Oh, no. Did this mean she was now a fake countess? Heather shuddered at the thought.
The upper floor was busy as well, but the closer she got to the laird’s chambers, the more muted everything became. People stepped more carefully, voices were hushed.
“He’s in there, my lady,” one servant whispered, pointing to the open door.
Heather peered in, seeing Niall hunched on a stool near the bed. A figure lay upon it, utterly still.
She came up to Niall softly, making her presence known but also allowing him to ignore her if he didn’t want to talk.
He looked over at her, his eye brows lifting in slight surprise—had he forgotten she was even in the castle? Possibly. She said, “Niall, I’m so sorry.”
“Ach, he was an arse.”
“But he was your father. And with your mother gone before…you must feel lost.” She remembered how she felt at the news of losing her own parents—unmoored from reality.
He shrugged, turning back to the corpse. “What I feel doesn’t matter. I’m laird now. I have to think of that above all else.”
“Of course.”
His face had a haggard appearance. She doubted he’d shed a tear for the cantankerous, complicated man he called father. But all the same, the death took a toll, and Niall’s usual good humor was buried deep. This was no time for Heather to bring up the touchy topic of their tangled relationship. She put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, wishing that she could say or do something to relieve the burden.
Niall didn’t raise his head, but he reached up to grasp her fingers in his. “I hated him,” he said quietly. “But I was used to him always being there.”
“I barely knew him, but his presence was immense every time I saw or even thought of him. It will take time for everyone to adjust to his being gone.”
“I’m the MacNair now,” he said then.
Heather knelt to better see his expression. “Pardon me for being an ignorant English woman, but I still don’t truly know what that means. It seems…antiquated.”
“Itisantiquated. From the earliest days of our history—Scottish history, I mean—the clans each had a leader, a man who was the center of everything and made the decisions no one else could make, and stood up to the rest of the world to let them all know what it meant to face the weight of the whole clan. It gave us the strength we needed to survive. Any time a MacNair faces trouble, there’s someone to go to, to seek justice and get the support needed to fight back.
“And now, that’s me.”
Heather gave him an encouraging smile. “Then every member of your clan is very lucky. Because you’ll do splendidly.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, you dashed to my rescue, didn’t you? And I wasn’t even a MacNair.”
A ghost of a grin crossed his lips. “And look how that turned out.”
“It’s not over yet.” She paused, then said, “Isthere anything I can do for you? At this moment, I mean? I want to help you if I can.”
He looked her in the eyes, and Heather was caught in a swirl of need, a nameless desire for any firm ground to hold on to.
Just then, Maeve entered, bearing a bucket of water and a stack of rags. Heather realized she was there to wash and prepare the body for burial. “Excuse me,” Maeve said, putting the bucket down. “But I should not wait longer.”
Niall nodded, and stood up. He must have been in that position for a long while, because he almost stumbled when he took his first step. Heather reached out to take his arm.
“Let’s go and find some food, shall we?” she suggested. “You’ll need it.”
She walked with Niall down to the great hall. He spoke very little, but from the way he put his hand on hers, she felt that he was glad she was there.
They sat at the long table, and soon had not just oat porridge but also sausages and thick bread to eat. Heather bit into a buttered slice when a servant approached.
“My lord, my lady,” he said. “There’s a visitor. A Mr. Kemble, says he came from London.”
Heather blinked, having temporarily forgotten that Daisy even instructed him to come. She looked to Niall. “He’s the solicitor my friend the Duchess recommended. I expect that you don’t want to deal with that matter today…”
