She stopped immediately and curtsied. “Aye, me Laird?”
“Find the steward,” Ian said. “Tell Alastair I wish to see him in me chamber.”
The maid nodded quickly.
“And bring us some food while ye’re at it,” Ian added.
“Aye, me Laird.”
She hurried away down the corridor. Ian closed the door and returned to the table. Flynn refilled their goblets while they waited. The whisky burned warmly down Ian’s throat, though it did little to ease the storm in his thoughts.
After several minutes, another knock sounded at the door.
Flynn rose from his chair. “That’ll be him.”
He opened the door to reveal Alastair standing in the corridor, his expression composed as always.
Flynn stepped aside. “Come in.”
Alastair entered the chamber and bowed respectfully. “Ye wished to see me, me Laird?”
Ian gestured toward the table. “Aye. There are matters of import to discuss.”
Alastair glanced briefly between the two men before stepping closer. “Is somethin' amiss?”
Ian reached for the whisky bottle but paused as another knock sounded.
Flynn chuckled softly. “Our food, nay doubt.”
He crossed the room and opened the door again. Two young maids entered carefully, each carrying a tray piled with food. The warm scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the chamber as they set the dishes upon the table.
One placed a pitcher of ale beside the trays along with several goblets.
Both women curtsied politely. “Will there be anything else, me Laird?”
“Nay,” Ian replied. “That will do.”
The maids left the room. Flynn shut the door behind them and returned to the table. Alastair looked slightly puzzled.
“Now,” the steward said calmly. “What exactly is this matter of importance?”
Ian met his gaze steadily. “It concerns the marriage contract between Clan McGuire and Clan McDonald.”
Alastair’s brows lifted slightly. “I suspected as much.”
Ian folded his arms. “I want to know every possible way that contract might be dissolved.”
The steward blinked in surprise. Flynn leaned back in his chair, watching the reaction carefully. Alastair cleared his throat slowly.
“That… would be a complicated matter, me Laird.”
Ian’s expression did not waver.
“Then we’d best begin discussin' it.”
Ian lifted a piece of bread from the tray. “Alastair,” he said, his voice low but sharp, “what we say here stays within these walls. If word of it reaches me by another tongue, I’ll ken it was ye, and yer head will hang upon a pike for all to see.” His gaze was unflinching.
The steward swallowed hard, the lines on his face deepening. “Aye, me Laird,” Alastair murmured, his throat dry. “Ye have me word. I swear it. Nay soul outside this room shall hear a whisper of what transpires here.” He clasped his hands before him, a gesture of both respect and fear.
