Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(16)
The king knew because he had to be told to avoid the risk of his granting MacDonald to some other laird before Conall was able to claim it. And Gannon MacFarlane knew his true identity because his daughter was betrothed to Conall, and his uncle Ross hadn’t wanted to risk the man arranging another betrothal for her thinking the one with his parents was null and void due to his apparent death.
Of course, MacFarlane had wanted to tell his daughter Claray the truth. That she was yet betrothed, but Conall had argued against it. He hadn’t wanted her hopes to be raised only to come crashing down if something happened to him. Aside from the threat of the unknown murderer, there was the life he had lived since earning his spurs that had convinced him that was for the best. Being a mercenary was dangerous work. Conall had spent years neck-deep in bloody battle, a hairsbreadth away from his own death. He’d thought it would be kinder to keep the fact that he was alive a secret from Claray until he had made the coin he needed and could quit the deadly business. Just in case he didn’t survive to come to claim her. He still believed that. This way, if he survived to collect and marry Claray, it would be a nice surprise. He hoped. If he didn’t survive . . . Well, at least she wouldn’t be disappointed or left grieving, since she already thought him dead.
“Ye can no’ leave the lass untethered like this forever,” Roderick said solemnly. “If nothing else, her father’ll no’ allow it. I suspect do ye no’ claim her soon, Laird MacFarlane will go to the king to have the betrothal canceled.”
Conall stiffened at those words, his heart skipping a beat. Mostly because he knew them to be true. In fact, he’d half expected MacFarlane to do just that for a couple of years now. The possibility had never bothered him before this. But then he hadn’t met Claray yet. Now he had, and the idea of losing her was surprisingly alarming of a sudden.
Swallowing, he peered down at where she nestled against his chest, the swaddled fox pup in her arms. It was easy to imagine that it was a bairn in that swaddling rather than a baby fox. Their bairn. But even as he thought that, his last memory of his parents rose up in his mind. The two of them sitting at table. His father leaning to the side to kiss his mother. Then they pulled back to smile at each other . . . until confusion suddenly replaced his mother’s smile. Her hand moved to her stomach and fisted as she cried out in pain. He remembered his father’s concern when she’d suddenly slid to the floor. How he’d dropped to his knees to try to help her, and then he’d stiffened, pain filling his own face. In the next moment they’d both been convulsing on the floor . . . along with every other clan member at table that night.
Watching his parents die had been the absolute worst thing Conall had experienced in his life. He would never forget it. And he couldn’t forget that the murderer had never been found. That they were still out there somewhere, and that it was just a matter of chance that he hadn’t died with his parents. He’d been meant to. His dinner had been poisoned as well, but he hadn’t eaten it. What if whoever had killed his parents all those years ago and tried to kill him still wanted him dead? How many would they kill this time to see their chore finished?
Much as he didn’t want to lose Claray to her father canceling the betrothal, it would be better than watching her die as his parents had. In fact, perhaps it would be best if he told her father to go ahead and break the betrothal and find her another husband. Someone no one had tried to kill and might try to kill again. Someone she could be safe with.
He’d barely had the thought when a drop of cold water landed on his nose. Stiffening in the saddle, Conall lifted his gaze skyward, surprised to see that while he’d been distracted with his thoughts, clouds had moved in overhead—dark clouds heavy with rain that blocked the moonlight. Even as he made that discovery, the heavens opened up and began to pour water down on them.
Cursing, Conall lowered his head just in time to see Squeak scramble down his chest to Claray and rush back into the safety of her gown. Envying the little kit, Conall glanced toward Hamish. Before he could request the spare plaid he’d covered her with after her choking incident, the man had retrieved it and was handing it over.
Muttering a thank-you, Conall quickly shook it out and then swung it around his shoulders before drawing it around in front to cover both him and Claray. Once he was sure she was protected from the rain, he tugged the plaid up over his head so that only his eyes were left uncovered, and settled in for a miserable night.
“Oh, dear.” Claray lifted her skirts a bit to get a look at her feet. She’d woken up a few moments ago to a beautiful sunny morning, a bunch of grumpy men and a terrible need to relieve herself. The Wolf had not been pleased at the need to stop. He’d not said so, but his grim expression as she’d passed him the fox pup and bunny sling before slipping from his mount, along with the sharp order he’d given her to “make it quick” as she’d rushed off into the woods, had made that clear.
Claray had been so overset by his abrupt attitude she’d been in something of a state and hadn’t really paid attention to her surroundings. She’d simply rushed deep enough into the woods that she was sure she couldn’t be seen by the men, taken care of business and then hurried back the way she’d come.
Unfortunately, she appeared to have got herself turned around somehow and had gone in the wrong direction. Claray had only realized that when she’d found herself trekking through a patch of boggy ground she was quite sure she hadn’t passed through on the way out. However, she’d rushed quite a distance into the waterlogged area before the liquid had soaked through her shoes to tell her that she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.