Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(34)

“We were trying to keep Bryson safe, dearling. No one was told,” Annabel MacKay said soothingly. The older woman’s speech still retained a good deal of her English accent despite living in Scotland since her marriage to Ross MacKay some twenty-eight years ago, Claray noted as she listened to the woman and her daughter, who were following her up the steps to the keep doors.

After his uncle’s announcement, Conall’s warriors had roared with approval and then had crowded forward to offer congratulations and pledge their fealty to him as laird now that he had been officially acknowledged as Bryson MacDonald. There were so many of them trying to get close to him to do that that Claray had found herself stepping further and further back to keep out of the way. And then Lady MacKay had approached and suggested they make their way back to the keep and await the men there. Recalled to her duties as hostess, Claray had led them to where the horses waited and they’d ridden back across the drawbridge, and through the bailey to the keep stairs.

“You kenned,” Kenna pointed out grimly. “So did Father, and Claray and her father, and—”

“I did no’ ken,” Claray interrupted as she stopped to open the door to usher them inside the keep.

“Ye did no’ ken either?” Kenna asked with surprise, stopping before her, and when Claray shook her head, she protested, “But he was yer betrothed.”

“Aye,” Claray agreed, but thought, And now he’s me husband. She considered that silently as Lady MacKay urged her daughter to start moving again and ushered her into MacFarlane’s great hall. Following the women in and toward the trestle tables, Claray pondered that. She was a married lady now. Shouldn’t she feel . . . different somehow? She’d expected to. She’d thought if she ever married she’d feel more a woman and less a child. But she felt the same now as she always had.

“Oh, m’lady.”

Claray paused as she reached the trestle tables, a smile coming to her face at the sight of Mavis bustling toward them with a tray holding a pitcher and three mugs. The older woman had been the head of the chambermaids for as long as Claray could remember. She was short, round and rosy-cheeked with a smile that could soothe you and warm your heart all at the same time, and she had been a great support and comfort to Claray since her mother’s death and even before.

“Cook said to tell ye he’s puttin’ together a light repast to celebrate the wedding,” Mavis announced as she set down the tray and picked up the pitcher to start pouring drinks. “Nothin’ huge, mind, it being so late, but somethin’ nice. And there’s water on the fire, warmin’ fer yer bath. It should no’ be long at all.”

“Thank ye, Mavis,” Claray murmured as the maid set the pitcher on the table and quickly passed out the drinks.

“Me pleasure,” Mavis assured her, picking up the empty tray. She started to turn toward the kitchens, but then paused and turned back to ask, “Do ye think the men’ll be long?”

Claray hesitated, and then grimaced and admitted, “I’m no’ sure, Mavis. There were a fair number o’ men wanting me husband’s attention when we left them.”

She nodded thoughtfully, and then smiled and shrugged. “Well, the longer they take, the more time we ha’e to prepare. Sit down and rest a bit, then. I’ll let ye ken when the water is ready fer yer bath.”

“Thank ye,” Claray murmured, and watched the woman go before settling at the table with Lady MacKay and her daughter.

“So,” Kenna said once Mavis had disappeared back into the kitchens, “ye really did no’ ken that Conall was me cousin Bryson?”

“Nay,” Claray assured her.

“When did ye find out who he was?” she asked now. “Surely they told ye ere the wedding at least?”

“Aye. Conall told me on the journey here from me uncle’s,” she admitted. “Ere that though, I thought me betrothed had died and I would ne’er marry.”

“Oh,” Kenna breathed. “That was terribly unkind.” She turned to scowl at her mother as she said that, obviously holding her partially responsible.

Lady MacKay sighed at the accusation in her expression and said, “We did what we thought was best to keep Bryson safe.”

“And is he?” Kenna asked at once.

Claray glanced at her sharply at the question. It was one she should have thought of herself. The man had been in hiding his entire life to keep him safe from whoever had murdered his parents, and that murderer still had not been caught. Was it safe for him to reveal the fact that he lived?

“We are not sure,” Lady MacKay said quietly. “We never sorted out a reason for the murders or even got close to finding a suspect. But a lot of years have passed and a lot has happened. The surviving clan members were scattered about after the deaths and had it very hard. A lot died. If one of them was the murderer, it’s possible they are dead now, or perhaps just old enough that they are no longer a threat.”

“But as ye said, ye’re no’ sure,” Kenna pointed out with a concerned glance toward Claray. “Would it no’ ha’e been better had he revealed himself to be Bryson MacDonald, laird o’ the MacDonald clan, and then spent a year or so rebuildin’ the keep and such before claimin’ Claray? That way, were the murderer still around and like to try to kill him again, at least she would no’ be at risk.”