Chapter Four
“I swear he gets bonnier each time I see him,” Elspeth said, gazing at her young Godson, who’d just been place in his crib for an afternoon nap. “And he’s growing like a weed.”
“Aye, he’s always hungry. Hollow legs, Ewan says. He’s a happy wee laddie, but stubborn. Gets that from his father.” Cristie nodded an acknowledgment to her son’s nurse and grabbed Elspeth by the hand. “Come on. We have things to talk about. Your chamber, not mine. More private.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Aye, well, I fear you’re no’ going to like it much.” Cristie pushed the chamber door open. “But it’s no’ too late to do something about it.”
“Has it something to do with the old priest’s death?”
“Father Iain.” Cristie closed the door behind her. “Nay, nothing at all to do with that.”
“Oh. ’Tis just that I feel our arrival today was badly timed.”
“Cannae be helped. I think Ruaidri toyed with the idea of sending a missive to Dunraven, but for the sake of a day or two, decided against it. He still plans to leave for Roscraig on the morrow. Father Iain had been ailing for some time, so his death wasnae really a shock. Still, he was well loved. A much a part of Cathan as the foundations it sits on.”
“May God rest his soul,” Elspeth said, crossing herself. “So, what are these things you need to tell me about?”
“Um, well, one thing, in particular.”
“Go on.”
Cristie took a breath, squeezed her eyes shut as if in pain, and spoke. “Ruaidri’s marriage.”
Elspeth inhaled sharply and reached for the back of a nearby chair. “Marriage?” The word came out as a squeak.
“Dear God, Ellie, sit down afore you fall down.” Cristie pried Elspeth’s hand from the back of the chair and pushed her gently into the seat. “You’ve turned whiter than a shroud.”
Elspeth shook her head. “Who’s he marrying?”
“Well, it’s no’ definite yet, but he’s been offered a betrothal to Lachlan Ranald’s daughter. Her name is Màiri Beth, and Ruaidri is to meet her at Roscraig. Assuming they dinnae hate each other, there’ll be an agreement drawn up ’tween Ruaidri and Lachlan.” Cristie settled into a chair beside Elspeth’s, glancing at the door as if to reassure herself of privacy. “You must promise to say naught about it to anyone, though. No one else knows. Ruaidri told Ewan in confidence.”
Elspeth blinked. “And yet Ewan told you.”
A faint blush arose in Cristie’s cheeks. “After the way I deceived him when we first met, I swore I’d never keep secrets from him again. He agreed to do the same.”
Marriage. Ruaidri’s marriage.Elspeth swallowed over the dryness in her throat. “Does Ewan know you’re telling me?”
Cristie chewed on her lip. “Actually, he told me I shouldnae tell anyone.”
Elspeth’s eyes widened. “Then why are you telling me?”
The beginnings of a smile appeared. “Because he winked when he said it.”
“He winked.”
“Aye.” A grin followed. “That wink meant he wasnae serious, which is why I’m telling you. Understand?”
“Nay. Frankly, I cannae grasp any of it.” Elspeth frowned and rubbed at her temple. “I’m beginning to think I must have fallen and hit my head on the way here. I sort of wish I had, actually. In any case, I wish you hadnae told me about Ruaidri.” Because it hurts, Cristie, more than I care to admit. God help me.
“I told you so that you can do something about it,” Cristie replied. “Before it’s too late.”
“Do something?” Elspeth fiddled with the end of her braid. The initial icy shock of Cristie’s announcement was beginning to dwindle, replaced by a bitter sense of disbelief and desolation. “What can I possibly do that will make any difference?”
“You can tell him how you feel.”
“How I…? Do you jest?” Tears edged Elspeth’s laughter. “Ruaidri MacKellar can barely stand the sight of me, and I’m certain he couldnae give a shite about my feelings for him. To tell him would be embarrassing for me, and for him. I couldnae bear to see his reaction. Or lack of it.”
