MacRankin narrowed his eyes. "You're both MacDonalds. Why are you not helping him?"
"I offered him help. With his inflated pride, he refused and told me to leave. He has gone against the rest of us MacDonalds. He doesn't deserve to be chief. Half his clan wants him out. If you were to decide to lay siege to Bearach Castle, I would help you."
"Indeed? Against your own kin?"
"He is a very distant cousin, fifth or sixth." Sleat shrugged. "I owe the lunatic no loyalty. Several of his clansmen would be happy if he suddenly turned up dead."
"As would I," MacRankin said through his teeth.
Sleat nodded, satisfaction oozing through him that Neacal's enemy had been so easy to rile. "After he is gone, my son, Hamish, could watch over that branch of the MacDonald clan, protect and lead them until another, more suitable, chief could be found."
"Well, I kenned you were not helping me out of the goodness of your heart." MacRankin smirked.
He was glad MacRankin was not an imbecile, for intelligent and malicious allies had always served him well. "We understand each other." He raised his tankard of ale. "To bringing Neacal MacDonald down."
Chapter Four
"The laird wishes to see you in the library," Tavia whispered to Anna as she got up from the table after breaking her fast the next morn. "I'll show you where 'tis."
Anna nodded, her stomach giving a wee flutter at the thought of seeing Neacal again. She had not slept well last night, despite the chamomile and willow bark tea Tavia supplied her with. Everything replayed in her mind, over and over, giving her nightmares—the attack and Neacal coming to her rescue.
Her sore muscles aching, she followed the healer down a short corridor off the great hall and into a room with a large oak table. Standing by the fireplace, Neacal glanced toward her when she entered. Why had he not eaten breakfast in the great hall? She'd certainly missed his sharp gaze upon her. His massive wolfhound sat beside him, panting happily.
She curtseyed as Tavia exited the room, leaving the door open.
"Mistress Douglas." He gave a deep nod.
"A good morn to you, Laird MacDonald," Anna said.
"Neacal," he reminded her. His husky voice only made her heart rate increase as did his rapt attention.
"Aye, Neacal. You must call me Anna." Although she felt a strong connection to him because of the ordeal in the shed last evening, she felt decadent calling him by his given name, especially since anyone could be listening from the corridor.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Sore all over from the struggle, but no pain other than that. And you?"
He shook his head. "I wasn't injured."
"Thank the saints." Even though he was the most skillful fighter she'd ever watched, when he'd been fighting Farquar, she'd feared the worse—that the hulking guard would cut him down. Besides that, Neacal had already been injured enough for two lifetimes. "I am most grateful for your help," she said. "And I thank God you arrived when you did. How did you know I was being attacked?"
"I was on the battlements with Dunn. He heard your screams first, then I did. We rushed down to help."
"Oh, I must thank you too, Dunn." She moved forward and stroked the coarse brown fur on the dog's head. He wiggled closer to her, sniffing, wagging his tail. "You're a good lad. Aye, you are." How she loved dogs or any friendly animals. She ruffled his fur.
When she glanced up, she found Neacal watching her hands with a profound intensity. Did he not wish her to pet his dog? She stepped back, clasping her hands in front of her. Neacal's gaze lifted to hers while Dunn followed her, placing his head beneath her hand again. She smiled, giving in to the sweet pup.
"Leave her be, Dunn," Neacal said.
"Nay, I like him."
"Spoiled rogue," Neacal muttered, maintaining his disapproving scowl, but the hint of amusement beneath was obvious.
Anna couldn't help that her smile widened. She was happy to see that, despite the dark and forbidding air that hung about Neacal, he had a hidden, dry sense of humor.
"What on earth were you doing out in that shed at gloaming?" he asked.
"Helping Mistress Pottenger by feeding her cat. Her knee was paining her and she didn't feel like walking that far." She shrugged. "Besides, I love animals."
He quirked a brow. "I thought cats caught their own prey. Plenty of rats and mice about, especially out where the grain and hay are stored."
