The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(95)

MacLean was newly married, though he became silent when the subject arose. For good reason: He’d married a MacDowell—kin to the MacDougalls and Comyns.

“You don’t talk much about your betrothed, Gordon,” Seton said, diverting the attention from MacLean.

Gordon shrugged. “Not much to say, I barely know her.”

“Who is she?” Seton asked.

Gordon hesitated. “Helen, the daughter of William of Moray, Earl of Sutherland.”

Tor happened to be looking at MacKay when Gordon made his pronouncement and saw the flicker of shock and pain that was quickly masked. Gordon must have caught the look in his friend’s face, too, because Tor saw the look of silent apology that he shot him.

Tor understood why Gordon hadn’t said anything before. The MacKays’ bitter feud with the Sutherland clan was well known. But he wondered whether there was more to it.

The talk returned to politics and the speculation on when they would be called to arms. He was grateful for the change of subject, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the Viking turned his prodding in his direction. The last thing Tor wanted to talk about was his wife. He had a job to do, and only when it was complete could he set things right. It would do no good to brood over things he could not change. But the way he’d left her bothered him. He vowed to make it up to her when he returned.

His thoughts turned back to what had happened earlier on the mountain. MacRuairi was seated at the edge of the group, shrouded in darkness, running a sharpening stone over the blade of one of his swords.

Tor got to his feet and walked over to sit beside him. After a moment he said, “It wasn’t you—the recent raids on Skye.”

MacRuairi didn’t bother to look up, but continued running the stone along the blade. “I was under the impression we’d agreed to a truce.”

“I’ve been on the other side of one of your ‘truces’ before.”

If MacRuairi took offense he didn’t show it, but he did set aside his stone. “Aye, but now we are family.” He smiled at Tor’s scowl. “Who else do you think it might be?”

Tor’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. Perhaps Nicolson, but MacDonald assures me he’s been appeased.”

“Perhaps they were not aimed at you, but you were merely a convenient target.”

Tor frowned. “Aye, it’s possible.”

But the attacks didn’t feel opportunistic; they felt personal. It hadn’t just been reiving cattle and stealing crops; his people had been targeted as well. That was one of the reasons he’d suspected MacRuairi.

“When did the last one occur?”

“While I was at Finlaggan.”

“And the one before? Were you gone for that as well?”

Tor shook his head but then remembered. “I was supposed to be, but at the last minute I changed my plans.”

MacRuairi eyed him thoughtfully. “Without time for someone to receive word of the change?”

“Nay,” Tor agreed, realizing what he was suggesting. “You think there might be someone spying on me,” he said flatly. Every instinct rebelled at the idea. He knew his men.

MacRuairi shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

As much as Tor didn’t like to think that one of his people could have betrayed him, MacRuairi was right. He had to consider it. Who had he angered enough to go to all the trouble? Nicolson certainly. For the attacks that were recent, he would have to add MacDougall to the list.

If someone was spying on him …

He swore. His first thought was of Christina. He forced back the spike of what could only be termed panic. She was safe. No one could get to her in the castle; Dunvegan was impenetrable.

“Who knows how long you will be gone?” MacRuairi asked, reading his mind.

“Too many people,” Tor answered, jumping to his feet, his earlier exhaustion forgotten. “If we leave now, we can be there by midday.”

Brother John was turning into an overprotective nursemaid. “Not today, my lady. Tomorrow will be soon enough. The children are improving and you, forgive me for saying, are looking tired.”

She was tired. Her menses were about to start, and as always, she had cramps and a headache. But she could hardly explain that to a churchman. “I’m fine, and I’m not going to miss this beautiful day. I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like. Come, we won’t be gone long.”

But she was wrong. The children had indeed improved and had decided to entertain her with a special song and dance. It wasn’t until near midday that she and Brother John started to make their way back to the boat for the return ride to the castle.

“Slow down, Brother John,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve never seen you walking so fast.”

He smiled. “Was I? I’m sorry, my lady. I must be hungry.”

“After all those tarts that you ate?”

He blushed. “I have a fondness for plums.”

“As do I. What a wonderful treat this late in the season.”

All of a sudden Brother John jerked to a stop. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear wh—”

But her question was cut off by the far-off sound of a horn. The blood drained from her face. She looked to the clerk and could see her panic reflected in his gaze. “What is that?” she asked Colyne, one of the guardsmen who’d accompanied them.