“You love him, aye?”
Another laugh. “I only wish I didnae.”
“Then you must tell him, Ellie.” Cristie sighed. “If no’ for his sake, then for your own.”
The mere thought made Elspeth’s stomach clench. “Nay, I cannae.”
“For as long as I’ve known you, ‘I cannae’ has never been part of your vocabulary,” Cristie said. “What do you have to lose? Tell him while you still have the chance. I told Ewan I loved him even though I saw hatred burning in his eyes. In truth, it was his hatred that compelled me to speak. I had to let him know what lay in my heart, regardless of what lay in his, and I’ve never regretted doing so. Ruaidri’s hatred is different, since it’s no’ for you, but for Alastair. Your love, given the chance, can surmount it, usurp it. I truly believe that, Ellie. Please, I’m begging you, tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”
Elspeth groaned softly. “’Tis no’ quite the same situation, Cristie. You were at Dunraven and, as far as you knew at that time, never likely to see Ewan again. I’m bound to return here to visit you and wee Kennett. If I do as you say, and Ruaidri mocks and rejects me, which he surely will, then how will I ever be able to face him again? I’d be too embarrassed.”
Cristie gave her head a vigorous shake. “Ruaidri willnae mock you, Elspeth, of that I’m certain. He’s gentle with women.”
“I’m not just any woman. I’m a MacAulay.”
“Even so, he’d no’ be unkind. He isnae capable of it.”
Elspeth fiddled with her braid again. “A kindly rejection is still a rejection.”
Cristie gave her an exasperated look. “Maybe you should think about how it will be seeing him here with his new wife.”
Elspeth lifted her chin. “As long as Ruaidri’s happy, I’m sure I’ll manage to live with my disappointment.”
Cristie’s brows shot up. “Bollocks. You’d no’ be able to bear it.”
“Nay, I wouldnae, true enough.” Elspeth summoned up a feeble smile. “You and the wee lad will just have to come and visit me at Dunraven, I suppose.”
“Come on, Ellie. At least consider it.” Cristie parted with another sigh. “Ruaidri had feelings for you at one time, I’m sure of it, and I believe those feelings are still there, hidden beneath his hate for Alastair. Telling him how you feel might just make him see past Alastair’s shadow.”
“Hmm.” Elspeth’s gaze drifted to her bag, which sat on a nearby table. She stood, and went to it. “I brought something with me, and you willnae believe where I found it.”
“Dinnae change the subject.”
“I’m nae changing it at all.”
“What do you mean? What is it?”
“Here, open it.” She placed a little bundle in Cristie’s hand. “Be careful. It’s fragile.”
Cristie gasped as she unfolded the linen. “White heather!” She lifted a wide-eyed gaze to Elspeth. “Where did you find it?”
“By the wee cove where Fergus leaves his boat. It was right there, on the edge of the grassy bank, and I swear it wasnae there before.” She flopped into her chair again. “I brought it with me because I had this ridiculous idea of—”
“Giving it to Ruaidri.” Cristie laughed. “Aye, you must, you absolutely must. The heather shouldnae be flowering for another three months, and that cove is where I took the boat to Ravenstone. ’Tis a sign, Ellie, it has to be.”
“That thought occurred to me as well. Brochan thinks I’m wasting my time, though.”
Cristie huffed. “Dinnae pay him any mind. Just find the time to speak to Ruaidri alone. It has to be today, because they’re leaving first thing tomorrow. Maybe later this evening?”
Elspeth groaned. “But I havenae a clue what to say. Good eve, Laird MacKellar. The supper was absolutely delicious. Oh, and I love you by the way, even though you cannae bear to be near me.”
“Do it before supper, if you can,” Cristie said. “And dinnae think about it or practice it. When you find yourself standing before him, simply look him in the eye and listen to your heart. It’ll tell you what to say.”
Elspeth got to her feet again and started pacing. “He’ll think me daft.”
