Mairghread was left with much to think about after Brogan bade her good night. When the door clicked behind him, it sounded much louder than it actually was. Like a bucket of sand bein’ dropped from a great height.

For a long while, she simply stared at the closed door.

She loved me more than that. So much so that Anna did not want him living the rest of his life alone.

Finally, she moved away from the door and went to undress. She slipped out of her dress, then her chemise and went to wash up in the basin. She got as far as dipping a cloth into the chilly water.

Were her circumstances different, she and James might have made similar promises to one another. If he had not died so suddenly, would he have asked the same of her? If he hadn’t died and she had become ill, like Anna, would she have told James to go on with his life? To be happy?

Aye, in her heart, she knew she would have. The thought of James livin’ a lonely life made her shiver.

But what had happened to him was much different. He hadn’t been injured or ill. He had been murdered as had her son.

More tears filled her eyes, as she stood naked before the basin. They had been murdered, and no matter what Brogan might believe, there was a good chance they had been murdered at her own hand.

God, please help me, she prayed silently as she held onto the table that held the basin with trembling hands. “Please, return me memory to me so that I might ken the truth, no matter how horrible or ugly or sordid it might be. If I killed them, I need to ken. Please, God, tell me.”

’Twas then she heard Brogan’s voice. She spun to face him.

“Ye did no’ kill them, Mairghread.”

* * *

For a long while, Mairghread stood frozen in place. Ye did no’ kill them, he had told her. But how could he know for certain.

He grabbed a blanket from her bed and wrapped it around her, keeping her shoulders exposed. She held onto the end of the blanket as she held her breath. “Ye did no’ kill them,” he repeated.

“But how can ye be so certain?” she cried. “I can no’ remember and there were no’ witnesses.”

He removed a dirk from his boot, and handed it to her, hilt first. “Stab yerself,” he said.

“Be ye daft?” she exclaimed.

He rolled his eyes. “With the hilt lass, no’ the blade. Just pretend to stab yerself. And remember where it be ye stabbed.”

Careful to avoid the blade, she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the dirk. Awash in uncertainty, she gave him a look that asked if he was certain. His face bore an odd expression, one she could not decipher.

“Stab yerself.”

With the dirk in her right hand, she pretended to plunge the dirk into her stomach.

“Again,” he said.

She complied.

“Now, stab yerself in yer back,” he directed.

Aye, uncle had told her she stabbed herself repeatedly in her own back. Changing the dirk around in her palm. She lifted her arm over her head and stabbed, just between her neck and shoulder.

“Now lower,” he said.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stabbed at her middle and lower back.

Brogan took the knife from her and returned it to his boot. Next, he turned her around. “Ye stabbed herself here and here,” he said, pointing to those places she had just stabbed at. “But yer scars? They be here, and here, and here,” he said, touching each scar with his fingertip.

“Unless yer arms be at least a foot longer, then there be now way on God’s earth ye could have stabbed yerself as ye were told.”

Marighread spun around to look at him, her brow knotted, her eyes naught but slits. “What?”

“Lass, I do no’ lie. Ye just proved it, with yer own hands.”

* * *

Brogan had come back to her room to apologize again. He knew he would be unable to sleep unless he told her once more how sorry he was for causing her a moment of pain. He had knocked, not once, but twice. When she did not immediately respond, he opened the door just a crack.

Then he saw her standing naked in front of the basin.

At first, his manhood sprung to life, with an intense, aching need. But then he saw the scars on her back and remembered what she had told him. Uncle found me with the knife in me hand. He said I was screamin’ I had killed them, all the while I kept stabbing meself in me back.

He hadn’t truly believed that story, for a wide variety of reasons. It just did not seem possible that a person would stab themselves in the back. The stomach? Aye, that was always a distinct possibility. But their back?

As soon as he saw those scares he knew. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had not done was she had been told. It was a physical impossibility.

He could have simply told her what he knew in his heart to be true. But he decided instead to prove it to her.

Now, she trembled with wide eyes as it all began to sink in.

“I did no’ do it?” she asked at first. “I did no’ do it.”

“Nay, lass, ye did no’. ’Tis simply impossible.”

In dumbfounded confusion, she kept shaking her head.