"Aye, they do, but the wee black one has a litter of kittens. We wished her to have some extra food."
"I see." Neacal observed her closely. Her smile and her green eyes, dancing with humor, bewitched him. Not only did she sing like an angel, she was also kind to small animals and elderly cooks. 'Haps she was an angel in truth.
She lifted her warm, caressing gaze to his. "I didn't think there would be any danger. 'Twas late but not dark out."
"Regardless of the hour, you should always be safe within these walls. But, until I ken who is trustworthy among the guards and clansmen, 'tis best that you not go outside alone."
She sobered. "Very well."
The way she stroked Dunn's head distracted Neacal. Never had he envied a dog before now. How would her small, delicate hands feel caressing him? Smooth and cool? Don't be daft, man. She wouldn't want to touch your scarred face and body.
"Do you think more of your guards are untrustworthy?" she asked softly.
Neacal glanced at the open door, realizing someone could be eavesdropping. He moved toward the door to close it.
"Chief?" The male voice came from the dimness of the corridor. Once the man came forward, into the light, Neacal saw that it was Uncle Bhatar.
"Aye, what is it?" Moving onto the threshold, he drew the door closed a bit, hoping to shield Anna from his view. The elders didn't need to know about his private conversations.
But he knew 'twas too late when Bhatar glanced past him. "Oh. I didn't know you had company." His sharp blue gaze darted between the two of them.
"I was just about to go out and join the men for training," Neacal said.
"Could I have a word first?"
"Aye."
"I must bid you both a good day," Anna said, moving toward the door. Though he did not want to step aside to allow her to leave, he did. He was surprised to see his dog following her.
"Dunn, come," he said. What a traitor. His own dog wanted to desert him for her. Well, Neacal couldn't blame him, in truth. Who wouldn't want to follow the sweet lass around? With regret, he watched her disappear down the corridor while Dunn returned to him.
Once she was out of sight, Uncle Bhatar said, "She is the one who was attacked last night. Is she not?"
"Aye." Neacal couldn't believe how irritated he was with the interruption. He'd wanted to talk to Anna a bit longer. Once he, Bhatar and Dunn were inside the library, he closed the door.
"I wanted to warn you, lad, there is a rumor going around that you killed that guard outright for no reason. There were no witnesses."
Sudden fury scraped over Neacal. "Mistress Douglas was a witness! The blackguard was trying to rape her."
"Aye, well. I believe you but some of the clansmen are unsure about what happened since no one else, aside from you and her, saw any of it."
"I don't give a damn if they're unsure. I know good and well what happened and so does Mistress Douglas. Tavia says she is covered in bruises from the ordeal. Do you think I would lie, uncle?" Neacal asked, his voice harder than he'd meant, but he was tired of the elders questioning him about everything. They seemed to enjoy prodding at him and inciting his anger.
"Nay. I don't, but a couple of the other council members have concerns."
Neacal ground his teeth. "Let me guess—Hugh."
"Aye."
"Well, he questions me at every turn, does he not?"
"Indeed, lad."
"Nothing I do pleases the council. I didn't ask for this position. I'm only doing it because all of you asked me to and to honor my father's memory. 'Tis what he wo
uld expect of me. But if the clan and council see me as an unfit chief, I'll leave."
"Nay, Neacal. I certainly don't wish you to leave. I believe you're the only hope this clan has. I've watched you since you were a wee lad. You're a good man. I'll talk to Hugh and the others."
"But I'm not my father, and no one in the clan will be happy with my leadership." He could never measure up to his father. He only wished he could be half as good.
"No two chiefs are the same. How could they possibly be? You're a far better chief than your brother, that's a certainty."
"So everyone says, but I doubt Hugh disapproved of him. He has some grudge against me."
"Humph. He's an old man. Don't pay any attention to him."
Neacal snorted at the irony, for his uncle was older than Hugh.
Bhatar's smirk was almost hidden in his white beard. "As I said, I'll talk to them. But I'm still wondering… why was the lass in here with you, alone?"
