Chapter Twenty-Four
It surprised Alan when Annista lent him her shoulder. But he hastily warned himself not to place too much meaning upon the act. As she said, necessity was necessity.
It surprised him less to encounter his mother out on the gallery. She promptly began fussing over him.
“What do ye think ye are about? Annista, why did ye allow him up?”
“She had naught to say in it,” Alan chastised his mother, “and ye will no’ blame her.”
Mother blinked.
Before she could reply, Annista asked, “Is the maid, Cora, still wi’ Bonnie, Mistress MacKallan?”
“Aye, so—and I will leave her there for as long as ye like.” Mother switched her stare back to Alan. “D’ye think your brother will return to the manor?”
“God alone kens wha’ he will do.” God or the devil. Was Evan mad, as Annista suggested? Possessed by a demon?
Other families with members maddened or possessed shut the afflicted into chambers or chained them in attics. The manor had a fine attic, but Alan could not see anything short of a troop of soldiers succeeding in chaining Evan there.
And the shame of it! Having the heir to all MacKallan shackled like a raging bear. Could Father countenance such a thing?
Nay, Alan sometimes thought shame was what had kept Father from admitting all these years that some fundamental flaw lay at Evan’s heart.
And now—now it came to this.
Alan peered down at the lass—his wife—who supported him. He could feel the taut strength of her slender body. He could catch the scent coming off her skin, sweet and yet arousing. He experienced a brief flash of how it would be having that lithe body beneath his own, and stirred.
Would that come to pass? Would it, ever? Likely not. Lending him her shoulder for the sake of necessity was one thing. But they had an agreement, did they not?
They had exchanged both threats and promises.
“Let us go,” he grunted. Before his strength failed him. He felt much worse on his feet than in the bed where he’d thought himself half invincible.
Mother said, “If that wound commences bleeding, I want for ye to come back to your chamber at once.” She switched her gaze to Annista. “I expect ye to assure such, if he will no’.”
Annista replied with a grunt of her own.
They went, but slowly. The stairs took a toll though Alan did not want to admit it. By the time they traversed the corridor past the kitchen where servants stood and stared, Annista had her hand planted against his chest as if holding back any blood that might start flowing from the wound.
He did not question the act, or its innate intimacy.
Jock, the junior of the footmen, stood on guard at the back door, and it struck Alan how odd that was, that the servant stood on guard against his future master. The young man’s face twisted in distress upon seeing them.
“Master Alan? Should ye be up, then? We heard—”
“Stabbed. Aye.” Alan no longer thought it such a good idea to be on his feet, nay, though he still refused to admit it.
“I wish to check on Chieftain and Tempest.”
Jock’s face wrinkled in concern. “Allow me to do that for ye, Master.”
It occurred to Alan—somewhat to his surprise—that the young man held some loyalty toward him. It softened his voice when he said, “Nay, but ye be needed here, Jock. Do no’ let anyone reach the women upstairs.”
Anyone. As if they expected a parcel of outlaws.
“I will no’, Master Alan. I vow it.”
Out in the air, Alan felt marginally better. Soft light blanketed the yard, and he had a confusing sense once more of having lost track of time. Day or night? Anything might lurk in the shadows and, indeed, he started when one detached itself from the rest and came at them.
Only Father. Relief flooded him.
“Wha’ are ye doin’ up, lad?”
“I canna lie there when—” Alan met his father’s stare. “Any sign o’ him?”
“Nay. Angus and I just got back. No sight o’ him anywhere. The estate is too large and has too many wild places. He could be anywhere.”
“On the move, most likely. I want to see Chieftain.”
“The beast is fine and Billy says Tempest also fares better now that he is back on his feet. As for ye—”
Alan tried to smile. “I am better on my feet also. Come,” he said to Annista, his mobile support still pressed to his side.
Two of the grooms greeted them at the door of the stable which lay softly lit. Billy also hurried out to meet them. After running an assessing eye up and down Alan’s body, he at least did not urge his master away.
“He is doin’ better, just,” he greeted them. “Come see.”