“Now, I have no’ seen the scars on yer stomach,” he told her. “Ye’ll have to look fer yerself if they be where ye put the hilt moments ago.”

“I do no’ need to look,” she said breathlessly. “The scars on me stomach be here.” She pointed to an area that was more to the side of her abdomen than dead center where she had demonstrated.

“Now do ye believe me?” he asked.

Tears fell again, as she nodded her head. “Aye, I do!” A moment later, she was in his arms with her head resting on his chest. “I did no’ do it!” she cried, relieved beyond measure. “I did no’ kill them.”

* * *

Aye, she was relieved. But with learning the truth came more questions. “If I did no’ do it, then who did?” she asked.

Brogan was rubbing her back and shoulders, offering more comfort than he could ever possibly know.

“And to what end?” she asked. “And why would me uncle tell me …” her words trailed off as the sudden realization hit her. ’Twas so startling, and so unbelievable that it made her legs weak.

Brogan was eerily silent. “Have ye learned somethin’ about that night that ye are no’ tellin’ me?” she asked as she pulled away to look into his eyes.

She saw it then, just a flicker of guilt. “Please, tell me.”

“I have already told ye what I ken. We have been so busy workin’ on the wall that I have no’ had time to do a proper investigation.”

She knew ’twas a lie he just told her. Brogan was a most honorable man. He had promised always to tell her the truth, no matter the circumstance. Then she thought to Gertie and Tilda and what they had done earlier this day. “Are ye tellin’ me a lie from yer heart?” she asked him.

He smiled warmly. “Nay, I told ye all I know, lass.”

She didn’t believe him for a moment. “But ye have an idea of what happened? A suspicion that ye are no’ yet ready to share with me?”

Her question was met with silence.

In that little moment of time, she knew several things. Brogan cared for her a great deal. Oh, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe ’twas the same kind of love he had felt for Anna. But he did care. He cared enough not to tell her what he suspected. He was protecting her from something she was now beginning to suspect herself. Her uncle was her primary suspect and undoubtedly, Brogan’s as well.

Suddenly, she felt exhausted. ’Twas all too much for a heart and body to bear in one night. For now, she would let the matter alone. But soon, very soon, they were going to have a serious discussion.

“I want to go to bed, Brogan,” she told him.

He nodded and began to step away.

“Brogan, please do no’ leave.”

He paused and raised a brow. His eyes flickering with questions he was not about to ask.

“I do no’ think I am ready to give myself to ye, like a true wife. But please, do no’ leave me alone this night.”

“I can sleep in the chair, lass. I will watch over ye.”

She swallowed hard and shook her head. “Ye’ll get a crick in yer neck,” she told him.

He chuckled. “Aye, I did get one last night.”

“What do ye mean?”

He told her of her fitful sleep the night before and how he ended up sleeping in the chair. Humiliated, she felt her face burn.

“Do no’ fash over it, lass,” he smiled as he gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze.

“Would it be too much to ask that ye sleep in the bed with me?” Even she heard the quiver in her voice.

“Nay, lass. That would no’ be too much a thing to ask.”

* * *

Dawn arrived with thunder and rain. Mairghread woke to find herself alone. Brogan, true to his word, had slept with her the night before, without so much as a request for a kiss good night.

She had slept relatively well. Only twice did she wake. Once to a bad dream. The second time to the sound of Brogan’s snoring. ’Twas not nearly as loud as James had been. ’Twas more a soft, gentle sound. She supposed it had wakened her because she was unaccustomed to having anyone in her bed, let alone a man.

As she was getting dressed, Evelyn knocked at the door with her morning meal.

“Good morn, to ye,” Mairghread said as she let her in.

“M’lady,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.

Light flashed out of doors, a moment later, thunder roared. Both women nearly jumped out of their skins. ’Twas Mairghread who laughed first. “I do no’ think anyone will be workin’ out of doors this morn,” she said.

“I think no’, m’lady.”

She then thought of Brogan and all the men who were working on the construction of the wall. “Have ye seen me husband?” she asked as she pulled on warm woolens.

“Below stairs, m’lady, in the gatherin’ room.”

