“As long as ye are cautious, and dinnae take any foolish risks.”
She pshawed at this and folded her arms. “Of course, I’ll nae take any risks.”
“’Tis a plan of sorts.” Edmund turned to Lionel. “Seek our men and tell them tae stay on guard at the gate, where they cannae be seen.”
After Lionel left them, Edmund folded Annora into his embrace.
“Ye’re a brave lass.”
She turned her face up to his kiss and closed her eyes as his lips joined with hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The door creaked loudly as Edmund pushed it open, and he and Lionel slipped into the bedchamber. The lantern they carried afforded only a dim light as they peered around.
The room was surprisingly untidy. A pile of books on the floor by a table was next to a tumble of parchments and heavy tomes. A small table by the fire held another collection of parchments, held in place by a small rock.
Edmund eyed the rock suspiciously. Had it come from the same place as the large stone that had descended so precipitously near to Annora. He felt his temper rising and hauled in a deep breath to steady himself. Now, of all times, he needed a cool head.
They spread the parchments across the large table at the center of the room, holding the lantern aloft as they reviewed each one.
Along with several items that appeared to relate to the MacDonald estate in Sleat, there were some that were clearly items of a personal nature.
From what they could make out, most of the sheets were accounts from several guilds. There was a large fee from the blacksmith for an order of several new swords and another from a tailor in Edinburgh who, it seems, was responsible for outfitting Harris in his English-style garments. There was also substantial accounting from someone on the Island of Jura, who had provided a quantity of whisky for MacDonald’s pleasure.
Edmund huffed. No doubt Clan MacDonald was paying a hefty price so their young laird could strut like a peacock.
“Here.” Lionel picked up a parchment that was separate to the accounting. It was a handwritten letter in cramped, small writing that was difficult enough to read, but it was written crosswise as well, the lines intersecting in both directions.
He held it close enough to the lantern for them to be able to decipher it.
It quickly became clear that the letter was written by MacDonald. The notation was:Me dear laird,yet there was no indication of who he was addressing.
As they read on, it became clear that MacDonald was making an offer of some kind –once I hold the lairdship of the MacNeacail Clan.He then went on to list the spoils he would acquire and which, it appeared, he was preparing to sell. He mentioned theclan’s birlinns, their trade in livestock, their precious woven products, and even, as a final flourish, castle Scorrybreac itself to be traded.
Edmund ground his teeth. No wonder his presence at Scorrybreac had displeased MacDonald. If Edmund became laird, it would put paid to these grand plans of MacDonald’s to make a fortune for himself.
He riffled through the spread parchments, hoping to find some evidence of who this letter was meant for. His eyes fell on one sheet that contained a word that made his blood run cold –Annora.
Thrusting the parchment close enough to the light to enable him to make out the lettering, his heart plummeted.
This was a letter from the Laird Graham Munro enquiring for any news of his daughter, the Lady Annora Munro. From the text, it sounded like a generalized message that had been sent out to several lairds, explaining that the last known information was that she had seemingly been taken by privateers. It went on the state the area and date of the event and the fact that she was promised to the English nobleman. It was brief and very simply stated. There was nothing more than a request for information.
“Damn the man’s eyes,” Edmund exploded. “Harris must have put one and one together and realized who the woman I presented as my wife truly is. Has he replied? Has he already revealed Annora’s whereabouts tae her faither?”
As they continued the search, there came the sound of footsteps and a faint tap on the door from Annora.
Someone is coming.
They quickly began restoring the parchments into the same untidy pile they’d come from, replacing the rock as a weight, and scattering the rest on the table in the manner they’d found them.
“Lucky the lad’s nae one fer keeping order,” Lionel whispered, grinning.
Edmund’s heart thumped hard against his ribcage. What he’d discovered meant they had no time to waste. If a missive was already on its way from MacDonald to Annora’s father, it would not be long before there was a response.
And then there was the matter of MacDonald’s planned betrayal of the MacNeacail Clan.
They held their breath as the footsteps drew closer. If it should be the Laird Harris MacDonald returning to his chamber, Edmund would have no hesitation in challenging him. In fact, he would welcome it. A dangerous fire was building in his belly. He had already begun to despise the man, but since reading these letters his contempt had grown tenfold.
