Chapter Nineteen
Back at Luthmore
“Corc, ye need to take the bread,” Mary said, a crusty loaf in her outstretched hands.
Corc smiled. “Like I told ye already, the ladies in the village keep me fat as butter,” he said, while patting his trim belly. “Give that to someone who needs it.”
Mary stood her ground. “Ye’ve hardly an inch around yer middle to spare.
Listen to me, Corc. We do this dance every time Alex is away when I know for a fact ye accept the bread when she does the rounds.
Helen told me so. Please, take it. Don’t make me drag Alex from her sick bed.
” Mary looked down the lane and saw Helen waving from her door.
Corc nudged the bread away. “Give it to Helen,” Corc replied. “Look at all the wee ones she has. To be sure, she needs it more than I do.”
Mary was about to give in, but then William, who was assisting her with rounds, drew close and whispered the secret to sway Corc’s mind.
Mary winked at Will, then turned to Corc. “Please,” she said sweetly. “As a favor to me.”
A gummy smile, stretching from ear to ear, lit Corc’s face. “When ye put it like that, ye know I cannot refuse ye,” he said, taking the bread.
Mary laughed and threw her arms around Corc’s neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
The sound of pounding hooves drew her attention. She pulled away from Corc and spotted Gavin galloping toward them. He reined in his horse in front of Corc’s cottage and reached out a hand for her, saying, “The MacLeod’s colors were spotted on the road. His arrival is imminent.”
Mary nodded and took Gavin’s hands. He lifted her into the saddle in front of him, then raced to the keep.
Riding straight to the doors of the great hall, he lowered her to the ground.
Without pause, she hurried inside, calling Rosie to her.
Together they hastened to Mary’s chambers and quickly yanked her work clothes off.
Mary stepped into a fresh kirtle and fitted the straps over her shoulders a moment before Rosie pulled a tunic over her head.
Both women were panting as Mary stepped into her surcote.
“Hurry,” she said to Rosie as the maid started to adorn Mary’s head. Deftly pinning a second veil over her wimple, Rosie stepped back and declared, “Ye’re presentable. Go, Mary!”
Gasping for air, Mary raced from the room, down the stairs and beyond the screen into the great hall and straight into Adam’s arms.
“It will be all right,” he soothed.
“I know,” she said. “I just have to catch my breath and find my composure.” She closed her eyes and breathed, allowing herself to lean on Adam for support. Then she took a deep breath and stepped back. “Thank ye.”
Adam took her arm and led her in front of the high table.
“Michael has told me everything. I understand the McLeod chieftain is a potential threat. I’ve instructed Gavin to gather the guard and have a portion of them present here in the hall and the remainder in the courtyard.
Robert, Timothy, and Finlay will greet the laird at the gate and escort his party inside.
” Then he turned to face her. “If ye will have me, I will stand with ye, Mary.”
Swallowing the knot that had lodged in her throat, Mary looked up to Adam and nodded. “I would be most grateful.”
Emboldened by Adam’s presence at her side, Mary closed her eyes once more and forced herself to calm down. She could handle the MacLeod.
The door opened. Finlay, Robert and Timothy led the way to the high table.
Then they stepped aside, allowing Gordon MacLeod, and his son, Eudard, to stand in front of Mary.
The other MacLeod warriors, less than half a dozen in number, remained in the rear of the hall.
Following Alex’s example, Mary stood tall and looked the chieftain in the eye.
As he stood before the high dais, she was surprised by how tall Gordon and Eudard were.
“Good morrow,” Gordon said, dipping his head to Mary. His cold eyes belied the smile that curved his lips. At his side, Eudard also dipped his head, but he eyed Adam with open hostility.
“We have come to pay the lady of the keep a visit. We bring with us gifts of grain and seed.” The MacLeod narrowed his eyes on Mary.
Then his gaze shifted to Adam. At length, he turned and took a few steps toward Robert and Timothy, and with a look of open disdain, he surveyed them from head to toe, before turning back to face Mary.
“But it would seem she already has visitors.”
Adam stepped forward then. “Ye’re correct, Laird MacLeod. I am Sir Adam Lennox.” Then he motioned to Robert. “There stands Sir Robert Gow and Sir Timothy Cunningham. We are friends of the MacKenzie clan.”
“As are we,” Gordon snapped, his eyes narrowing on Adam. “Lady Alexandria will attest to this. Where is she? Why has she not welcomed us herself.”
“She is unwell,” Mary said. Despite her nervousness, her voice rang out strong and steady.
The MacLeod gave pause. Although he tried to conceal it, Mary noticed the hint of smile that curved his lips the instant before his brow furrowed with false concern.