Much relieved to hear it, she pulled on her boots. With Gertie and Tilda ‘ill’, she would have to eat another meal alone. Not as pleasant a thought as it might have been months ago.

“Evelyn, I think that from now on, I will be havin’ all me meals below stairs,” she told her.

“I shall let Cook ken, m’lady,” Evelyn replied.

Mairghread noticed Evelyn’s nervous demeanor. The way her eyes darted around the room, looking at everything and anything but her. The way she fidgeted with her dress and kept shifting from one foot to the other.

“Evelyn, be there somethin’ the matter?”

“N-nay, m’lady,” she replied in a low, soft voice.

Mayhap, her nervousness was born out of the fact that for the past years, no one ever knew what to expect when in her presence. A heavy feeling settled into her stomach. She recognized it at once as profound guilt. “Evelyn, I want to apologize to ye, fer how I have treated ye in the past.”

Evelyn’s expression changed from nervous to confused as she finally looked her in the eyes.

“Ye ken I was a drunkard,” Mairghread began.

“M’lady!” she exclaimed, shocked at Mairghread’s admission. “Do no’ say such things!”

Mairghread could not resist the smile that came to her lips. “Do no’ fash yerself over it, Evelyn. We all ken it be nothin’ but the cold truth I speak.”

Unable to look at her anymore, Evelyn looked down at her feet.

“I will promise ye I will do me best to never behave so horribly to ye, or to anyone else, ever again.”

* * *

It had been another sleepless night for Brogan. ‘Twasn’t necessarily Mairghread who directly kept him awake half the night. Nay ’twas his lustful thoughts and the fact that she kept snuggling into him for warmth.

Now, under any other circumstance, he would have welcomed that pert derrière of hers against his groin with delightful enthusiasm. But to have her there, so close, and unable to touch her? To explore the magnificence hidden under her night rail and not be allowed to touch or caress? ’Twas more torture than any man could be expected to bear.

To make matters worse, they were unable to work this morn. The rain was as relentless as a Highlander fighting against an invader. It, and the wind, pounded against the walls of the keep, fighting against the furs that covered the windows. Bleak, cold and dreary was the order of the day.

“If this rain keeps up, we will need to be buildin’ boats instead of walls, aye?” Henry said as he elbowed Peter in the ribs.

Peter did not appear amused.

Brogan saw no sense in setting at the high table, so he was eating with his men when Mairghread coming down the stairs. Regal as always, she was. Dressed in a beautiful gown of deep blue, with a silver belt that draped just so around her tiny waist, and her hair braided around the top of her head. She fair stole his breath away.

In her hands, was the tray Evelyn had taken up to her not long ago. Nervously — though why he should feel thus was beyond his comprehension at the moment — he stood. As did Henry, Comnall, Peter, and the rest of his men. Brogan noticed the way Evelyn smiled at Peter before walking away. He also took note of the look Peter gave to her.

“Good morn, to ye, Brogan,” she said with a warm smile. “Lads.”

They returned her greeting, but all remained standing.

“I did no’ want to eat alone,” she told them. “Might I join ye?”

The men all happily agreed. Henry moved over so that she could take his spot across from Brogan. They all fell silent and went back to their meal.

“I fear if this rain keeps up, ye’ll need to be buildin’ boats instead of walls, aye?” Mairghread said with a twinkle in her eye and a slight laugh.

The men at the table — all but Henry — laughed heartily at her jest. Even Peter, who, moments ago, had shrugged off Henry’s exact jest. Brogan, upon seeing Henry was about to speak, gave him a look of warning and said, “Henry, here, was speaking much the same thing.”

Mairghread looked up at the ginger-haired man next to her and smiled. Immediately, Henry’s countenance softened and he returned her smile.

“I dare say there be no’ much fer a man to do on a day like this,” Mairghread said as she took a sip of cider. She winced as she swallowed it down.

“But a woman’s work does no’ wait fer weather, aye?” Henry said, still sporting the same besotted smile.

Mairghread giggled and agreed.

“Brogan, have ye found a room yet, to take as yer private office?” Mairghread asked him.

A private office? The thought had never entered his mind. As far as he was concerned, ’twas she who needed such a space, not he. “I do no’ need such,” he told her.