“Nay, he willnae. I guarantee he’ll be thinking about what you said the entire time he’s at Roscraig.”
“Is she bonny?”
“Màiri Beth?” Cristie shrugged. “I dinnae ken.”
The pacing continued. “I hope she has a face like a pig’s arse. Nay, actually, may God forgive me. I dinnae hope for any such thing. That was an awful thing to say.”
“So, you’ll do it?”
“I…” Elspeth’s pacing halted by the window, which overlooked the courtyard, her attention drawn to the castle gates. They stood open, allowing entry to two men; Ewan and Jacques. “Your husband’s home,” she said. “Morag’s as well.”
Cristie went to her side and peered down. “Aye, they stayed behind to help Father Pierre with the burial.”
“’Tis a sad day for you all.” Elspeth folded her arms and propped herself against the window’s stone arch. “I understand the priest has been here since the Templar church was built.”
“Sixty years, aye. He helped build it.”
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Maybe one day you will. It’s remarkable.”
Elspeth watched as Jacques and Ewan dismounted. She straightened when a third man stepped into her line of vision. “Ruaidri,” she muttered, the mere sight of him stirring up butterflies in her stomach.
Cristie poked Elspeth in the ribs, making her jump. “Tonight, before supper, Ellie.”
“I’ll think about it,” she replied. “But I’m no’ promising anything.”
Perhaps he sensed being watched, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but at that precise moment, Ruaidri turned and looked up at Elspeth’s window.
Their gazes met.
And held.
Elspeth neither moved nor breathed.
Then came a shout from somewhere in the courtyard, and Ruaidri turned away.
“There, now.” Cristie said. “Of all the windows in the place, he chose yours. He kens this is your chamber, Elspeth. Ask yourself why he looked up here.”
Elspeth shrugged. “Likely because he’s wishing I’d never arrived.”
“Lord, save us.” Cristie handed the sprig of heather to Elspeth and headed for the door. “I dinnae ken who you are, lass, but ’tis clear you’re no’ Elspeth MacAulay. The real Elspeth MacAulay is fearless and fiery. Stubborn, too. She doesnae backdown from a challenge, but meets it head-on. She also possesses a heart of pure gold.” She opened the door and glanced back. “So, it worries me greatly that she appears to have gone missing. If you happen to see her, tell her Cristie is looking for her.”
The door closed.
Elspeth heaved a sigh and regarded the sprig of heather, twirling it between her fingers. “I need you to perform a miracle,” she murmured, “because that’s what it’s going to take for Ruaidri MacKellar to see me as anything but Alastair’s sister. I’m probably asking too much, but if you could at least consider it, I’d be…” She paused, laughed, and shook her head. “God’s teeth, I’m talking to a twig. Worse, I actually hoped for a response.” A sigh escaped her as she looked down at the courtyard again, which now stood empty. “Taking that into consideration, I suppose telling Ruaidri MacKellar that I’m in love with him doesnae seem quite so daft. And Cristie is right. I’ve naught to lose.”
Clutching the sprig of heather in one hand, Elspeth stood before the door and raised the other in readiness to knock. “Now or never,” she whispered. “Please, God, dinnae let me live to regret it.” She drew breath, made a fist, and landed two solid raps on the wood. There followed a brief stretch of silence, followed by Ruaidri’s somewhat gruff response. “Aye, come.”
Elspeth released the breath, took another, and opened the door.
Seated at his desk, quill in hand, Ruaidri didn’t look up at first. Bent over a document, brow furrowed, he appeared to be lost in thought. Elspeth stepped over the threshold, closed the door behind her, and stood in silence, waiting.
Still regarding the document, Ruaidri set his quill aside, straightened his spine, and then lifted his head. At the sight of Elspeth, he rose instantly to his feet, his chair scraping back. “My lady.” He moved around to the front of his desk. “Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere. What brings you here? I trust all is well?”
