Imogen shook her head.
“I dinna think so,” Addison spoke for her. “She did no’ linger longer than she had to.”
Conall and Sawny shared a terse glance over that statement. It held more meaning that Addison cared to admit. And Sawny knew of only one reason a lass might have access to a chieftain’s study, and it was not to serve tea.
Addison’s desperate request to bring his sister was not for personal reasons, it was to save his sister from a fate worse than the one Sawny had been exposed to. If a man like Kelso could enjoy abusing another man, what would he do to a defenseless lass like Addison’s sister, one who had been entrusted in his care? One who had read his precious letter?
Sawny shuddered.
“No one but me,” Addison finished.
So Addison knew as well. This pair of orphaned Camerons, imprisoned by Kelso under the guise of fostering, alone in the world – they knew the largest secret in all of Scotland.
“Feck me,” Conall whispered under his breath.
My thoughts exactly,Sawny said to himself.
Despite their protestations, secrets did not hold in the Highlands. There was a chance someone else might be aware of lass. While Addison believed no one else knew about Imogen and what she had read, rumor had a way of taking root in the Highlands. If Kelso had told even one of his men about Imogen, or anyone had seen her in the study with the letter, there would be hell to pay.
“Come. Now is no’ the time or place. We will get ye to Glenachulish. Seamus MacDonald will house ye there, and ye will share this with him and his men. And we will protect ye. Both of ye.”
Sawny looked over at Conall who was nodding his head.
Aye, they would all protect this lass and her brother who knew a secret that could bring down a king.
They arrived at Glenachulish as the moon cast its full light that cut past the clouds, alighting their way through the postern gate.
Shining the way home.
A crowd of people spilled out of the main tower, MacDonald soldiers and women waiting for the men to return. The rumble of the crowd reached them before he fully recognized anyone in yard. One person in particular stood at the front of the crowd, and she ran toward him.
Sawny slid off his horse, and the woman screeched as she rushed him, her dark blue gown flying like a banner behind her.
Margaret Ross MacDonald had held out hope that her son lived and had not run away in the face of all those who said otherwise. Now here he was, standing before her, confirming what she knew to be true the entire time. Margaret threw herself at her son, wrapping her arms around him.
“I knew ye were still alive, Sawny!” she cried into his chest.
His own arms slid around her back and he pressed his face into her hair. The familiar scent of her hair soap, heather and ash, reminded him of his childhood, when his world was safe and calm, when his only concern was if he might steal a cake before his mother caught him.
She lifted her head and cupped his face with the palm of her hand.
“Are ye well, Sawny? Ye look so thin.”
He gave her a delicate smile. “I would say the same of ye, Mother. And I’m well.”
“Sorcha said ye married the lass already?” Margaret asked, meaning Adaira.
“Aye,” he answered with a nod. “Ye are no’ angry that I came here first?”
Her watery eyes released the pent-up tears of joy she had been trying to hold back as she breathed out a hard laugh. “I would have been angry if ye had no’. I know how ye feel about the lass.” She patted his chest. “I’m so pleased that ye have returned. I never gave up hope, ye ken?”
His weak smile widened. “Och, of course ye did no’. Your sheer force of will was enough to make sure I made it back home. What force can reckon with the will of Margaret Ross MacDonald?”
She tousled his wind-blown hair, then turned and threaded her arm through his.
“Come. Your father and brother will want to see ye, and if I’m no’ mistaken, your lass is on the steps, wearing a divot in the stone with her worried pacing.”
Sawny studied those gathered on the stairs, and he saw his brother and father weaving through the MacDonald men toward him.