Neacal narrowed his eyes. Could he have no privacy? "I was inquiring about her injuries."
"Ah." Bhatar eyed him with speculation. "Who is she anyway?"
"Anna Douglas."
"Aye, we all ken that, but which clan was she born into? Which village or town is she from? What of her past?"
"I know not, uncle. If you wish to find out, ask her. I'll not go prying into her private life. She's a musician and a singer. That's all I need to ken."
"Humph."
"What does that mean?"
Bhatar raised his white brows. "Just that… what with the way you've always got your eye on her, I think you would like to know her better. Triùir a thig gun iarraidh—gaol, eud, 'us eagal." Three that come unbidden—love, jealousy, and fear.
***
Anna sang the old ballad, putting her heart and soul into the delivery. Although the great hall was filled, she heard no sounds other than her own voice and Eli playing the lute behind her. She closed her eyes as she belted out the last line, the note hanging in the air for a long moment.
Afterward, the applause deafened her. She smiled and curtsied, happy tears burning her eyes because they appreciated her singing so much. 'Twas her only joy in life.
Blinking back the tears, she lifted her gaze and it connected with Neacal's. At first, he was not clapping, but was instead staring at her with that gaze of stark pain. He glanced aside and clapped as everyone else did.
Wishing she knew what he was thinking, she curtsied again and moved off to the side. Vardon, the piper, took her place, front and center, and began playing.
Since the pipes played indoors hurt her ears, she wove through the crowd to gain some distance from the shrill instrument.
An argument broke out a few feet in front of her, two clansmen yelling insults. She drew to an abrupt halt. Before she could move, one swung a fist, smashing the other's nose. Blood splattered. She leapt back as the injured man struck his attacker in the stomach. Cursing, they latched onto one another and staggered roughly about the floor, slamming into people. Other men grabbed onto them, attempting to break them up.
Anna stumbled back, surprised when the tall iron candelabrum across from her tottered, headed straight toward her. Alarmed, she leapt out of the way and landed on her backside on the floor. Close to her, the heavy candelabrum crashed to the stone floor with a loud clang. One of the lit candles bounced and landed against Anna's skirt, catching it ablaze. Panic seizing her, she tried to stamp out the fire, but couldn't manage it, seated on the floor as she was. The flames singed her ankle. "Ouch!"
"Out of my way!" someone yelled.
Neacal stamped his large, booted foot upon her skirts and smoke billowed up, the scent of burnt wool filling her nose and her lungs. She coughed and stared up at Neacal in shock. Everything had happened so fast.
"Are you burned?" he asked, helping her to stand.
She shook her head, though her ankle did sting. "Not badly. I thank you, m'laird."
"You were burned then?" His gaze bored into her, demanding the truth.
"Only a wee bit… on my ankle."
He glanced around. "Tavia?" he called out.
"Aye, m'laird." She waved a hand in the crowd.
"See to Mistress Douglas' burn. Use the library." His gaze swung to Anna again. "Follow Tavia."
"Very well."
The gawking people eased back, opening up a path across the great hall, and she moved toward the healer.
"You two, out!" Neacal commanded the two men who'd been fighting. "I will speak to you later. As punishment you will have extra work."
They mumbled their apologies as the guards escorted them outside.
"Come, Anna," Tavia said, taking her arm. "Let me look at your ankle. Does it pain you too greatly to walk?"
"Nay. I will be fine."
Soon they arrived in the library where Tavia lit three candles from the coals in the fireplace. "Have a seat."
Once Anna sat, Tavia knelt before her, lifted the hem of her charred skirt and rested it over her knee. She then rolled Anna's burnt stocking down her calf and drew it off.
Neacal barged into the room. "How bad is the burn?"
"'Tis red but not terrible," Tavia said. "I'm thinking a poultice will start it to healing nicely."
"Aye. Good. Let me see." He dropped to one knee beside the healer and eyed Anna's ankle and shin.
Her face felt hotter than her burn.
He gazed up at her, his blue eyes intense in the candlelight. "I apologize for my daft clansmen. They know better than to brawl within the castle."