He”d approached as he’d spoken and now stood within an arm’s length. Close enough to touch. Close enough to muddle her mind. And, God help her, close enough to steal the very breath from her lungs.
“Aye, Laird MacKellar, all is well.” Nay, this was a mistake. I cannae do it. She closed her fingers around the sprig of heather, effectively hiding it. “It appears I’ve disturbed you.” She glanced past him, at the desk. “’Tis obviously an inconvenient time. What I have to say can wait.” Nay, actually, it cannae wait at all. ‘Tis now or never.
“I am a wee bit busy, aye, but I’ll listen to what you have to say.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you sure you’re all right, my lady? You appear troubled.”
Elspeth gave a soft laugh. “’Tis impossible for me to stand before you and no’ be troubled, Laird MacKellar.”
Oh, dear God. Did I actually say that out loud?
“And why is that?” There was caution in his voice. Or was it displeasure?
“Perhaps ‘troubled’ is no’ the best choice of word.” Cursing inwardly, Elspeth shifted her focus to the lacing of Ruadri’s linen shirt, which didn’t help at all. The lacing was loose, the shirt casually open at his throat, exposing a hint of dark hair.
“My lady?” He moved a bit closer, bringing his musky scent with him. “Is something wrong?”
Just tell him, Elspeth. Tell him the truth. Speak from your heart.
“Nay, Laird MacKellar, nothing is wrong.” Taking a breath, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye once more. “I came here to tell you that I —”
She started as a single, solid rap landed on the door, which then opened immediately and Ewan stepped into the room. “Ruaidri, I forgot to mention—” He winced at the sight of Elspeth. “Ach, forgive me. I didnae mean to intrude. I’ll wait outside.”
It appeared Fate, whether being cruel or wise, had intervened, and Elspeth, in truth, was grateful for the intervention. She smiled at both men and crossed her fingers against the lie she was about to tell. “Nay, Ewan, you dinnae need to wait. ’Twas naught important, truly. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Laird MacKellar.”
Clutching her skirts, she then turned and fled, closing the door solidly behind her. It wasn’t till she’d reached the bottom of the stairs that she realized she no longer held the sprig of white heather. “Oh, Elspeth, nay, you didnae go and lose it!” Cursing under her breath, she stared at her empty hand as if doing so might magically return the missing item to it. Thinking to retrace her steps, she looked back up the staircase, but paused. What did any of it matter, after all? It no longer served any purpose. The chance to empty her heart to Ruaidri MacKellar had come and gone. So much for magic. She could predict the future to some degree, however. Without any doubt, she knew she’d be missing supper that night, due to the imminent arrival of a rather nasty headache. That, and the fact that sobbing into her napkin at the supper table would attract far too much attention.
“What did I interrupt?” Ewan stared at the closed door for a moment and then looked at Ruaidri.
“I dinnae ken.” Ruaidri also stared at the closed door, ignoring a vague, unwanted sense of disappointment. He also ignored an irritating little urge to go after the lass, to find out exactly what troubled her. “You heard what she said.”
Ewan took a step forward and halted. “And what’s this?” He bent and picked something up. “A gift for you, brother, I should think. The lass must have dropped it.”
Ruaidri took the sprig of white heather from Ewan’s outstretched hand. “Where did she find this?” he murmured, and regarded Ewan. “Did someone take her to Lorg Coise Dhè?”
“Nay, so you can take that pained look off your face,” Ewan replied. “She hasnae been anywhere but here since she arrived. The white heather does exist elsewhere, Ruaidri. ’Tis no’ unique to Lorg Coise Dhè.”
“Aye, I ken, but it’s flowering. It should no’ be flowering for another three months. Four, even.”
“The winter was mild this year.” Ewan lifted a shoulder. “Maybe that’s why. Shall I go and bring her back?”
Ruaidri scoffed. “What for? She said it wasnae important. If it had been, she’d no’ have hoisted her skirts and fled.”
