Treachery
Alec stood in Robert’s small antechamber, just off Lainshaw’s great hall. The massive oaken door stood open, and smoke mixed with the scent of sage-roasted mutton wafted into the room as servants bearing platters for the midday meal swept past.
Facing his brother, Alec announced, “’Tis a raid.”
“A raid?” Robert’s green eyes widened in shock.
“Aye,” Alec confirmed, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest. “An ambush and soon.”
“And when? And why now?” Robert pressed, rising from his brocade-cushioned chair to place his palms flat on the dark, carved table that served as a desk. “I saw ye in Stirling, not a week ago. Why dinna ye speak of it there?”
“Aye,” Taran echoed a shorter version of the question from where he stood, glowering into the crackling fire, his hands braced against the mantle.
Alec hesitated. He could scarcely admit he feared Auld Bertha’s words were more than an old crone’s mad ravings. He still didn’t quite believe it himself. “’Tis safer to stand guard until I know more,” he insisted instead. “I can only ask that ye trust me, Robert.”
Robert frowned. “Aye, and I do, lad,” he said, nodding absentmindedly before stopping abruptly to give a low whistle.
His eyes lit. “I knew it, lad. I knew it. ‘Tis the reason you’re bedding that Cunningham wench, aye? You’re a Montgomery, every inch of ye now.
I knew it had to be a dire cause afore ye’d swim in those waters. ” He laughed in outright relief.
Alec drew back, alarmed at his brother’s conclusion. “Nay,” he answered quickly. “She’s simply a lass, Robert.”
But Robert had latched onto the idea. “I’ll ask her myself. There are speedier ways to force—”
In a single step, Alec reached the table to pound it with an emphatic fist. “Ye’ll not lay a hand on her, Robert,” he thundered dangerously. “She knows naught of treachery, I swear it!”
“Treachery?” A woman’s voice sounded from the door.
As one, the three men turned to see Lady Margaret hovering there, her mouse eyebrows mercifully gone.
“Treachery?” she asked again. “What is this treachery ye speak of?” With a flutter of fingers, she began to pick at the gold piping on her gown.
The nervous gesture caught Alec’s attention, simply because, as a rule, Margaret rarely displayed any emotion other than disgust. He cast a quick glance at Taran to see the highlander had noticed as well.
Robert eyed his wife coldly. “’Tis no concern of yours,” he responded brusquely. Shooing her away with a curt gesture, he snapped, “Be gone, woman.”
Lady Margaret’s fine nostrils flared as her characteristically tart demeanor descended once again. “I’ve come to tell ye that ye’ve guests,” she spat.
“Guests?” the earl repeated, but the words had scarcely left his lips before loud, exuberant hoots sounded in the great hall outside.
Through the doorway, Alec spied his four younger brothers vaulting over the benches to greet Andrew with affectionate punches on the shoulder and exuberant slaps on the back.
“Ye’ll sit on the ancient seat of your clan afore winter falls, and as the last of your line,” Auld Bertha had said. “Have a care in Lainshaw, lad. ‘Tis there the river of blood ‘twill begin.”
The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
Whirling, Alec caught Robert’s forearm as he headed for the door. “Why?” he hissed, digging his fingers into his brother’s arm. “Why did ye call us all here?”
Robert had tensed as well. “I dinna call any of them, lad,” he replied, nodding his chin at the hall.
Taran lifted a dark, guarded brow.
“Then send them away forthwith,” Alec urged, his dread increasing twofold.
“Away?” Lady Margaret asked from the door. “At least, let them eat afore they go.” She waved her hands at the half-laden tables.
Instinct—or mayhap, Auld Bertha—made Alec disagree, “Nay, let them be gone from here, and at once.”
“Gone?” one of his younger siblings—a lad named David—arrived to catch the exchange. “We’ve only just come, Alec, and ye canna begrudge us our fill of victuals and a good night’s rest. We’re right famished!”
“Aye,” said another lad, popping up behind him. “And you’re the ungrateful wretch, as we rode here for ye at Mother’s behest.”
“Mother?” Alec prompted cautiously.
“Aye, she sent the lot of us to fetch ye back to Stirling,” the lad replied before one of his younger brothers yanked him away.
At that, Robert visibly relaxed. “She’s no doubt spoken with the king,” he said then, twisting free of Alec’s grasp with an amused gleam in his eye. “That MacLeod match may yet come to be, aye?”
The thought of wedding Merry MacLeod was a decidedly distasteful one. “Nay,” Alec swore. “Never.” But as his brother moved forward, Alec again stayed him. “Ye’ll double the guards on the walls, aye?” He couldn’t shake the lingering doubt.