"Do not fash over it. I'm sure I'll be fine in a day or two, m'laird, especially with Tavia's exceptional healing skills."
After lingering for another moment, he gave a brief nod and arose. "I'm going to find out what the two men were fighting about." He left, closing the door behind him.
"'Tis good the laird is quick on his feet," Tavia said.
"Indeed."
Tavia smiled. "'Tis also good that he keeps his eye on you at all times."
Heat consumed Anna's face yet again.
***
Constance glared after Anna, wishing the huge iron candelabrum had struck the trollop on top of the head and killed her. Just as Neacal had killed Farquar. She still could not believe he was gone. Her eyes burned just as rage burned within her. She would have her revenge against Neacal before he married her off to some old bastard, but she had to hurry.
'Twas obvious how much Neacal liked Anna. He always watched her. No doubt they secretly spent nights together in his chamber. If she could dispatch Anna, then Neacal would know how she felt when he'd killed Farquar.
Had Neacal spoken the truth? Had Farquar tried to have his way with Anna Douglas? Why would he? Constance knew she was far lovelier than that dowdy little bird. Everyone told Constance she was a great beauty.
With unease, she remembered finding Farquar talking to Anna in the bailey one day. But just because he'd talked to her didn't mean he wanted under her skirts.
Who was Anna Douglas, anyway? Where was she from? She had to find out something about the jezebel. She glanced around and her gaze landed on the piper. He'd been playing when the fight broke out but now stood, holding his pipes, by one of the tables. He was not bad looking, though tall and scrawny. Mayhap she could find out something from him.
She sauntered toward him, pasting a sweet smile upon her face. "I was enjoying your playing. 'Twas too bad the fight interrupted it."
"I thank you, m'lady." He bowed.
Constance felt her smile widen; it wasn't often people mistakenly called her 'lady.' But she always enjoyed it when they did. "I do hope Mistress Douglas is all right."
"I'm certain she will be."
"What is your name?"
"Vardon Clemmens, m'lady."
"Where are you from?" Constance kept up the idle chit chat, pretending great interest, sending the daft man flirtatious grins and fluttering her lashes.
He blushed more than she ever had, even as a green virgin. She was happy to see he w
ould be easy pickings. In a day or two, he would spill everything he knew about Anna Douglas.
***
The next day, the clan elders summoned Neacal to a meeting in the library. What the devil were they concerned about this time? He had more important things to do than counter their complaints. Training the soldiers and finding more was his first priority… except when he was thinking about Anna. He was glad to get a report from Tavia that Anna's burn was healing well, but he'd had no opportunity to talk to her this day.
Neacal strode into the library and took a seat at the head of the table where all the elders sat.
He scanned the expressions of the white-haired men, some dire and others forcing smiles.
"Why did you call this meeting?" he asked them.
"We need to discuss a few things," Sir Hugh said.
"Very well," Neacal said. "Which things? Farquar's death?"
Hugh waved a hand. "We believe you on that score. Several of the men said he was a menace and disloyal to you. I say you handled the situation well, all things considered."
"I thank you for that." Neacal relaxed marginally at the small victory. But if this wasn't about Farquar, what did they wish to discuss?
"Things are going very well, chief," Uncle Bhatar said in that placating way which only irritated Neacal more.
"I'm glad you think so, but that can't be what this is about."
Hugh inhaled a deep breath and let it out dramatically, as if he dreaded what he was going to say. "'Tis time we started searching out a bride for you."
A sudden spark of anger burst through Neacal. "A bride?" He demanded. "I've been chief for less than a month!" Were they all mad?
"'Tis never too early."
Bhatar leaned forward. "Is e fortan no mìfhortan fir bean." A man's wife is his fortune or misfortune.
Hugh nodded. "So we must find one who will bring fortune to us all. She must be the right lady for the clan."
Neacal ground his teeth. Why had Hugh placed emphasis on lady? Had it something to do with Anna? That they thought he would want to marry her, a commoner with no connection to a powerful clan?
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