Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(30)

“Aye. After ye headed out to retrieve Claray, I sent men to follow and watch Kerr and MacNaughton. I wanted warning if he, or they both, followed and planned to attack. But he’s remained there. I am hopin’ he’s given up, but . . .”

“But?” Conall prompted.

Aulay shook his head. “But Maldouen MacNaughton is known to be a stubborn, sneaky bastard. I half suspect he’s just lettin’ us think he’s given up and plottin’ something else.” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“I think MacNaughton is determined to get his hands on MacFarlane. He no doubt sees it as his only protection against the Campbells chargin’ right o’er him and takin’ o’er MacNaughton to make it part o’ their own lands. And if Claray is to be believed, he’s desperate to the point he’s willin’ to kill every last one o’ us to manage that. I think he’s remained at Kerr to lull us into thinkin’ he’s given up on Claray and she is safe, but that he’s probably sent a man, or several, out to try to sneak in here and either poison the food or drink, or pay one o’ the people here to do it.”

“But that would kill Claray too,” Claray’s father protested with a frown. “He could no’ force her to marry him and claim MacFarlane if she’s dead.”

Conall had already considered that during the journey here and now pointed out what he’d realized when Claray wouldn’t eat the pheasant. “She would no’ be harmed if the poison was on the meat. Claray does no’ eat meat.”

“Nay, she does no’,” Gannon agreed with a small frown, and then shook his head and muttered, “She’s a soft heart, our Claray. She’s forever findin’ wounded beasties, from wee birds to big bulls. She mends the damned things and, worse yet, befriends them, and once she’s done that, she can no bring herself to eat the flesh o’ their kind,” Gannon admitted with a sigh. But then rallied and said, “But no’ one o’ me people would agree to kill everyone here. Especially Cook. He’s been with us forever, keeps a close watch on his kitchens, and rubbin’ poison in every side of meat here would take forever.” He shook his head firmly. “No one could sneak in and rub poison on the meat without being caught.”

“They do no’ have to,” Conall assured him, and then pointed out, “Hemlock can and has been mistaken for fennel a time or two. His man could just switch out the dry fennel in the kitchens with dry hemlock. Cook would unsuspectingly rub it on a roast boar or such and—” He shrugged. “No doubt all or most would eat it and Claray would soon be standin’ alone in a castle full o’ dead kin, being forced to marry MacNaughton.”

When Gannon MacFarlane blanched at the suggestion, or perhaps at the realization that something of the like would probably work, Conall pointed out, “’Tis safer fer Claray, and every other member o’ yer family, if we are married and quickly away. If nothing else, MacNaughton will have to come up with another plan. It’ll give ye time to figure out how to deal with him.” He shook his head. “I’ll no’ risk Claray endin’ up in that man’s hands by delayin’ by even a day.”

Gannon MacFarlane nodded on a sigh, and then turned away. “I’ll wake up Father Cameron meself.”





Chapter 10




“I do no’ think Cook was pleased,” Alick murmured near her ear as he followed Claray out of the kitchens.

“Aye,” she agreed dryly. “But I can no’ blame him. Ye did wake him and everyone else in the kitchens when ye stepped on the sleepin’ spit-boy’s hand and set him screaming.”

“It was an accident,” Alick assured her for the fourth time since he’d done it. “The fire was burnin’ low and I did no’ see the boy lyin’ there. ’Sides, I told one and all just to go back to sleep and we would fetch some food ourselves. Cook is the one who insisted he would tend it and shuffled us out o’ the kitchens.”

“Cook does no’ like anyone fussin’ about in his kitchens. Once awake there was no chance he would let us handle things.”

“Oh, well,” Alick said with a shrug. “’Tis his choice. And this way we’ll surely get something more substantial than the bruised old apples from last fall and stale bread ye were collectin’.”

“Oh, I’ll most like still get bruised old apples and stale bread,” she assured him. “But he’ll most like serve you and the others burnt stew and ale he’s spit in. ’Twill be his thank-ye fer yer wakin’ him.”

“Nay! He would no’. Would he?” Alick asked with horror.

Claray bit back the smile that wanted to claim her lips at his reaction to her teasing. Cook would never do something like that. No matter how annoyed he was. He prided himself on being a fine cook and would never serve anything less than quality food. Before she could say as much though, her attention was drawn by the opening of the keep doors.

“Ah, Claray!” her father said with relief as he spotted her across the great hall. “I was just comin’ to look fer ye, but ye’ve saved me the trouble. Now come here. Quickly, lass. Everyone is waitin’.”

“Who is everyone? And waitin’ fer . . . ?” Claray began as her father turned and hustled back out of the keep. As the door closed behind him, she finished weakly, “What?’