She quirked a pretty brow. “Me?” she asked. “’Tis no’ me who be puttin’ the keep back to rights with the buildin’ of our new wall. Where do ye keep the plans? Where do ye meet with the men?”

“Henry has the plans,” Brogan replied. “And I meet with me men here, in the gatherin’ room, or in the forest.”

From her expression, he could see she was not satisfied with his answer. “But Brogan—”

“Lass, mayhap this is somethin’ we could discuss later, in private.”

Taking the hint, she nodded.

He thought, mayhap, she had acquiesced a little too quickly.

* * *

Thankfully, the storm had let up within the hour. By nooning time, ’twas naught but a light mist with the sunshine occasionally peeking out betwixt dull gray clouds. Mairghread left the men as soon as she had finished eating, so that she could look in on Gertie and Tilda.

They were still abed when she entered their room.

I wonder how long they will play at this ruse? She wondered as she painted a concerned smile on her face. “I see ye be no better this morn,” she told them.

Each of them coughed slightly and feigned weakness.

“We be certain we will be better verra soon,” Gertie whispered.

“Aye, verra soon, m’lady,” Tilda said.

As tempted as she was to let them know she knew what they were up to, she decided against it. If anyone deserved a good rest, ’twas these two women. Pulling up a chair, she sat at the foot of their beds.

“I want to thank each of ye,” she began with a smile. “Fer always bein’ there for me, no matter the circumstance. Ye’ve been good to me, even when ye had every right not to be.”

Perplexed, they remained silent.

“I want to thank ye as well, fer helpin’ me to see that Claude Courtemanche was no’ the right husband fer me. I think ye chose well with Brogan,” she said with a wink.

“He be a right good man,” Gertie said with a smile. She sat up with a groan. “A right good man.”

“Aye,” Tilda agreed.

On that, she would not argue, for they spoke nothing but the truth. “’Tis true, he has been good to me,” she said. Without thinking, she added, “But I fear I have no’ been as good to him.”

Gertie’s brow wrinkled. “What do ye mean?”

Mairghread let out a sigh, wishing for all the world she had kept her thoughts to herself. Changing the subject, she asked them, “What do ye remember the night James and Connell were killed?”

Their eyes widened in horrification. “Och! Lass! Why do ye be wantin’ to talk about that night?” Gertie asked, appalled with the notion.

Besides the fact that Brogan had been sleeping right next to her, the night her family had been slaughtered had made her feign sleep for most of last night. “I do no’ ken anything about that night,” she began. “Uncle has always told me that he got to me room first.”

“Aye,” Gertie replied cautiously.

Tilda remained unusually mute.

“Uncle told me, that upon entering the room, he found me with the knife in me hand. He said I was screamin’ like a mad woman that I had killed them.” She took in a deep breath, wishing her hands would stop shaking. “He also says I was stabbin’ meself. Did either of ye see such?”

Apparently, her malaise had improved immeasurably, for Gertie tossed the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed. Anger was flashing behind those blue eyes of hers.

“Please, I beg of ye to tell me what ye saw,” Mairghread said. “For Brogan has proved to me, that I could no’ have stabbed meself.”

Gertie’s forward progression out of the bed halted with those words. Slowly, she sat back down, looking for all the world like a sad, forlorn auld woman.

She explained what had happened the night before, when Brogan told her to stab herself. “The scars be in places I simply could no’ reach.”

She and Tilda looked at one another. ’Twas no’ their usual conspiratorial looks.

“There be much ye are no’ tellin’ me,” Mairghread said. She was growing quite frustrated.

Their silence was near maddening. “Ye believe me uncle has lied.” ’Twas a statement, not a question. A cold chill of dread made its way up and down her spine. A body could say much without uttering a single word.

’Twas Gertie who broke the silence first. “Neither of us saw what yer uncle speaks of.”

“Nay, m’lady, we did no’ see such,” Tilda said.

“What did ye see?”

Then there it was. That all too familiar conspiratorial glance to one another. Mairghread shot to her feet. “Will ye two stop doin’ that?” she exclaimed. “And just tell me what the bloody hell ye saw!”

Aye, she had yelled at them before. But only when she was in a drunken stupor. This was different. She was sober, a woman full grown, and determined to get the answers she sought.

