Complications
Shona heard Fynn’s voice out in the hallway before he knocked. From the groans of canine pleasure, it seemed likely the dour Scot was tickling Ruadh’s belly. Jeannie hastily tidied away the empty porridge bowls. Laughing during the meal had resulted in hiccups, which made them giggle all the more.
When the tap came, they sobered and made an effort to tidy wayward wisps of hair and smooth rumpled skirts.
“Enter,” Jeannie intoned. Her struggle to keep a serious look on her face while the eye twitched almost sent Shona into hysterics again.
She resolved not to look at her aunt when Fynn poked his head around the door, though it was tempting to blurt out they knew he wasn’t the Mackinloch she was meant to wed.
“I came to see how fares the laird,” he said solemnly.
Ruadh took advantage of the open door to slink in behind him. He trotted to the bed and licked Kendric’s hand.
Shona gasped with delight when her uncle stroked the dog’s head and whispered, “Good lad.”
Jeannie clasped her hands to her mouth.
“They say animals can help folk recover,” Fynn said.
“I think it’s true, my lord,” Jeannie replied, batting her eyelashes at the man like an infatuated maidservant. Trouble was, both eyes didn’t blink at the same time. “Nothing does as much good as a beloved hound, and nourishing food.”
Shona was about to point out that Ruadh was her dog, and her uncle had barely eaten a crumb since his accident, though her aunt had more than made up for it.
However, her companions ignored her as they withdrew to the window and became engrossed in conversation.
“Now food is summat I ken about,” Fynn claimed. “I’m a fair to middling cook.”
Jeannie flushed like the maiden she wasn’t. “Oh, my,” she gushed. “And I love to eat.”
Shona rolled her eyes and groaned. “Ye’ll make a perfect pair, then.”
Fynn clenched his jaw and stared at her as if she’d told him he had two heads.
The truth struck her like a blow to the stomach.
He knew.
And what’s more, this rough and ready fellow and her aunt would make a perfect couple. Jeannie deserved a good man, especially after Ailig’s mistreatment. “Dinna fash, Fynn, we’re wise to yer charade, as ye are to ours. I have to get out of this chamber and find yer master.”
His look of confused shock lasted only a moment before he took hold of Jeannie’s hand. “Forgive me, my lady, I’m nay the Laird Mackinloch’s son, as ye’ve surmised, and I hope ye dinna mind me saying I’m glad ye’re nay the woman Ewan is to wed.”
His sentiments were the most convoluted confession of tender feelings Shona was ever likely to hear, but at least he’d confirmed Ewan was her betrothed. She headed for the door, anxious to be free to roam at will again.
“The Mackinloch has left the castle wi’ David,” Fynn informed her.
“Where have they gone?”
“I dinna ken. They followed yon Mungo.”
“Why?”
“He’s up to no good. Him and his brother.”
The color drained from Jeannie’s face. A tic seized her wonky eye. “Ailig? That’s impossible. Shona’s father banished him from MacCarron lands.”
Shona glanced over to Kendric as a chill of dread crept up her spine. If her uncle died, Mungo and Ailig…
Reality stared her in the face. Her clan was suddenly in dire need of a strong man, a warrior like Ewan Mackinloch. She just hoped she hadn’t alienated him.
Despite her trepidation at what the future might hold, her spirits lifted when Ruadh jumped onto Kendric’s bed and lay beside him. As she exited, it occurred to her the dog looked like a lion rampant conveying the silent message that all would be well.
*
Though it went against his instincts, Ewan rode slowly, taking pains to arrive back at Creag well after Mungo. “I think it’s time we reveal our true identities,” he told David. “The Camron’s accident has changed matters.”
“True e…e…nough,” his kinsman agreed.
“If Kendric succumbs to his injuries, there’s nay doot in my mind the Morleys will make a bid for the lairdship. That wouldna bode well for Clan MacCarron, nor Clan Mackinloch.”
“They m…mm…might not wait for him to die,” David said.
Ewan discovered a new admiration for the youth. “Ye’re thinking they might try to take over while he’s lying injured.”
“Or kill him.”