Ewan grimaced. “Could be that what she had to say wasnae something to be said easily, especially if doing so held the risk of ridicule.”
“I dinnae ken what you mean.” Still holding the sprig of heather, Ruaidri wandered back to his desk. “What was it that you forgot to mention?”
There followed a moment of silence, then, “Brody’s big toe is almost as black as his teeth, so Hammet is coming to Roscraig in his stead.”
Ruaidri looked over his shoulder and gave Ewan a questioning look. “What happened to Brody’s big toe?”
“His horse stood on it.”
“I see.” He tossed the sprig of heather onto his desk. “Is there anything else? I need to get these papers sorted.”
“Nay, nothing,” Ewan replied, followed by a sigh. “I’ll see you at supper.”
Ruaidri nodded his acknowledgment and sat down as the door closed with a quiet clunk. Lifting the quill from its stand, he went to dip it in the inkwell, but paused, his gaze shifting to the little sprig of heather.
Setting the quill aside, he reached over and picked up the sprig again, imagining that Elspeth MacAulay was still standing in the same spot as she had earlier. There’d been a time when looking into her eyes and hearing her voice had done enchanting things to his heart. But that was before Alastair had risen from the grave.
Still, Elspeth’s unexpected visit to his chamber had caught him unawares and scrambled his thoughts. He’d no memory of rising from his desk and approaching her, standing close enough to smell her floral scent, see the rise and fall of her chest, and the uncertainty in her eyes. Something inside him had stirred back to life, but he’d smothered it instantly. He’d become adept at doing so. Elspeth had caught him by surprise and he’d had a moment of weakness.
“It willnae happen again,” he muttered, as his fist closed around the sprig and squeezed till his knuckles turned white. He felt, rather than heard, the snap, and opened his hand to see the sprig in two even pieces, its small white flowers either crushed or detached.
Regret was instant and profound. He cast the pieces aside and leaned forward, elbows on desk, head in hands, imagining the look on Elspeth MacAulay’s face if she’d been there to witness what he’d done. The vision gave him no pleasure. “It’s just a sprig of heather,” he murmured, swallowing over the sudden tightness in his throat. “It means nothing.”
Even as he spoke the words, he tasted the bitterness of them. The white heather had become an integral part of Castle Cathan’s history. In a room, not two doors down from where he now sat, a sprig of white heather lay hidden in a secret niche. It had been carried to the Holy Land by Ruaidri’s grandfather and brought back by Father Iain. Just a sprig of heather, perhaps, but one touched by a miracle, the tiny white flowers on the stalk as bright as the day it had been picked at Lorg Coise Dhè, over sixty years before.
Elspeth’s absence at supper that evening only worsened Ruaidri’s sour mood. Not that he was about to make enquiries about the lass, though that would have been the polite thing to do. If it had been something serious, he told himself, he’d have already been advised, though he suspected it had something to do with her visit to his chamber earlier that day.
Having considered everything, he’d sloughed off his earlier remorse by placing blame on the MacAulays, and specifically, their presence at Castle Cathan. After all, if they hadn’t been here, none of this would have happened. Telling himself that had eased his conscience. The wine he’d consumed that evening helped ease it as well.
Ewan’s hushed voice interrupted Ruaidri’s musing. “According to Brochan, the lass has a headache, though I dinnae believe it, frankly. And dinnae insult me by asking me who I’m talking about. You’ve looked at the empty seat a dozen times tonight already.”
Ruaidri scowled. “The fact that Brochan MacAulay told you is enough for me to understand who you’re talking about. And why do you no’ believe him?”
Ewan shook his head. “Brochan thinks he’s telling the truth, but I reckon he’s the one who’s been lied to. Elspeth’s no’ here because of what happened this afternoon.”
“Are you referring to the episode in my chambers?”
“Aye.”
“Bollocks.” Ruaidri reached for his goblet. “Naught happened that would merit the lass’s absence here tonight.”