They went, Annista urging Alan on now. They paused first at Chieftain’s stall where the black thrust a curious nose at Alan. Outside Tempest’s box, Annista made sure Alan had a good grip on the half door before she abandoned him and slipped inside.
“Och, bonny boy,” she crooned and ran her hands over the stallion’s neck.
Billy and Alan exchanged a look.
“She has the touch, has the young mistress,” Billy said.
“No denying it.”
“Thon wild beast should ha’ her trampled under his hooves. But he will no’ harm her.”
“Nay, he will no’.” They watched the young woman fuss over the horse for a moment before Alan lowered his voice.
“Billy, can ye think o’ anywhere he might go?”
“Nay. So long as he does no’ return here. The lads are on watch, aye, but should the young master appear in a rage, I do no’ ken—”
If the stable lads would be willing, aye, or able to face off against him.
“Should that happen,” he told the old groom grimly, “ha’ one o’ them run for me, understand?”
Billy ran a second assessing glance over him. “Well, so. If I may say, Master Alan, ye scarce be in the best o’ conditions.”
“Nor is he.” And it was not any of the groom’s or footmen’s responsibility to die for this place.
It came to Alan abruptly—it was his.
If he wanted this place he loved to endure, he would have to fight for it.
He eyed the young woman crooning over the injured horse. If he wanted Annista, he would have to fight for her also, but in a very different way.
He hadn’t been raised to battle. He’d learned early to step back and let Evan have his way.
That had now changed. In a fundamental way, Annista’s arrival had changed everything.
She’d arrived armed. Riding to battle for her sister. What could that do but inspire him?
A woman in a thousand, was Annista.
He watched as she fussed over the great wild stallion, speaking to him in a stream of soft words that sounded almost like singing. With the horse, she softened—as did the beast himself. Yet with both of them the fierceness still lay below the surface.
Beautiful, it was. Beautiful she was. How had Alan failed to notice that at once?
Father had followed them in and stood looking on for a moment before he pulled Alan away. Still clad in his boots and cotte in which he’d been out searching, Father looked weary and as if the past hours had aged him.
He spoke in a low voice meant for Alan’s ears alone. “As if we ha’ not troubles enough to beset us, I ha’ received a message from Alexander Cunningham.”
That distracted Alan and he raised his brows. Cunningham was the Fifth Earl of Glencairn, and one of those who plotted against the queen.
“Earl Glencairn and Erskine, Earl o’ Mar, are coming to consult wi’ me.”
“Here?” Alan asked, appalled.
“Aye. It could scarcely be worse, could it? With everything in disarray.”
“Why do they come?” Father had rarely included Alan in diplomatic matters. He’d rarely included Evan either, though for far different reasons. But Alan had gleaned enough to know that the Earl of Glencairn was a powerful man. And perhaps a dangerous one.
Father shot him a look. “I suspect he wishes to get me on side. Before they move against—well, the monarch.”
Alan lowered his voice still farther. “Will they move against her?”
“It seems inevitable, God help us all.”
“Wha’ will ye do?”
Father sighed. “For a long while, I ha’ walked a thin line between loyalty to the crown and treason. It seems my trail may be running out ahead o’ me.”
Alan blinked at his father.
“If I choose wrong—or step wrong—” Father murmured, “we could ultimately lose everything.”
Alan’s heart fell. It was one thing supposing he might lose this place he loved to his brother. Another to suppose they might have to cede ancestral lands to powers on the rise.
“I thought this would come,” Father said heavily. “Hoped it would no’. For it to come now, wi’ Evan on the loose and my affairs in such disorder—”
“Aye. When do they arrive?”
“Tomorrow. If we can find yer brother before then, ’twould be well.”
“Aye, so. But if we do—” Alan voiced his previous concerns. “Wha’ then? Do we confine him? Lock him up?”
“In the cellars, if need be. Just until the accursed visit from these earls be done.”
By God, it scarce rained but it poured. The skies lowered, and loyalties shifted.
Including Alan’s own.