Conall moved quickly, hanging the basket on his horse’s saddle before readying Rionnag for the long ride to the Keppoch MacDonalds. Mostly north, past Glen Coe and Kinlochleven, and riding slowly with Adaira, their travels would take a couple of hours. But Adaira was adamant, and Conall had the horse bridled and saddled quickly and led out to the yard.
And their mother had expressed more than once that Adaira needed to leave her chambers. A ride in the fresh air might be just the thing she needed.
“Does Mother know where ye’re going?” he asked as he boosted her up in the saddle.
Adaira shook her head. “Nay. I dinna think she would care for me making such a trip in my state. I thought it better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.”
Conall mounted his steed and turned to Adaira. “Careful, ye sound like Maddock. But I disagree. The ride, the sunlight, what it is, and the fresh air will do ye well. Mother would agree.”
He gave her a slight smile before nickering his horse past the yard and out of the gate, Adaira and Rionnag plodding along behind him.
The gray skies promised rain but did not deliver on that promise, so their ride was an easy one. When they approached Keppoch House, a guard met them at the gate.
No’ open as it had been in the past, Adaira mused. Not that she was surprised. Having lost a son of the clan, the family was not taking any more chances.
The clansman recognized Adaira and welcomed them inside, sending a young lad working in the dirt running inside to announce their arrival.
A stable lad with protuberant ears and freckles met them and took their horse bridles, and Conall assisted Adaira down before handing her the small basket. It was her gift, after all.
They walked up the stone steps to the main doors of the keep and pressed their way inside.
Margaret was already present, standing near the hearth, her pale hands clasped against her breast. She wore a loose-fitting, dark brown gown with a black cape.
Mourning clothing.Adaira’s heart wrenched and she nearly burst into tears.
Thinking about Margaret’s sorrow was one thing, but to see it real, painted in somber colors with her thin, pale skin decrying her pain was quite another.
“Good day to ye, lass.” Margaret’s voice was hoarse and worn. Adaira recognized it immediately. It was the rawness of a body wracked with sobbing. “I’ve been thinking about ye. I was no’ certain I’d see ye any time soon.”
Adaira stepped to her and held out the basket. “’Tis no’ much, a token of my condolences, but . . .”
She drifted off. What else did she have to say? This woman in her pain was a mirror to Adaira, and from the woman’s softening gaze, Margaret realized their shared sorrow as well.
“Ye did no’ need to bring anything, but I thank ye all the same.” She took the proffered basket and set it on a nearby table. Then she turned to Adaira and clasped her fingers in her own long, cold ones.
Bony. That was the word to describe Margaret. Adaira was not the only Highland beauty stricken to the point of starvation at the loss of Sawny, and Margaret was older and had far less to lose.
She had become a skeleton covered in skin.
A tear slipped from the corner of Adaira’s eye.This poor woman . . .
“How fare ye, considering?” Adaira asked hesitantly. It was a foolish question, as she knew what this woman was feeling. She couldseehow the woman was feeling.
Her thin lips attempted to smile. “As best as can be, considering. And what of ye? I have heard your brothers joined my nephew in his searches. Have they had any word?”
Adaira had heard only rumors that her brothers, Conall included, were digging into every corner of the Highlands, searching for Sawny. She had not missed how Conall shifted his stance at Margaret’s question. But she would have to be completely daft to not hear the rumblings of Reade’s threats to drag Sawny to the church, kicking and screaming if need be.
“Nary a word, I fear,” Adaira said.
Margaret nodded. “Aye. ‘Tis as I have feared. I wear mourning clothes, ye ken? Everyone says he ran off, but I know this.” She leaned forward until her nose was inches from Adaira’s. “I know my son loved ye like no other. I know that he would have fought off the devil himself he if tried to keep my Sawny from marrying ye. So I know something must have happened to my lad. Everyone tells me I am wrong, but a mother knows when her child is in danger.Iknow. My son did no’ just run away. Sawny never ran from anything in his life.”
Adaira stiffened. “Do ye think he’s dead?” she whispered harshly.
Surely a mother had to keep all hope?
“Nay.” Margaret shook her head with a shudder. “Nay, no’ dead, but no’ well, and no’ run away. I dinna know where he is or what he is doing, but he would have returned to ye if he were able. Nay dead, but no’ able to come home. I will mourn in his absence until I learn the truth.”
More tears slipped from Adaira’s eyes. A fountain of tears when she thought she had none left. Margaret embraced her, pulling Adaira in close to her bony chest.
