Devil of Kilmartin by Laurin Wittig Page B

before that?”
    “I could not find that out. It seems he appeared from the mist without a background, nor a clan to claim him.”
    Symon paced the room, stopping briefly to refill his goblet. “And his claim to the chiefship?”
    It was Ranald’s turn to pace, though it appeared he wished to place more distance between himself and his brother. “There is some . . . dissent . . . among those I spoke with. The very day Elena went missing, he claimed they were wed.”
    Symon’s hand froze, his cup midway to his mouth. She was the chief’s child, his only child, and by Highland custom she would be chief at her father’s death, at least until she married. A strange dread spread like fire in dry tinder through him. “Wed?”
    “Aye. So he says.”
    “You do not sound convinced.”
    “My sources say he has had his eye on becoming chief since he first appeared. They would not put it past him to force the lass into marriage to seal his position, but no witnesses have come forward, and neither has the lass. More than one person speculated that he has her held prisoner, or worse.”
    That would begin to explain some of the mystery surrounding their guest. The chief’s daughter, fleeing a bridegroom she did not want, and who it seemed wantedher for the legitimacy she would bring to his claim of chief.
    “Did they say naught of her gift?”
    “That was most curious. When I suggested that Dunmore’s interest might be in her gift, it was as if I spoke gibberish. Either her gift has been kept a close secret, or the entire countryside surrounding Castle Lamont is invested in the secret.”
    “I find that hard to believe.”
    “As do I,” Ranald said. “ ’Tis too good a secret to be held that closely by that many. Perhaps Fergus thought to protect her that way, keeping her apart, her gift hidden?”
    “We have heard tales of the Lamont healer for . . . well, for longer than that lass has been alive. How is it possible her own people do not know of her?”
    “I do not know, but no one could even describe the lass to me beyond her unusual height and bright hair, things that would be visible from a distance as easily as up close.”
    It seemed the lass was more of a mystery than Symon had first thought. She was the daughter of the auld chief, perhaps wife to the new. She was a gifted healer, yet her own clan barely knew her. She seemed determined to keep herself apart from everyone, yet a wee lass drew her out with a bit of a smile and a few words. She held herself stiff, apart, bristly, and cool, and yet, beneath his hands and his lips she warmed, melting like frost in the first rays of daylight.
    “The Lamonts have been formidable enemies these past years, as if they know our thoughts and strategies before we do.” He remembered the ambush that had led to his father’s death. “We need to know where this Dougal ofDunmore came from. I would know what sorts of allies he might have, who trained him, what drives him.”
    “And where he is.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “He was last seen two days past. No one saw him leave the castle, and his own champion makes excuses, but ’tis believed he is no longer within.”
    “There is much still to be discovered about this Dougal of Dunmore.”
    Ranald nodded. “Auld Morag said as much.”
    Symon had forgotten he had sent his brother to consult the auld woman. “What did she say?”
    “She said it would take more than I would find to solve this riddle.” Ranald looked at him. “She also said the chief of MacLachlan must once more face his foe. The past would meet the future, and the circle would be complete. It was utter nonsense, as usual.”
    But Symon did not agree. Auld Morag was difficult to understand at the best of times, but she was nearly always right when you eventually deciphered her riddles.
    “Go back. Find out where this Dunmore came from. I cannot say why, but I feel it in my bones that his origin is the key to this mystery. Find that for me,