if you promise to tell no one."
Her heartbeat accelerating and excitement buzzing along her nerve endings, she scooted closer to him. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I'll keep everything you say a complete secret."
"Well… you're right. She's no peasant, but a lady, in truth. A week or two after we met her, and we were still in Edinburgh, a man approached me—the henchman for a Highland chief. He showed me a small portrait, a very fine painting of a beautiful woman. 'Twas Anna. But the man called her Susanna. He said she was the wife of the MacCromar chief from near Inverness."
"Is he dead now? Everyone says she is a widow."
"She told us she was a widow when first we met her, a week or two before they were searching for her. I didn't let on like I'd seen her. I talked to Eli about it and we figured if she'd run away from her husband, she had good reason. Mayhap he was abusive. She is a kind woman and I would hate to see anyone mistreat her."
"I see what you mean. I would feel the same way," Constance said in a compassionate tone, that she hoped fooled Vardon. "Poor lady, giving up life in a castle. She must've had a terrible life back there." And Constance wanted to be sure Anna returned to her terrible life, far from Neacal. She would have one of her own guards deliver a missive to the MacCromar chief.
***
During the next week, Neacal and Matthew made two lists of names—one for the possible traitors and one for those who appeared loyal to Neacal. During that time, he forced himself to stay away from Anna, but he did think of her near every minute. What was she doing? Did she remember the kiss with fondness? Of a certainty, he did. At night when he was alone, he could think of little else.
Once each day, he asked Tavia for an update on Anna's burn and bruises. With a knowing smile, the healer told him Anna was much better. He didn't mind if Tavia knew he cared more than he should about the lass.
During supper that evening, Neacal was again distracted by Anna as she ate at one of the lower tables. How he wished he could pull her aside, into the library or some private room and have a simple conversation with her or… 'haps even steal a kiss.
Nay, that would be madness. Even so, he could think of little else.
One of the guards named Forbes hastened across the great hall toward him, drawing his attention. He stopped in front of the high table. "The MacRurys have arrived by galley, m'laird."
"Indeed?" Neacal asked. What the devil were they doing here? Did the chief have some business to discuss? Chief MacRury was the age of Neacal's father, and they had met several years before. He arose from his seat and proceeded across the great hall.
"Several ladies are with the chief," Forbes said.
"Ladies?" Sudden realization struck Neacal and he halted, glaring back at Uncle Bhatar and Sir Hugh, sitting at the high table. Bhatar pretended to focus on eating, while Hugh gave a smug grin. Fury struck Neacal like lightning.
He'd told them he wanted no wife now. Why the bloody hell wouldn't they listen to him? The hoary-haired bastards!
Although rage clawed its way through his vitals, he could not send the MacRurys away now. 'Twould be the height of rudeness to deny them hospitality after they'd traveled so far.
Neacal turned and strode outside. In the bailey, he headed toward the newcomers. Although he was angry with the elders, he couldn't blame the MacRurys and would endeavor to make them feel at home.
Shoving away his ire, he offered his hand to the middle-aged man with the brownish-gray beard and collar-length thinning hair. "Welcome, Chief MacRury," Neacal said, noticing the man was dressed in a bright new plaid and his Highland finery. "'Tis nice to see you again."
"And you too, Neacal… I mean, Chief MacDonald. I was sorry to hear of your brother's passing. And your father, too, of course. Your da was a good man and I always considered him a friend."
"He thought very highly of you."
"I'm glad to see
Her heartbeat accelerating and excitement buzzing along her nerve endings, she scooted closer to him. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I'll keep everything you say a complete secret."
"Well… you're right. She's no peasant, but a lady, in truth. A week or two after we met her, and we were still in Edinburgh, a man approached me—the henchman for a Highland chief. He showed me a small portrait, a very fine painting of a beautiful woman. 'Twas Anna. But the man called her Susanna. He said she was the wife of the MacCromar chief from near Inverness."
"Is he dead now? Everyone says she is a widow."
"She told us she was a widow when first we met her, a week or two before they were searching for her. I didn't let on like I'd seen her. I talked to Eli about it and we figured if she'd run away from her husband, she had good reason. Mayhap he was abusive. She is a kind woman and I would hate to see anyone mistreat her."
"I see what you mean. I would feel the same way," Constance said in a compassionate tone, that she hoped fooled Vardon. "Poor lady, giving up life in a castle. She must've had a terrible life back there." And Constance wanted to be sure Anna returned to her terrible life, far from Neacal. She would have one of her own guards deliver a missive to the MacCromar chief.
***
During the next week, Neacal and Matthew made two lists of names—one for the possible traitors and one for those who appeared loyal to Neacal. During that time, he forced himself to stay away from Anna, but he did think of her near every minute. What was she doing? Did she remember the kiss with fondness? Of a certainty, he did. At night when he was alone, he could think of little else.
Once each day, he asked Tavia for an update on Anna's burn and bruises. With a knowing smile, the healer told him Anna was much better. He didn't mind if Tavia knew he cared more than he should about the lass.
During supper that evening, Neacal was again distracted by Anna as she ate at one of the lower tables. How he wished he could pull her aside, into the library or some private room and have a simple conversation with her or… 'haps even steal a kiss.
Nay, that would be madness. Even so, he could think of little else.
One of the guards named Forbes hastened across the great hall toward him, drawing his attention. He stopped in front of the high table. "The MacRurys have arrived by galley, m'laird."
"Indeed?" Neacal asked. What the devil were they doing here? Did the chief have some business to discuss? Chief MacRury was the age of Neacal's father, and they had met several years before. He arose from his seat and proceeded across the great hall.
"Several ladies are with the chief," Forbes said.
"Ladies?" Sudden realization struck Neacal and he halted, glaring back at Uncle Bhatar and Sir Hugh, sitting at the high table. Bhatar pretended to focus on eating, while Hugh gave a smug grin. Fury struck Neacal like lightning.
He'd told them he wanted no wife now. Why the bloody hell wouldn't they listen to him? The hoary-haired bastards!
Although rage clawed its way through his vitals, he could not send the MacRurys away now. 'Twould be the height of rudeness to deny them hospitality after they'd traveled so far.
Neacal turned and strode outside. In the bailey, he headed toward the newcomers. Although he was angry with the elders, he couldn't blame the MacRurys and would endeavor to make them feel at home.
Shoving away his ire, he offered his hand to the middle-aged man with the brownish-gray beard and collar-length thinning hair. "Welcome, Chief MacRury," Neacal said, noticing the man was dressed in a bright new plaid and his Highland finery. "'Tis nice to see you again."
"And you too, Neacal… I mean, Chief MacDonald. I was sorry to hear of your brother's passing. And your father, too, of course. Your da was a good man and I always considered him a friend."
"He thought very highly of you."
"I'm glad to see
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