The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(83)

“It’s nothing to concern you, Christina.”

She hated when he dismissed her like this. He tried to lead her up the stairs, but she stood firm. His men were kind enough to give them some space. “Why is it so important to you?” she asked.

He heaved a sigh and looked at her. “Why is what so important to me?”

“Staying out of it. After today, can’t you see how impossible that is? Edward will leave no corner of his realm untouched—no matter how remote.”

“MacDougall was merely putting me on notice, letting me know that he is watching me. As long as I do not move against him, he will not move against me. For now, that is good enough.”

She felt some of the hot patriotic Fraser blood stir inside her. “And you are content to stand to the side and allow Edward and men like MacDougall to rule Scotland?”

His eyes flared dangerously. He’d taken her question as a criticism—which perhaps it had been. “I am content to not drag my people into a war that will bring them nothing but misery. I am content to not see my men have their heads split open on a battlefield fighting for a king who knows and cares nothing about the Highlands and the Isles. To see women left without husbands and children without fathers. To see my lands razed and cattle slaughtered. I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life doing everything I can to restore my clan to peace and prosperity, and I’ll be damned if I’ll see it destroyed by the squabbles of distant kings. Are you so eager for war, Christina?”

“Of course not,” she said, stunned by the intensity of his reaction. She’d struck a nerve and suspected the source. “The raid that killed your parents must have been devastating.”

“It was,” he said curtly. Clearly, that was all he intended to say on the subject. “Be careful what you wish for; war may find us soon enough. Now if we are done here, there are matters I must attend to.”

Shoulders stiff, he strode away, leaving her to return to the castle alone. More miserable than before. Her attempt to apologize had only succeeded in angering him further. No wonder he didn’t want to get involved. How could she have been so naïve? She had thought only of one man’s concerns, but he had the well-being of his entire clan to consider.

Over the next few days Christine saw even less of her husband than usual. When he returned to the castle he was locked in the solar with Rhuairi or his guardsmen. As usual he did not confide in her, but Christina could see that the situation with MacDougall was weighing on him, in the lines etched more deeply around his mouth and the weariness in his gaze.

The situation their marriage had brought about.

Never far from her thoughts was the fear that he regretted marrying her. That he might blame her for drawing Edward’s suspicions. And if any harm came to his clan from this, he would never be able to look at her as anything other than a mistake.

If only she could find a way to make it up to him. Given that he’d slept at the broch the three nights after MacDougall had left, with the strange warriors she wasn’t allowed to ask about, it wasn’t going to be with more passionate kisses. He treated her with the same polite indifference as before, but never far from her mind was the raw emotion in that kiss.

He cares for me; he must. She’d tasted it. And felt it in her heart.

Sighing, she slid the folio back onto the shelf and smacked the dust from her hands. She’d lingered in the solar after Brother John was called away to straighten up. To say the young cleric was disorganized was an understatement. The seneschal Rhuairi was no better. She shook her head. How they got any work done with this mess was beyond her.

Gathering the various pieces of parchment and vellum strewn across the table, she stacked them in a neat pile. Her eyes skimmed a few of the documents, seeing that they were mostly receipts from tacks and rents received from her husband’s scattered chieftains and tacksmen. In addition to holding a large portion of Skye, it appeared that Tor had lands on the islands of Lewis, Harris, and North Uist.

She noticed the open folio on the desk and was about to close it when her eye caught a recent entry that happened to be for the receipt she’d just stacked on top.

She frowned and reread the note, just to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake. Her eyes went back to the ledger. Nay, it was entered wrong. The one hundred quarters of barley had been entered as five hundred.

A quick perusal of a handful of other receipts turned up another transcription error—instead of ten silver ducats, the amount received had been entered as sixteen.

Tor was fortunate that MacDougall had not taken him up on his offer to review the books—they were a mess.

She chewed on her lip, trying to decide what to do. Whoever was responsible would be in danger of losing his position if she revealed her discovery. She didn’t want to get Brother John in trouble—he’d been so overworked and tired lately, it was no wonder he made a few mistakes. Nor did she want to give the seneschal more reason not to like her.

All of a sudden, a kernel of an idea formed. She sat down behind the table, pulled the ledger toward her, and studied it a little closer. The same gift that had enabled her to learn languages early also seemed to apply to numbers. She could do most calculations, even complicated ones, in her head. Father Stephen had said he’d seen the same thing only once before. Adding the columns on the right in her head, she found errors in calculations as well.

This was it! She’d found the way to help. It wouldn’t take her long at all—a few days, perhaps a week—to have all these accounts organized and sorted. It was the perfect way not only to tell her husband about her unusual skills but show him how she could help at the same time. He didn’t need to be alone.