The MacClarens are known to sympathize with the English, and he spoke of his clan with pride. If he were a spy, why reveal that?”
Colin shifted in the bed once more. “His name has been known here for decades, so ’twas naught to reveal. But Clan MacClaren has connections to Clan MacAba—known to favor the English even more than the MacClarens. Our chamberlain said that Sir Broc, my half brother’s bodyguard, is a MacAba. ’Tis a relation I’d nae reveal if I were working with a man against Scotland.”
“So by revealing Sir Broc’s allegiance, Sir MacClaren draws suspicion away from himself.”
“At the very least he causes us to waste time proving the truth of Sir Broc’s clan ties.”
“Why bother? Which clan claims Sir Broc proves little either way. Half of Scotland is related to the other half, and just as many have ties to England through marriage or land ownership.”
“Perhaps our chamberlain bears the man a grudge. Relatives are nae always friends.” Colin spoke solemnly and let his free hand drop to his lap. “Clan Marr being a solid example.”
’Twas the first time she’d heard him hint that his feelings about Brice might involve more than envy and occasional anger. Sorcha looked at him briefly. He was frowning, but over what, exactly, she couldna tell.
“At present,” she said. “We can neither pinpoint MacClaren as a spy nor dismiss him as loyal. As chamberlain he has ample opportunity to cause mischief or add poison to food, even after it has been tasted.”
“What of his information about the letters my father sent to Lady Coillteach?” Colin sighed. He stroked his free hand over hers to clasp her fingers.
Warmth stole over Sorcha. “What of it? Many people write letters, and all know that Earl Coillteach’s wife is something of a simpleton. I doubt she could be a spy.”
“However, spies have been known to disguise their abilities or use innocents when living amongst their victims, and you may recall that Coillteach has directed my activities on Scotland’s behalf for the past ten years. Were his wife a spy, he would be destroyed personally and politically. As for frequently writing letters, my father avoided the activity whenever possible. Using a quill or stylus gave his hand cramps. When events forced him to send letters he always summoned the priest to write for him.”
“That is interesting.” She eased her hand from his and straightened her head away from him.
“I doubt my father would have sent to the village for Father Andrew, so the priest writing his letters would be the man who came with Lady Agnes.”
“When I speak with Father Cuthbert, I’ll try to get him to tell me what the letters contained. What of servants of longer standing, the knights, and other clansmen? Your father’s leanings were well known. Wouldna those people share some of his inclinations?”
“Precisely why we must speak with everyone at Strathnaver.”
“Which leaves us still undecided about Sir MacClaren.”
“Aye, he will bear watching.”
They fell silent. Sorcha became more aware of Colin’s body warming her side and his arm about her shoulders. Last night his ultimatums had failed to get her into his bed. Was he trying to seduce her, now? ’Twould be a mistake, but she had nae objected to anything done while they talked. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her racing thoughts. But Colin’s spice and leather scent filled her head. She couldna possibly think if she stayed where she was.
Praying that Colin would nae try to stop her, half hoping that he would so she would have cause to resist him more strongly, she slid to the edge of the bed. She could nae allow him to ken how weak she was.
His hand fell from her shoulder, and she stood. The side that had pressed against him cooled. She couldna help longing to discover once more the touch of his lips and the comfort of his embrace. If only passion were enough. If only desire were nae a self-betrayal.
CHAPTER
Colin shifted in the bed once more. “His name has been known here for decades, so ’twas naught to reveal. But Clan MacClaren has connections to Clan MacAba—known to favor the English even more than the MacClarens. Our chamberlain said that Sir Broc, my half brother’s bodyguard, is a MacAba. ’Tis a relation I’d nae reveal if I were working with a man against Scotland.”
“So by revealing Sir Broc’s allegiance, Sir MacClaren draws suspicion away from himself.”
“At the very least he causes us to waste time proving the truth of Sir Broc’s clan ties.”
“Why bother? Which clan claims Sir Broc proves little either way. Half of Scotland is related to the other half, and just as many have ties to England through marriage or land ownership.”
“Perhaps our chamberlain bears the man a grudge. Relatives are nae always friends.” Colin spoke solemnly and let his free hand drop to his lap. “Clan Marr being a solid example.”
’Twas the first time she’d heard him hint that his feelings about Brice might involve more than envy and occasional anger. Sorcha looked at him briefly. He was frowning, but over what, exactly, she couldna tell.
“At present,” she said. “We can neither pinpoint MacClaren as a spy nor dismiss him as loyal. As chamberlain he has ample opportunity to cause mischief or add poison to food, even after it has been tasted.”
“What of his information about the letters my father sent to Lady Coillteach?” Colin sighed. He stroked his free hand over hers to clasp her fingers.
Warmth stole over Sorcha. “What of it? Many people write letters, and all know that Earl Coillteach’s wife is something of a simpleton. I doubt she could be a spy.”
“However, spies have been known to disguise their abilities or use innocents when living amongst their victims, and you may recall that Coillteach has directed my activities on Scotland’s behalf for the past ten years. Were his wife a spy, he would be destroyed personally and politically. As for frequently writing letters, my father avoided the activity whenever possible. Using a quill or stylus gave his hand cramps. When events forced him to send letters he always summoned the priest to write for him.”
“That is interesting.” She eased her hand from his and straightened her head away from him.
“I doubt my father would have sent to the village for Father Andrew, so the priest writing his letters would be the man who came with Lady Agnes.”
“When I speak with Father Cuthbert, I’ll try to get him to tell me what the letters contained. What of servants of longer standing, the knights, and other clansmen? Your father’s leanings were well known. Wouldna those people share some of his inclinations?”
“Precisely why we must speak with everyone at Strathnaver.”
“Which leaves us still undecided about Sir MacClaren.”
“Aye, he will bear watching.”
They fell silent. Sorcha became more aware of Colin’s body warming her side and his arm about her shoulders. Last night his ultimatums had failed to get her into his bed. Was he trying to seduce her, now? ’Twould be a mistake, but she had nae objected to anything done while they talked. She breathed in deeply, trying to calm her racing thoughts. But Colin’s spice and leather scent filled her head. She couldna possibly think if she stayed where she was.
Praying that Colin would nae try to stop her, half hoping that he would so she would have cause to resist him more strongly, she slid to the edge of the bed. She could nae allow him to ken how weak she was.
His hand fell from her shoulder, and she stood. The side that had pressed against him cooled. She couldna help longing to discover once more the touch of his lips and the comfort of his embrace. If only passion were enough. If only desire were nae a self-betrayal.
CHAPTER
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