“When we got to the room, ye were lyin’ on the floor and yer uncle was kneelin’ over ye,” Gertie said. Ye were no’ screamin’ like a mad woman. Ye were covered in blood, near death.”

So they had only seen the aftermath?

“The knife was in yer uncle’s hand,” Tilda told her. “No’ yer’s.”

* * *

’Twas not what they said, but the manner in which they didn’t say it. More fingers of dread traced up and down her spine.

Nay, she told herself. It could no’ be.

“We do no’ ken what truly happened,” Gertie said. “But I never believed fer a minute ye killed them.”

“Neither did I m’lady,” Tilda said. Her eyes had grown damp, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “Ye loved them too much to do such a thing.”

Her thoughts turned to her uncle. Why would he have told her such a horrible thing? Why would he have done his best to convince her that she had killed them? But the most frightening question of all was why she would have believed him.

She had to believe there was a reason, a good, sound, logical reason… nay, even she couldn’t force herself to believe there was any good or just cause for him to tell her she had killed her husband and child.

Then, as swiftly and suddenly as a bolt of lightening, everything became clear.

“M’lady, are ye well?” Tilda asked from her bed. She too was rising from her bed.

“Aye,” Mairghread said breathlessly. “I am quite well.”

Neither of them appeared to believe her, not one bit.

“Ye did no’ do what he said ye did,” Gertie told her as she climbed out of her bed.

“I know,” Mairghread said. Her mind was spinning, dozens of questions springing forth. Why would a man do such a thing? Why was he so insistent that she marry Courtemanche, especially when he probably knew the man would want to take her to France? He had to know what kind of man the frenchman was. There was only one answer and it terrified her to no end.

Slowly, she got to her feet. Though she had not regained any memory from the awful night, she could see everything now, with such blinding clarity. “Gertie, Tilda, I ken ye are no’ feelin’ well,” she began.

“Och! I be as right as rain, m’lady,” Gertie protested as she took her hand in hers.

“I am as well,” Tilda said.

How she managed to smile, she was uncertain, but she did. “’Tis good to hear. I need to leave ye fer a bit.”

“Where be ye goin’?” Gertie asked with a furrowed brow.

“To see Cook.”

’Twas a lie and mayhap not one of her heart.

* * *

Grayson Mactavish was standing guard in front of the room where Hargatha had been locked for nearly a fortnight. Mairghread had known him all her life. But she also knew him to be loyal to her uncle. Silently, she cursed her misfortune.

When he saw her approach, his bushy gray brows knitted into a line of confusion and surprise. “M’lady?”

“Grayson,” she said with a slight nod. “I have come to see how Hargatha fairs this day.”

Though he appeared to be puzzled, he still possessed the wherewithal to block her from entering the room. “She fairs well, m’lady.”

Thinking quickly, she said, “I also have a question regarding healing.”

He pulled his shoulders back. “I have strict orders no’ to allow anyone in or out of her room, m’lady.”

“Ye would deny me entry?” she asked indignantly.

“I be sorry, but I can no’. The only one allowed inside be Brogan.”

Pursing her lips together, she tried to think of what she could say or do to change his mind. “But I be the lady of the keep,” she reminded him.

“I ken well who ye be, m’lady, but orders is orders.”

Knowing she was going to get nowhere with the man, she smiled up at him. “Ye do yer duty well, Grayson Mactavish.”

He offered her a slight smile, but otherwise, had no reply.

Although she was frustrated, she pretended to be nothing but graceful and dignified. “I shall return later, then, with Brogan.”

She saw something akin to fear flicker behind his brown eyes. But ’twas gone as quickly as it had risen. “Keep up yer good work, Grayson.”

Inclining her head to him, she turned and walked away. If anyone has answers, ’twill be Hargatha, she thought to herself. ’Twas going to seem like an awfully long day before Brogan returned from his work.

Mayhap, she mused, I should go to him, make me plea and bring him back.

* * *

Miracle of all miracles happened when Gertie and Tilda declared themselves cured. Not long after, all but one of the other ‘ill’ people were out of their beds, declaring they too, were better and able to return to their duties.