“That’s the point,” Ewan said. “Naught happened, but something should have. You should have gone after her.”
Teeth bared, Ruaidri slammed his goblet down on the table, sending wine sloshing over the rim. “I’m tired of folk telling me what I should do or what I should have done. I’m no’ obligated to the lass, nor am I interested in what she had to say. Understand?”
A hush fell over the room and Ewan blew out a soft breath. “Aye.” He squeezed Ruaidri’s shoulder. “I’ll no’ mention it again. Dinnae fash.”
Ruaidri’s laugh held no humor. “Is that it? No resistance? No argument? ’Tis no’ like you, brother.”
“Is that what you want?” Ewan replied. “A fight?”
Ruaidri snorted and reached for his goblet again. “I expected more from you, that’s all. Marriage has made you soft, it seems.”
Ewan’s hand fell to the hilt of his dagger as he rose to his feet, and the hush in the room dropped to absolute silence. “I’ll make no more allowances for the shite coming out of your mouth today,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “That being so, ’tis best I leave now, lest I’m forced to take steps we’ll both regret.”
Ruaidri frowned, but said nothing as Ewan left, taking Cristie with him. The silence was broken by the sound of a man clearing his throat, which in turn led to a renewed hum of subdued conversation. Consumed by his dark mood, Ruaidri remained silent, refusing to acknowledge the little voice telling him he’d gone too far. Way too far.
Sometime later, the noise of trestle-tables being dismantled pulled him from the shadows in his mind, and he looked up to see a near-empty hall. A touch came to his arm and he turned to see Morag at his side.
“I trust you’re no’ thinking of spending the night down here, Ruaidri,” she said.
“Nay.” A mild headache throbbed at the back of his eyes as he stood and arched his spine. “I lost track of the hour, that’s all.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine, wee lass. I’m feeling fine.” Frowning, he glanced past her to where Jacques stood with Gabriel and Breanna, all of them watching him. “Why is everyone staring? Have I grown an extra head?”
“Nay, but you seem to be a wee bit out of sorts tonight.” Morag took his hand and kissed it. “We’re concerned about you, that’s all.”
He huffed, pulled his hand free, and tugged down on his tabard. “No need. Like I said, I’m fine.”
“Well, be sure to get some rest,” Morag said. “You have an early start tomorrow.”
“Aye.” His nostrils flared as he looked to where Brochan MacAulay had been seated. “And a long, three-day ride.”
Ruaidri’s chamber, while he’d been at supper, had been prepared for the night as usual; ale in the jug, fresh candles lit, the bed turned down. The servants knew better than to touch anything on his desk, however. Consequently, the splintered sprig of heather lay where he’d left it.
“Shite,” he muttered, and approached the desk, remorse pulling a sigh from him as he gazed down at the irreparable damage. Given the miracle associated with Castle Cathan, his destruction of the little sprig felt sacrilegious, somehow. That it had been done in a fit of anger shamed him even more.
Then another thought slid into Ruaidri’s brain, and his attention shifted to the leather satchel sitting atop the oak chest at the foot of his bed. If, as it appeared, Elspeth MacAulay had come to his chamber to give him the sprig of heather, she’d undoubtedly hoped he’d be taking it with him to Roscraig. So, that’s what he’d do. He’d take it with him. Didn’t matter that it was damaged. A foolish idea perhaps, but it made him feel better.
Nay, not better, but a bit less guilty.
Chapter Five
Elspeth opened tired eyes to darkness. Beyond her shuttered window, the voices of men and the clatter of hooves on cobbles rose up from the courtyard. Her foggy brain took a moment or two to make sense of it. Of course. Ruaidri and Brochan were leaving this morning for the three-day ride to Roscraig.
Her throat tightened.
She’d seen neither Brochan nor Ruaidri the previous evening, her feigned headache keeping her confined to her chamber. Only Cristie had come by, as expected, disappointed that Elspeth’s endeavour to declare her love for Ruaidri had been interrupted. And by Ewan, no less.
