“Aye. Lydia was only a child when my grandparents were killed. She has had spells like this ever since it happened.”
“She was the only witness,” Colen added. “The only one who could tell what happened or why. But she’s never told. Whenever anybody asks, she gets that faraway look and retreats into her mind.”
“Then the murderers were never caught?”
“Only one man did the killing, lass—the old laird of Clan Fergusson. My great uncle meted out justice to him. You’re a Lowlander. Do you know Clan Fergusson of Angusshire?”
Sheena choked, and the fit of coughing saved her from answering. Colen came forward quickly to pat her back, and she fell back onto her pillow.
She couldn’t meet either man’s eyes for if she did, she would deny it all and call them liars. Her grandfather was not a murderer. It was a MacKinnion—whom she now knew to be this great uncle of theirs—who brought Niall Fergusson before Tower Esk, bound and gagged, and killed him mercilessly where all could see. So the story went. She had heard it all her life. This was the first she had heard of any other killings. It was a MacKinnion who started the feud, everyone knew that. Yet they were saying it was a Fergusson. She couldn’t accept that, but…it had happened so long ago, long before she was born. Who was she to say what was right? She hadn’t been there. Neither had they. Lydia had been there, though.
“Are you all right now, Sheena?” Colen asked, watching her closely.
“Aye.”
“Then you’ll be telling me why you ran out of the hall,” Jamie demanded.
With one of them on either side of the bed, Sheena found it easier to stare at the ceiling. “You were about to strike me,” she stated flatly.
“Sweet Mary!” Jamie swore. “’Twas nowhere in my thoughts to strike you!”
Sheena looked at him, her eyes reflecting doubt. “You were shouting at me then, just as you are now.”
“And with reason!” Jamie replied sharply. “’Twas a serious charge you made against my clan. I would know why.”
“Are you no’ a reifer?” she asked cuttingly.
“Tell me whoisno’ a reifer? But murderers? We dinna kill for the sake of it.”
She knew better, but she wasn’t going to argue about it, not when she was surrounded.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “’Twould seem I spoke in haste, from assumption. But you did, as well. You assume all MacEwens are beggars and thieves, but my family isna.”
“You have family then?” Jamie raised a brow. “Your parents are living?”
“My father is.”
“Where is he?”
Sheena was heading for dangerous territory again. If this man found out she was a Fergusson, he would undoubtedly kill her, just as his great uncle had killed her grandfather.
“I…I dinna know my father’s whereabouts,” she lied, thinking quickly. “He doesna stay in one place for long.”
“Then how can I return you to Aberdeen, where you’ve no one to protect you?”
She began to panic again, and couldn’t think clearly.
“I’ve an aunt in Aberdeen. ’Twas with her I was staying.”
“In the poorhouse?” Colen scoffed, not believing any of this, not wanting to.
Sheena glared at him. “My Aunt Erminia is a nun, Colen. She doesna live at the poorhouse, but gives her time there, as others like her do. The place would fall to ruin if the nuns didna see to the cleaning of it. I was only helping Aunt Erminia, to make her day easier.”
A long sigh escaped Jamie. “’Twould seem you’ve made a mistake, Colen.”
“’Tis you who are mistaken, Jamie, if you believe nonsense!” Colen replied stiffly. “If that’s the truth, then why didn’t she say so in the beginning?”
“I was too frightened,” Sheena said, but they were too intent on each other to hear her.