Ewan thought back to the gatherings he’d witnessed in the hall, remembering the evil glint in Mungo’s eyes; by all accounts his brother was also a brute.
Ice flooded his veins. There was danger to Kendric, right enough, but Shona would be the pawn in their deadly game. Even if they did away with Kendric, there’d be no guarantee the clan would accept Mungo as chief, unless he married the laird’s blood kin.
Then there was the matter of the other faction, obviously opposed to Mungo, but on whose side?
“Ye’re a smart lad, David,” he said as he spurred Liath to a gallop.
*
Desirous of making a good impression on Ewan Mackinloch, Shona decided to comb her hair and wash her face before going in search of him.
Moira was on her knees in the chamber tidying a chest of rarely-worn gowns. She’d spread several garments on the carpeted floor. “I decided these could do wi’ a good airing,” her maid explained.
Shona stooped to pick up a dark green velvet frock and pressed it tightly against her ribs. “It’s been so long since I wore this, it likely willna fit any longer.”
“’Tis a shame. I like the material,” Moira replied, leaning forward to feel the fabric. “Mayhap ye’ll wear it again come winter.”
Shona swished around the chamber clutching the dress to her breasts. “I might be much too fat by winter,” she teased.
It didn’t take Moira long to understand. “Ye hope to be round with a bairn?”
“Aye,” Shona whispered, suddenly awed by the notion of bearing Ewan Mackinloch’s sons. “I plan to reveal my true identity to the real bridegroom as soon as ye’ve helped me look my best.”
Moira got off her knees just as someone rapped loudly on the door. “Hold yer horses,” she complained.
Shona hesitated, fearing bad news about Kendric, but then reasoned she’d just left Jeannie; her aunt would have entered without knocking if the message was urgent. Pulling out the decorative hairpins that had once belonged to the mother she’d never met, she headed for the boudoir.
Humming, she arranged the hairpins so the little enamel butterflies were lined up in a neat row. Satisfied, she drew the comb through her long tresses, hoping her intended preferred fair-haired lasses. “Who was it?” she called, trying to decide if a single or double braid would be the best choice for the occasion.
Hearing no reply, she put down the comb and returned to the chamber. Indignant fear surged when she espied one of Morley’s men with his arm around Moira’s chest, a dagger pressed to the side of her neck. Mungo stood beside them, a strange smirk on his face.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“There’s to be a wedding,” Mungo crowed. “Me and thee.”
Shona scoffed. “Never.”
“Then Moira here is a dead woman,” he replied. “Such a shame.”
Her instinct was to fight tooth and nail, but the terror contorting Moira’s face gave her pause. She didn’t have the strength to overpower two big Highlanders. “Ye’re no different from yer cursed brother,” she goaded in an effort to delay their departure.
To her dismay, he failed to rise to the bait. “We’re going to walk out of the castle to the stables,” he advised, taking hold of her arm. “One wrong move, and…” Grinning, he drew his finger across his throat.
She tried without success to pull her arm from his bruising grasp. “I understand ye only too well. Moira dies. Such a braw man to murder a helpless lassie.”
She tasted bile when Mungo leaned close and breathed in her ear. “Aye, and if ye dinna please me, Wife, I might slit yer gullet as well. When I’m laird, I can do whate’er I please.”
The other man chuckled, evidently as demented as his kinsman.
Dread surged as Mungo forced her to the door. If his dire plan succeeded, her life would be forfeit, and Mungo couldn’t leave Ewan alive. The wrath of the Mackinloch clan would eventually fall on them all. MacCarrons would be massacred because she’d been too proud to accept a marriage alliance. Traitors had taken advantage of the confusion she’d caused.
Her abductor made sure the hallway was clear before signaling his man to bring out her maid. Shona winced when he twisted her arm behind her back and set them in motion. She thought to cry out if they passed her uncle’s door, but he shoved her in the opposite direction. Fear for Moira paralyzed her voice.
Determined not to succumb to despair, she clung to a glimmer of hope. Mungo didn’t know the identity of the true Mackinloch—and she still gripped a hairpin in her fist.