Tower?” Rory asked.
“The nuns are very good at helping people in the late stages of their lives or with diseases of the mind,” Iain said, as if he’d spoken the phrase often. It rolled off his tongue like “Good morn” or “It looks like rain.” Did whispered orders to kill roll off as easily?