“Please dinnae say anything to him,” Elspeth had pleaded. “I ken you dinnae keep secrets from each other, but this is my secret, and I’m asking you to keep it that way.”
“I havenae mentioned it and neither has he.” Cristie had taken hold of Elspeth’s hand. “Dinnae lose heart. Maybe Ruaidri will come to his senses while he’s away, and realize where his affections lie.”
“Aye,” Elspeth had replied, “and maybe the tide willnae come in tomorrow.”
A shout from the courtyard pulled her from her recollections. A moment later, a knock came to her door. “Ellie.” Brochan’s muffled voice carried into her chamber. “Are you awake?”
“Aye,” she replied, sitting up. “Just a moment.”
Squinting into the dark, she slid from the bed and hurried to the door, sucking in a breath as the cold floor met her feet. She pulled the bolt back and heaved the door open, wincing at the sudden brightness of the flame from the candle in Brochan’s hand.
“Sorry if I woke you, but I wanted to check on you before we leave.” The flicker of the little flame cast shadow and light across Brochan’s features. “’Tis no’ like you to miss a meal. A headache, I was told. No’ very original, Ellie. Was that the best you could come up with?”
“I dinnae ken what you mean, Brochan.” She stifled a yawn. “Is it morning already? Feels like the middle of the night.”
His subsequent huff made the candleflame dance. “The cock crowed a while ago, so we’ll be on our way soon. You’re sure you’re all right? You look tired.”
She peered at him. “You dinnae look too jubilant either, brother. Do you ail?”
“Nay, it’s just MacKellar,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “I’m no’ sure it was a good idea asking to ride with him. I get the impression the man is spoiling for a fight, and with me specifically.”
“Ewan will be riding with you as well,” she said. “He’s the voice of reason. Dinnae fash.”
Brochan grunted. “I happen to think Ruaidri MacKellar is past the point of reason.”
Elspeth blinked. “Why do you say that? Did something happen last night?”
“Aye. The man was in a sour mood at supper. Got into an argument with Ewan, who left the hall. I swear you could have sliced the air with a sword. I feel sorry for Lachlan Ranald’s lass, if that’s how it’s going to be.”
“What were they arguing about?”
“I’m no’ sure, exactly. Something that Ruaidri should have done and didnae. Anyway, I have to go. Dinnae do anything daft while I’m gone.”
Elspeth gave him an aggrieved look. “As if I would.”
Brochan chuckled. “Did you give it to him, by the way?”
Elspeth knew very well what he meant, but feigned ignorance. “Who? What?”
“MacKellar, you bampot. The white heather.”
“Nay,” she replied, with a shake of her head. “Never got the chance.” Not exactly a lie.
“Too bad. Might have improved his mood.” He shrugged. “See you in a fortnight, Ellie.”
“Aye.” Elspeth smiled. “May God keep you, Brochan.”
She closed the door and climbed back into bed, groaning as the still-warm sheets chased the cold from her flesh. Beyond her shutters, the sounds of departure continued. If not for the early morning chill, she’d have risked opening them to watch as the group readied themselves for departure. Instead, she lay in silence, pondering what Brochan had said about Ruaidri and Ewan. Not once, in all the times she’d visited Castle Cathan, had she seen any kind of animosity between the MacKellar brothers. Quite the contrary.
She wondered what it was Ruaidri should have done but didn’t. “Cannae have been that important if he chose no’ to do it,” she muttered, trying not to think about three days hence, when he’d be gazing into Màiri Beth Ranald’s face for the first time.
A short while later, the metal groan of Cathan’s gates told her they’d been laid open. Then the voices moved away, the clip of horse’s hooves faded into the dawn, and the gates groaned again as they closed. Only then did Elspeth leave her bed once more, but this time she fell to her knees, bowed her head, and prayed for a miracle.