Mairghread refused to admit she’d known about their ploy all along. By rights, their plot had worked, so why let on?

When she told Gertie and Tilda that she wished to walk to see Brogan, they insisted she not go alone. Wanting to hurry, she agreed, just to avoid the delay and argument they would surely win.

Donning cloaks, the three women left the keep together.

“Glad to see the storm has moved on,” Gertie remarked as they walked across the courtyard.

That storm be nothin’ compared to what lies ahead when me uncle returns, Mairghread thought to herself.

For whatever reason, she found herself invigorated by her sudden realization that her uncle was nothing more than a cruel man. She suspected he was motivated by greed. Why else would he have told her she had killed James and Connell? Supposing he believed that she would die from a broken heart, or simply hand over the chiefdom and everything that came with it to him, her anger continued to bubble.

Not for a moment did it occur to her that he had anything to do with their deaths. Nay, she believed he simply took the opportunity of a very horrid and ugly situation and tried to turn it to his advantage.

And he had almost succeeded.

Almost.

Had it not been for Gertie and Tilda and their interference, she would still be nothing more than a drunkard dying a slow, painful death. Aye, she knew she owed her sobriety to Brogan, but Gertie and Tilda had been the one’s to set everything into motion.

“They be makin’ good progress,” Tilda said as they passed through the opening in the wall.

Someday soon, there would be a heavy gate, an upper wall for guards, towers, and a better sense of safety. Mairghread prayed they would finish the wall before her uncle returned. Simply because she wanted to be the one who threw him out of it.

Aye, she was going to banish him, and anyone loyal to him, for his cruel misdeeds. To make her believe all these years that she had suddenly gone insane and killed the two people who meant everything to her.

It frightened her to know she had almost believed him.

That question still burned deep. Why? Why would I believe him?

Was it mayhap because he was the only living kin she had left? Aye, he had played that to his advantage. Although she knew he and her father rarely saw eye to eye on things, she could not believe Aymer would ever do anything to actually harm her.

Until now.

* * *

Brogan saw the three women approaching, with disbelieving eyes. Mairghread. His heart felt lighter, happier, just at seeing her here. With a quick strike, he lodged his axe into a log and went to meet them.

“Mairghread,” he said as he approached them. “I did no’ expect to see the two of ye out of bed for a time,” he said, referring to their recent illness. “What brings ye here? Is all well?”

“Aye, all be well,” she said as she cast a look of vexation at Gertie and Tilda.

“Good day to ye, m’laird,” Gertie and Tilda said in unison. “Our lady wanted to take a walk this day. A bit of fresh air, she says.” Gertie winked at him before turning to smile at Mairghread.

He didn’t know what to make of either the wink or what she said. Knowing that by asking her to explain would inevitably lead to a pounding in his skull, he decided against it.

“Brogan, I wonder if I might speak to ye,” she said before looking first to Gertie then to Tilda. “Alone, if ye please.”

Neither woman was offended by her request. Nay, they looked positively gleeful. He was no glutton for punishment so once again, he kept any questions to himself. Extending his arm to his wife, he led her away.

Tilda was grinning from ear to ear. “She be fallin’ in love with him,” she said.

“Aye,” agreed Gertie. “She just does no’ ken it yet.”

They watched as the couple walked away. “Me thinks he loves her as well,” Gertie said.

“Of course he does,” Tilda said. “What is there no’ to love about the woman?”

“Aye, she be about the most lovely and sweetest woman I ever knew.”

* * *

Admittedly, Brogan was glad to see his wife. He was, however, confused as to why she chose today, of all days, for a walk and fresh air. The weather was not exactly being kind to anyone.

Leading her away from the crowd, they now stood in the woods. “I see Tilda and Gertie have made a full recovery,” he remarked with a grin.

“Have ye spoken with Hargatha since lockin’ her away?” Mairghread asked, getting straight to the reason for her visit.

Taken aback, he cocked his head to one side. “I tried to. Why do ye ask?”

“I want to speak to her, about me injuries from the night of the attack,” she said.

He raked a hand through his hair. He thought they had settled the matter last night. “I thought I proved to ye—”

“I ken that I did no’ kill them,” she told him with a smile. “But I have questions.”