“I pray her condition is not grave.”
“I assure ye, it is not,” Mary said.
The MacLeod cleared his throat and started to back away.
“Given ye have several guests to accommodate already and the present concern over yer lady’s health, we will not lean on yer hospitality any further.
Ye’ll find the grain and seed in the courtyard.
We shall keep the lady Alexandria in our prayers.
” He wet his lips and eyed Mary, canting his head to the side as if seeing her for the first time.
“We shall leave ye, for now,” he said, then he bowed and turned on his heel and stormed from the great hall with Eudard keeping pace behind him.
Mary expelled a slow breath. Only when the door closed behind the MacLeod did her knees start to tremble. She reached out for Adam. He swept her into his arms to keep her from falling.
“Lady Mary,” he exclaimed. “Are ye unwell?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and rested her head against his shoulder. “I will be fine. Just nerves,” she said.
He smiled down at her. “Ye were brilliant. When Alex is well enough to receive visitors, I will tell her myself how masterfully ye handled Laird MacLeod.”
Mary blushed and cast her gaze downward, unable to bear the exquisite beauty of Adam’s warm, green eyes. “Thank ye,” she whispered. Then the greed she witnessed in the MacLeod’s eyes came unbidden to her mind.
Please, Alex, she prayed. Hurry home.
“SO WHAT IF HE SAW YER face?” David said. “He can do little with that knowledge.”
“He knows who I am,” Alex said, urging the other agents to understand the significance of what had occurred. “King Edward’s vengeance will be taken not just against me but against my clan.”
“God’s blood,” David cursed, pacing back and forth.
David stopped abruptly and turned around. “There’s naught to be done. We’ll have to kill him,” he said, gesturing to the blindfolded and gagged man, sprawled out on the grass across the glade.
Alex’s eyes widened in alarm. Nothing mattered more to her than her people. Still...murder? There had to be another way.
To her relief Rory turned to David and said, “No one is killing anybody.”
David raked his hand through his hair. “But ye just spelled out in no uncertain terms that the situation is dire. Surely, ye will not sacrifice the wellbeing of so many for the tainted soul of this rotter.”
Rory pulled Alex close. Although to the rest of their company he knew she appeared calm, he could tell by the flush of her skin and the slight crease in her brow how worried she really was.
He knew she feared not for herself but for her people.
“We’ll stick to the code laid out by my brother, Jack, and Abbot Matthew.
We’re thieves not murderers. If we cross this line, then we are no better than King Edward himself. ”
“I remember a time when ye wouldn’t have thought twice about killing the likes of him,” Nick snapped.
“And I thank the Lord everyday I’ve learned some sense since then.”
David let out a slow breath, then shrugged. “Mayhap we worry for naught. We forget that Alex is actually Lady Alexandria. ’Tis the word of a lady against a thieving peddler.”
Alex shook her head. “Ye’re wrong. ‘Tis the word of an Englishman against that of a Scotswoman. My title lost its value the moment the English king invaded.”
“Then ye must go into hiding,” David said.
“And leave my people alone and vulnerable?” Alex replied. “If the king’s men come seeking the truth and discover I fled, that would only prove my guilt.”
Alec stepped forward then, speaking for the first time. “If ye do not run, ye’ll be taken and put in the tower—ye’ll die.”
“Then I shall die,” Alex snapped, meeting his hard, black eyes. “I will not be a coward.”
“Wait,” Rory said, drawing their gazes. “She won’t die.” Then he turned to face Alec. “But she will have a funeral.”
“What are ye talking about?” Alex said. Rory and Alec had locked eyes, and she noticed for the first time a smile playing about the edges of Alec’s lips.
“Ye said ye did not see her death,” Rory said softly. “Only her funeral.”
“Ye want me to pretend to die?” she gasped.
Rory reached for her and cupped her cheek. “Yer people believe ye’ve already taken ill, remember?”
She nodded, recalling her last words to Mary, advising her not to let anyone into her chamber, including Michael and William.
That was only six days ago. She could guess at Rory’s plan.
They would sneak back into her chamber and have Mary and Rosie spread the word that her fever had worsened, and she had caught the pox Rory initially argued had been too severe an illness to fake.
Fear of contagion would allow them to continue the charade until it was fitting to say that the illness had robbed her of her life.
Given her options—the risk of being taken to the tower to meet her actual death, fleeing and allowing her people to suffer the wrath of King Edward, or killing a man in cold blood—pretending she had died appeared to be the best course of action.
She turned to Alec. His dark, blank eyes held hers. Her heart heavy, she said, “It would appear as though ye did indeed foresee the future. I’m to have a funeral after all.”