“Miss Woodburn is pickin’ herbs with another lass Jamie nae doubt also told ye aboot. She will return soon, and when she does, ye will behave honorably.”
Ealar cast him a hurt look. “When do I no’ behave honorably?”
Ignoring his brother’s question, Logan moved on to Ewen dismounting. “Did ye get what I asked fer from my sister?”
“Aye.” Ewen rifled through his saddle bag and, finding what he was looking for, handed a small pouch to Logan. “She said ye owe her ten suppers and a wish of comparable value or more.”
Aye, Logan thought with a chuckle, that was his sister, May, the middle-born, a clever little bratling—always trying to negotiate and get others to grant her wishes. Following in the footsteps of her father, May Cameron was a cattle raider and a thief, robbing travelers on the road. She usually robbed the rich, providing her with valuable items she could then use to trade for something she wanted.
“A wishandten suppers?” he asked, doubting anything in the pouch could be worth so much. He pulled two items from the pouch: a smooth wooden comb inlaid with gold and abalone, and a small mirror to match.
“She said the mirror is from Venice,” Ewen let him know.
Logan nodded to himself. These were costly items to be sure. Such things didn’t matter to him, but ladies liked them.
“Yer sister also said to tell ye that she has the hairbrush that matches the set, with boar bristles and inlaid in gold and mother of pearl. If ye want it, ye must promise to build her a house here beneath yer mountain.”
Logan scoffed. “’Tis no’ my mountain.”
“Yer sister disagrees,” Ewen countered.
“Buildin’ a house is no’ an easy task. All that work fer a hairbrush?”
“She showed it to me,” Ewen confessed. “’Tis quite impressive—but…”
“But?” Logan urged.
“’Tis more a gift fer a bride,” Ewen muttered. “’Tis no’ the kind of gift ye give to someone who wants ye dead.”
“She doesna’ want me dead,” Logan reassured him with a warm smile, knowing who he meant.
“What has changed, Logan? That kind of passion is difficult to subdue.”
“No’ if I create a diversion.”
Ewen’s mouth hung open, but before he could ask Logan what in blazes he meant, his cousin turned and walked back to the house.
As expected, Jamie was helping himself to the leftover food by the time Logan stepped inside the doors to the Main Hall. Ealar was busy looking over this thing or that. Steafan entered after him and Ewen, after that.
When he saw him, Ealar put down the jar of herbs he was examining and looked at him. “I am to ask ye why ye are keepin’ the woman here with ye. Alone.”
Logan knew who wanted to know, and he knew if he didn’t tell his brother what his mother wanted to know, she would appear at his door next.
“She is part of the booty fer the collapse of Dunley Keep. I am responsible fer her.”
“Bring her to the castle,” his brother remarked, pointing out the obvious.
“She doesna wish to go there and I dinna trust her aroond the Camerons.”
“But we should trust her aroond ye?” Ealar asked, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and wisdom beyond his years. “I understand our parents’ concerns.”
“’Tis no’ as simple as that,” Logan defended.
“She is a Covenanter’s daughter,” Ealar reminded him.
“So? Have we no’ killed enough people under Charles because they protested his supreme rule?”
Ealar’s gaze went dull on him. “Ye have been off the battlefield too long, brother. Now, ye’re grantin’ wishes to May in exchange fer costly gifts fer a lass who poses such a threat to our kin, ye’re afraid to bring her to Tor. Nae matter what she calls herself, Covenantor or Royalist, she wants to see Camerons dead. That is what is important. So, tell me again, why are ye keepin’ her here with ye?”
