Highlander Enchanted(27)

The elderly laird offered a deep sigh. “I hadno the time t’warn ye. We were driven out by the MacGomery clan. Laird MacGomery’s gold has bought Crusaders with nothing to lose and nowhere t’return. He ran us through and our neighbors as well. We had no warriors t’defend my keep, but I thought it best to bring the weaker somewhere safe.”

Cade listened, his gaze roving over the people filling the Hall once more. “Yer wise, as always.” But his thoughts were on how Laird Duncan was going to react when he realized the MacDonald’s were hiding out in one of his own keeps. Duncan MacGomery was Cade’s current laird, the man who provided a home fer his clan.

“Ye’re almost kin,” Laird Hugh continued. “And the nearest of all my kin.”

“It is my pleasure. My hall and sword are yours.”

“You are a good man, Cade.” The elderly man rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Come. Sit.” Cade took his arm, sensing his weariness.

“We have wounded and ill and young. I must attend to them.”

“Yer in no shape t’attend t’anyone. Ease yer mind, Laird Hugh. I’ll attend t’yer clan.”

Laird MacDonald glanced around at the people crowding the hallway, his haggard face worn.

“Brian!” Cade beckoned to his cousin. “See that all of Laird Hugh’s people have a pallet and those in need of a healer are attended to.”

“At once,” Brian said and darted off.

“Ye see? Done,” Cade said to the elderly man. “Ye need yer rest.”

Laird Hugh leaned against the table with a weary nod.

Uneasiness swept through Cade. His clan needed land and a place to live; it was the only reason he had humored Laird MacDonald in the first place. Normally, he would not dare listen to such a request from a man with neither knowledge nor blood connection to the seillie. With an entirely unsuspecting clan living alongside his, in a space already too small, he began to think it impossible for someone not to discover the secret his people had hidden for so many generations.

He helped Laird MacDonald sit before a hearth, troubled by the appearance of someone he was debating breaking off any talk of establishing kinship ties. It was not right to broach the matter now, when Laird MacDonald had no home to return to.

“I overheard the trouble.” Isabel’s soft voice drew his gaze instantly. “May I be of service, Laird Cade?” The small woman with serene features and grace unlike any he had seen approached, followed by the handmaiden that had adopted her. None of her anger from the night before was visible, though she kept her distance and appeared tense. By the bulk in her pocket, she was also carrying another of his knives, which he found amusing.

“Nay, Lady Isabel. Yer a guest,” he replied. “And do ye not hate me?”

“It is my Christian duty to help those cast out from their homes.” One of her eyebrows went up in delicate offense. “May I remind you I managed a household several times larger than this one, to include visits from the king and members of his court?”

“English?” Laird MacDonald squinted at her.

Cade snorted. “Laird MacDonald, this is Lady Isabel de Clare of Saxony.”

“Ne’er heard o’it,” Laird MacDonald replied. “Must be far away or small.”

“Both, my lord,” Isabel said politely with a curtsey. Her gaze returned to Cade.

A solid leader of warriors, he was not prepared to lead a clan of non-seillie. Her offer, however sincere, would prevent Cade’s temper and customs from causing conflict with the MacDonald’s. Further, it might help distance the unnatural members of his clan from their unsuspecting guests. His clan used magic on a daily basis to maintain their home, and he dared not expose the MacDonald’s to the seillie sorcery.

“Verra well, Lady Isabel,” he decided aloud. “I will direct ye first.” He motioned for her to join him, away from the others, beside the fire. “They canna ken what ye do of how different my clan is.”

Her gaze was on his face, her expression unreadable, though her jaw was clenched. “You mean ‘tis not common knowledge?” she asked. “Not all Highlanders are like you?”

“They are not,” he said. “My clan is the last of our kind.”

She regarded him closely. “You will have to tell your betrothed, will you not?” She started away, cheeks flushed with pink anger.

Cade caught her arm. “Doona think to judge me when ye were followed here by yer own betrothed,” he growled. “Ye doona understand.”

“Oh?” she asked, the lethal edge of an angered woman in her tone. She faced him fully, too cultured to plant her hands on her hips but glaring at him all the same. “I do not understand? Because I am a woman to be treated as a possession? Used to gain my lands? Incapable of making a decision without a husband to guide me or support any claim I make?”

“Nay, lass,” he said, chuckling. “And ye better not ‘ave stole my good knife as ye have my amulet.” He glanced down at her heavy pocket.

Her hand went to the pendant at her chest. “You offered to marry me last night. Did you not think to mention you were already betrothed?”

“I am no more inclined to hand-fast with a MacDonald than ye are Richard,” he said, a note of warning in his tone. “Ye’ve lied t’me since you arrived. Ye think I trust ye with all my doings?”