New Plans
When Fynn dithered on the threshold, Ewan came up right behind him and gave him a nudge, leaving his kinsman no choice but to enter the chamber. David followed.
Both lasses took a step backward.
Fynn reached for Lady Lazy-Eye’s hand and, to Ewan’s astonishment, bestowed a courtly kiss upon it.
She blushed prettily and smiled. She’d have been a beauty but for the eye defect.
“My…my…lady,” Fynn gushed, still holding her hand.
David scowled, then bowed. “My…my…la..la…la…ladies,” he offered.
The MacCarron women stared open-mouthed, probably thinking the mighty Mackinlochs had turned out to be a clan of stammerers.
Ewan affected a perfunctory bow. “Forgive my lord Fynn. He is overcome by…”
He was about to say yer beauty, but sensed both women would recognize it for the empty compliment it was.
“…news of yer uncle’s accident,” he amended quickly.
“Aye,” the golden-haired auntie agreed, ignoring Fynn and addressing her comment to Ewan. “He is very ill.”
His inclination was to invite the lass to join him outside the chamber where they might continue a more intimate conversation. He struggled to remind himself he was supposed to be a lowly member of Fynn’s escort. A dalliance with the aunt of his intended bride was likely to cause more problems.
He glanced across the dimly lit chamber to the mound of furs and blankets on the bed, anxious to get a glimpse of a laird who had a beautiful young sister and an older niece. “I dinna suppose we can speak with The Camron today, about…”
He lost his train of thought as he stared into green eyes welling with tears. “My apologies, ye’re upset about yer brother. I shouldna have mentioned it.”
The lasses exchanged a strange glance which hinted at a shared secret. Ewan couldn’t imagine what it might be, unless the accident was a ruse, and the laird wasn’t injured at all. That seemed unlikely given the factions plotting in the hall.
The five hovered near the doorway in silence, avoiding looking at each other for what seemed like long awkward minutes, until Lazy-Eye extracted her hand from Fynn’s grip and walked over to the bed.
Ewan again had to prod Fynn to follow. “Go on, mon,” he whispered. “Pay yer respects.”
“He seems shy,” the beauty said when only she, Ewan and David remained by the door.
“Aye,” he agreed, wishing he’d put more forethought into trying to turn a farmer into the son of a nobleman in the blink of an eye.
“I’m Ewan Mackinloch, by the way,” he explained, hoping she would repeat his name. But she merely nodded and walked to her brother’s bedside. The aroma of lavender tickled his nostrils. “Not only beautiful, but sweet-smelling,” he sighed.
David’s echoing sigh of agreement jolted him back to reality. Lowly escorts had no reason to remain in the chamber, but he was hesitant to leave Fynn to his own devices. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but his man seemed to be taking more of an interest in Lady Lazy-Eye than was warranted. She was Ewan’s intended for pity’s sake.
He mocked his own stupidity. Now he was jealous of a one-armed man paying attention to a woman he didn’t want to marry anyway.
And if the laird’s sister would cease staring at him, he might get his thoughts off bedding her at the earliest opportunity.
He sauntered over to the end of the huge bed, hoping his actions wouldn’t be deemed rude. He swallowed hard when he set eyes on the injured man. There was no doubt Kendric MacCarron had met with a catastrophic accident. One leg was encased in a parchment and wax cast from ankle to hip. Though he slept the sleep of a man heavily drugged, agony was etched on his pale features.
Shame prickled Ewan’s nape. He shouldn’t be relieved the man was indeed very ill, but at least the MacCarrons weren’t trying to pull the wool over their eyes. Another emotion plagued him. He’d been raised to hate the lairds of this enemy clan, yet he felt nothing but pity for the stricken chief.
“Ye see the state he’s in,” Lazy-Eye whispered to Fynn, as if she sensed they had doubts.
Did she also harbor suspicions about the deception the Mackinlochs were perpetrating?
He risked a glance across at the beauty who still stared at him with unmistakable longing. She perhaps thought him free to pursue her, and he surely would if only he could. He half-wished he’d never left Roigh, but then he wouldn’t have met the woman who’d bewitched him.
He was tempted to blurt out that he was the Mackinloch laird’s son. That while he realized he was meant to wed Lady Lazy-Eye, would the MacCarrons object if he married her aunt instead?
“I think we should leave,” Fynn said, shaking him out of his lunacy.
He dragged his gaze away and stalked to the hallway.
“To the stables,” he hissed to his men when the door closed behind them. “We need a new plan.”
*
“He doesna seem so bad,” Jeannie whispered.
“What?” Shona replied, her eyes still fixed on the door. She couldn’t understand her reaction to the man who’d escorted her betrothed to Creag Castle. Just looking at him had caused peculiar but not unpleasant sensations to ripple up her thighs and into very private places.
“Yer intended,” her auntie explained. “He seems like a nice mon.”
Shona swiveled her head back to the conversation. “He has one hand.”
“Still, he’s mature, not like the other two.”
Shona had an urge to shriek. “Mature! He’s old.”
Jeannie bristled. “Weel, I’d wager he’s not much older than me.”
“Ye can marry him then,” she retorted.
Her aunt stood, took her by the arm and led her away from the bed. “We’re likely to wake Kendric with all this caterwauling. The Mackinloch is intended for ye, nay me.”
Shona detected a sadness in the strange eyes. “Ye liked him.”
Jeannie shrugged. “Aye, but that’s neither here nor there. Ye’re the one who’s going to marry him and sooner or later ye’ll have to reveal yer identity.”
That much was true. Uncle Kendric would eventually awaken and the truth would come out. But the longing in Ewan Mackinloch’s brown eyes taunted her. If there was a chance… “I liked the younger men better,” she declared haughtily.
Jeannie scoffed. “Ye prefer a lad who canna speak to one with no hand?”
Shona pouted, aware her aunt knew exactly what she meant. “I was thinking of Ewan.”
Jeannie snorted. “That’s his name, is it? Cheeky bugger couldna take his eyes off ye.”
“He doesna ken who I am. Probably thinks to pursue me.”
“That’s impossible and ye ken it.”
Conflicting emotions swirled in Shona’s heart. It was impossible, but she’d never been known for her obedience to authority. If she had to marry Fynn, she might as well explore her feelings for Ewan first. “My uncle has decreed I wed a Mackinloch. Ewan is of that clan.”
“This deception is proving too dangerous. What ye propose might destroy a fragile peace.”
“Aye. We need a new plan.”