“Aye,” Robert nodded, but it was clear his patience was wearing thin.
He masked it with an attempt at humor. “Have ye had a wee bit too much drink of late, Alec? I dinna understand what’s gotten into ye, lad, seeing shadows and treachery lurking under every rock and thicket?
And all this grand mystery?” Drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out, he added, “’Tis time ye trust me now to keep us all safe, eh? Dinna fret. I’m the Montgomery.”
“Just double the guards, Robert,” Alec repeated, and frowning at their younger siblings in the hall, added, “And send those wee troublemakers out from here, aye? To Eglinton, at least. This very night.”
Robert nodded, but it was a distracted sort of nod and certainly not the kind to provide any measure of peace. Worried, Alec watched him enter the hall, arms extended in a warm welcome to the siblings waiting there.
As the young David heaved himself off the door to join his brothers’ merrymaking, Taran suddenly inquired in a deep voice, “Tell me, lad, did your Lady Mother order ye here on this errand by missive, mayhap?”
The lad rolled his eyes. “Why, cousin?” he laughed. “When Lady Montgomery orders her sons to ride, we ride. Ye know her well enough, aye?”
The highlander clearly didn’t share his frivolous mood. He stood there by the fire, viewing his young cousin with a particularly dark, chilling stare.
“Well then.” The lad tossed him a sour look. “Aye, she sent a letter, but I dinna bring it with me, if that’s what ye ask.”
Taran didn’t reply, and as an awkward silence fell, the lad ducked away in search of lighter company.
“Then ye believe me,” Alec said when only he and the highlander remained. “There’s trouble brewing.”
“There’s always trouble brewing,” Taran murmured ominously. “I’ll see to the guards.”
Alec watched him go, filled with a growing sense of dread.
The mouth-watering scent of roasted meat assailed his nostrils, but he had little appetite. He couldn’t trust Robert—not with taking this matter seriously, and certainly not where Sorcha was concerned.
At the thought of Sorcha, he winced outright.
Aye, he’d inadvertently placed the wee lass in danger.
And ‘twas a mess of his own doing. In the first hour of setting foot in Lainshaw, he’d angered both its lord and lady on her behalf.
Lady Margaret had banished her from the chambers, and Robert …
well, Robert saw the lass as a Cunningham only, and as such, he’d have no qualms in using the lash of a whip to loosen her tongue. The thought sickened him.
Lainshaw was too dangerous a place for the rainbow-eyed, delicate sprite now. He had to find her and take her elsewhere, to her Cunningham kin or mayhap to where she truly wanted to be: Heather House.
The thought of traveling once again in her company strangely brightened his mood.
Ignoring his brothers’ calls, he strode through Lainshaw’s great hall, a gloomy place, even in the broad light of day.
The shafts of light falling through the tall, narrow windows did little to pierce the clouds of smoke hanging heavily in the air.
He headed down the stairs, glad to be free of the murky atmosphere, and stepped outside into the fresh crisp air and the warmth of the sun.
“And where are ye off to?” Lady Margaret’s shrill voice accosted him from behind.
Surprised, Alec turned to see that the woman had followed him. ‘Twas odd. “And why do ye care, Margaret?” he asked, raising a curious brow.
“There’s ale in the hall,” she said, fidgeting with her dress. “And a bonny enough lass. Lady Elspeth. A Campbell.”
His only response was a level stare.
“Come back to the hall,” she insisted, evidently unable or unwilling to acknowledge his reluctance.
Her persistence was puzzling. Closing the distance between them, he asked, “Since when have ye cared for my comfort, Margaret?”
She wasn’t intimidated. “Nay, ‘tis the Cunningham reputation I care for,” she hissed in response.
In some ways, he found it quite amusing she couldn’t bear a lass she clearly disdained to sully the Cunningham name by dallying with him, a Montgomery, any more than Robert could bear it on his side.
“Finally,” he murmured dryly. “In this one thing, the utter revulsion for a true Montgomery-Cunningham match, both Robert and ye agree, aye?”
Her head jerked back, as if she’d been slapped. “Return to the hall, to proper company,” she snapped, obviously insulted, yet still pulling at the threads of her dress. “I’ll not have ye chasing that Cunningham wench, Alec. I forbid it.”
It was Alec’s turn to retort. He’d had quite enough. “Dinna name Sorcha a wench, Margaret! And do ye truly fancy ye have authority over me?” He snorted in contempt. “In your eyes, ‘tis not seemly a Cunningham willingly beds a Montgomery, aye?”
He hadn’t noticed the low hum of voices circulating around them until they’d silenced, and Lady Margaret paled.
Curious, Alec cast a quick glance about.