“Such as?” he asked with a raise brow.

She clamped her lips together as she thought on his questions. “Hargatha be the most loyal to me uncle. I want to ken what else she kens about that night, especially as it pertains to me uncle.”

“I do no’ think she would be willin’ to talk to either one of us,” he pointed out. “Ye might have to think of other ways to get the answers ye seek.”

“I ken no’ who else to ask,” she said.

He was quiet for a long moment. “I do no’ think those who are loyal to Aymer will speak against him.” ’Twould likely be a cold day in hell before any of them did. “How many amongst yer people are loyal to him?”

In truth, she could not begin to guess. “In case ye fergot, I have no’ exactly been payin’ close attention to things these past few years.”

He had no response. At least none he could put to voice at the moment.

“I ken that ye have said I can talk to ye about anything,” she said as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Ye can,” he reassured her.

She studied him for a time as she mulled a few things over in her mind. “I have suspicions about me uncle. I be certain he lied to me about a few things.”

Brogan was just as certain but would remain quiet on the matter, at least until he heard what she had to say.

“I think he took the opportunity of the attack that night and used it to his advantage. He lied to me, makin’ me believe for all these years that I had killed them. I believe he did it knowin’ full well ’twould be somethin’ I could never fergive meself for. And I believe he did it to gain control of the clan, our coffers, and our holdings.”

The only thing Brogan could argue against was the fact she still believed there had been an attack that night. He, however, was convinced something far more sinister happened. ’Twas treacherous ground on which they now stood. He knew he must be careful in sharing his own suspicions until he had more definitive evidence. “I agree that he be no’ above anythin’ to get what he wants.”

She blew out a sigh of relief. “I thought ye’d think me mad,” she said.

“Nay lass, I do no’. I have learned much in the past weeks that lead me to believe much the same thing.”

“Such as?” she asked, quirking a pretty brow.

“What man removes an entire wall because of a few loose stones? What man would order all weapons be kept away from the keep, in a place of safekeeping no one kens of? And what good and decent man would arrange a marriage between his beautiful niece and a man like Courtemanche?”

“So what do we do?” she asked.

Brogan smiled, and said, “We build the wall before he returns and we make new weapons.”

“Ye’ve talked with Iarainn, then?”

“Aye, I have. She be workin’ day and night fer us.”

“That be good to hear,” she said. “Have ye decided what ye will do with Hargatha?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “’Tis no’ me decision to make, Mairghread, but yers.”

Mairghread shivered and looked up at the leaden sky. “I should get Gertie and Tilda back to the keep. It looks like more rain be headin’ our way.”

’Twas apparent to him she had no desire yet to make a decision on the auld healer. “When I return to the keep, we should mayhap sit down and discuss together, Hargatha’s future.”

“No matter what we decide, we will be needin’ a new healer,” she said.

He’d been so busy with the wall as well as Mairghread’s recovery that he hadn’t given much thought to their need of a healer.

“I am told Liam’s brother be a healer,” she said. “Mayhap we could ask Liam to reach out to him, to see if he would be interested in comin’ to our aid.”

Brogan chuckled. “Now, ye might want to reconsider that,” he said.

“Why? He can no’ possibly be any worse than Hargatha.”

Liam’s brother, Lachlan, had a habit of finding trouble without looking for it. He was just as handsome as Brogan’s own brother, Ian. But as Ian had taken advantage of his good looks where it pertained to women, Lachlan was not thusly inclined. The man was a warrior, through and through. However, several years ago, he laid down his sword and picked up herbs to become a healer. Brogan did not know why the man had made that decision. There were too many rumors of differing opinions to piece together an answer. “Well, he be a right handsome man. The lasses tend to throw themselves at him.”

Mairghread raised her brow in disbelief. “Be that as it may, we need a healer. I do no’ care if he be the most handsome man to ever grace God’s earth, or if he looks like the arse end of a three-legged dog.”

He chuckled slightly. “Verra well, I shall speak to Liam.”

“Thank ye, Brogan,” she said.

The mist began to turn to a light rain, then. “Ye best be gettin’ back to the keep.”

She bid him good day and hurried off to collect Gertie and Tilda.

He was truly beginning to like his wife.