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With light conversation, they rode to The Pitcairn.
But when they were about to cross over to Pitcairn land, a group of horses stood ahead.
Two McKendrick’s tartans, one McDougal’s and one Darroch’s rode them.
Stubborn lasses!
“What the bluidy hell are you doing here?” Lachlan asked to his smug-looking wife. He had hoped to have exhausted her enough to sleep for a decade. His wife was tireless, it seemed.
“I took the liberty to inform the ladies of the plans,” Freya, The Lady McKendrick, answered, her eyes fixed on her husband, daring him to question her.
“You didn’t think you’d do this without me, did you?” Aileen defied her overbearing husband.
“Impossible buidseach,” Taran mumbled under his breath, referring to the affectionate ‘witch’ he had dubbed her.
“Neither did you, I hope,” Catriona and Fingal exchanged stares.
“I’d never think of doing it,” her husband answered the blatant lie shamelessly.
“This is my clan we’re defending,” Moira bit out at her husband.
Lachlan expelled air through his nose, sparing himself an answer. But they exchanged a heated gaze denouncing the memory of their night together.
Drostan did not miss the exchange though he refrained from commenting on his brother’s obvious domestic bliss. “The only way is forward,” he acquiesced, as he motioned for them to ride on.
They reached the Pitcairn’s manor; smaller than theirs, though it appeared well kept.
A servant answered and then rushed to call his master.
As Hamish exited, his gaze widened at the visitors, blanching visibly. He stood no chance with McKendricks, McDougals and Darrochs allied, and he knew that.
“We’ve been hearing rumours, Pitcairn,” Taran started.
“Lies, I expect,” he answered not so firmly.
“A maid called Mary is in my lands,” Drostan said. “I think you know her.”
Fear smothered Hamish’s middle-aged face.
“And you didn’t expect my husband to be alive, I suppose,” Moira shot.
Only now did the man seem to notice Lachlan. He wobbled.
Lachlan’s siblings, sisters-in-law, and The McDougal eyed Moira quizzically.
“He tried to poison Lachlan yesterday,” Moira clarified.
“And she saved my sorry hide,” Lachlan added.
Fingal, Drostan, and Taran directed a murderous glare to the older man.
“John confessed it,” Moira informed. “To the magistrate.”
“You’re going to jail, Pitcairn,” Aileen said, fuming with the threat to her brother’s life.
“Everyone knows I am the rightful leader to the Darrochs.” The vicious way he delivered it said everything.
“We had Malcom.” Moira defended, a disgusted glint in her eyes.
