Highland Wolf (Highland Brides, #10)(61)

These families probably hadn’t been castle servants. From what she understood, those had all died in the poisoning. Everyone who ate that night had died. Only the families in their own cottages or farms, who made their own food that night, had survived. But these people were willing to give up whatever life they’d built for themselves at MacKay, to return to their clan’s land even though it meant starting over. The thought made her feel awful, and she said as much to Conall.

“It breaks me heart that we’ve so little to offer them just now. We can no’ even give them a roof over their heads.”

“Aye, ’twill be tough fer a bit fer all o’ us. But we’ll all work together to make a good life,” he assured her. “And then they’ll have their pride, their land and their clan back . . . and that’s a lot.”

When Claray nodded, he kissed her on the forehead and suggested, “Why do ye no’ go explore the keep and see what’s what now that the animals are cleared out.”

“The animals are cleared out?” she asked with surprise.

“Aye. That was something else I was coming to tell ye when I found ye in the orchards,” he admitted with a wry smile. “There was just the one family o’ feral pigs, and a few chickens nesting on what remains o’ the stairs to the upper floor. The men moved them out into the bailey and are building doors to keep them out.”

“Oh.”

“Now go on,” he urged. “I’m sure me aunt and Kenna are bored standing around here.”

Nodding, Claray started to turn away, but then stopped and whirled back to give him a quick kiss, then promptly blushed at the spontaneous action when his eyebrows flew up.

“Wives kiss husbands when they part,” she muttered to cover her embarrassment, and headed away, only to have him catch her arm and draw her back.

“That was no’ a proper kiss,” he announced solemnly, and then commenced to show her his version, which left her breathless and flushed when he released her and walked back to the men.



“What’s this?”

Claray tore her gloomy gaze from the moss-and mold-covered interior walls of Deagh Fhortan keep to see that Kenna had moved into a small dark room off the great hall. The younger woman was presently using one foot to sweep aside twenty-two years’ worth of detritus that had gathered on the floor. Although why she was bothering, Claray wasn’t sure.

“I need a torch,” Kenna announced, kneeling now and sounding excited.

Claray turned toward Hamish, but before she could say anything, he barked at the soldier beside him, “Hendrie, find a torch.”

The man rushed off at once, and Hamish, Roderick and the fourth soldier, who was apparently named Colban, followed Claray toward Kenna when she headed that way.

“This was the buttery if I recall correctly,” Lady MacKay said as she reached the now doorless room just steps ahead of Claray. “And I’m quite sure that trap door you are clearing off leads down into the beer cellar. I can hardly believe the trap door is still intact.”

Claray grunted at the comment. She couldn’t believe it either. Nearly every other stick of wood in the keep had been eaten away by wood rot—if not wholly, then mostly—thanks to the rain and damp let in by the lack of roof, which had apparently been eaten away by wood rot first, once there was no one around to repair it as needed. All that was left in the keep were three half stairs that the chickens had been roosting on, and perhaps a third of the door into the kitchens. Everything else, including the upper floor, was completely gone. Even the furniture in the great hall had disintegrated or been stolen. Conall’s men were going to have a lot of building to do. They would also have to remove the tree that was growing up one wall of the great hall, its roots pushing the stones up and making one heck of a mess.

“With the trap door being in such good shape, the beer cellar may be fine too,” Kenna pointed out with excitement as she tugged at the metal ring to open the trap door.

“Let me do it, lass,” Roderick offered, slipping past Claray to enter the small room when Kenna couldn’t lift the door.

Giving up, Kenna straightened and shifted out of the way for the big man.

They all watched as he bent to grasp the ring and pulled upward. There was a slight hesitation, and then almost a suctioning-type sound as the trap door jerked up. They all crowded a little closer to peer through the square hole left behind. But there was nothing to see. The darkness was absolute.

“We’re going to need more than the one torch,” Roderick commented.

“Is three enough?” Hendrie asked as the area around Claray suddenly grew much brighter. Turning, she saw the approving look Hamish gave the soldier when he saw that he carried one lit torch and two unlit torches. It made her smile. Hendrie was obviously a slightly older version of Hamish. A man who thought ahead and planned for anything.

Roderick waited patiently as Hendrie lit the other two torches, and then took the last one when he held it out. Her husband’s large friend then held it over the square hole to reveal stairs hewn in stone. Glancing up then, Roderick said, “I’ll go first. Lady Claray, ye’re behind me with Hamish at yer back, then the ladies MacKay, and then Colban and Hendrie.”

He was obviously a man used to making decisions. Roderick didn’t wait for anyone’s approval of his plan, but then started down the stairs with his torch, and Claray quickly followed.