They could argue over many things, but protecting children when swords were drawn wouldn’t be one of them.
‘I’d do the same,’ he said. ‘If I were a father, I, too, would keep the young protected.’ Then he remembered the other red hair that had caught his eye. ‘But they were there at the wedding.’
The tension in her eased a bit. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. ‘They were in the crowds.’
So they could see their sister being married, but also kept at a distance to be swept away if tempers flared. Trust. Mistrust. If the Lochmores felt uneasy, so must the McCrieffs. The question was, how much did his wife trust him?
He looked to the open door to Hamish’s room and then to the closed door behind him. He didn’t need to be here now. He needed to be planningfor every scenario with his men. At the very least, he needed to be at Paiden’s side, just as he knew that Paiden would have been there for him.
Instead, he was in the bedchambers of a dying man whom he had never met, but whom his father hated.
‘You don’t need to stay here with me,’ Ailsa said.
He whipped his head around. ‘We are married. Where else would I be?’
‘I can tell you wish to be elsewhere. You’re drumming with your fingers against your leg and staring at the doors.’
He stilled his left hand. ‘Is this what you do? Stay in this man’s room?’
‘I’m a healer and he is ill.’
‘We, too, have a healer,’ he said. ‘But she’s there for everyone, not cloistered away for one man.’
‘I was requested to be by Hamish’s side as much as possible.’
Except this was excessive. No healer would stay all day like this. It would be a waste of resources and certainly, in a clan this size, the healer would be needed elsewhere.
Hamish was the Chief, but her father ruled and it didn’t seem as if there were numerous visitors or clansmen worried about this dyingman. In fact, the hallway was bare. Hamish was hated by Lochmores and it didn’t appear he was much loved by McCrieffs either. Yet she stayed by his side.
‘Who requested it.’
She jolted. ‘What does it matter? Our Chief is sick and needs someone.’
Trust. Mistrust, but he wanted an answer and wouldn’t let this go. ‘The Chief would be sick even if you tell me.’
‘Hamish,’ she said tersely. ‘He requested it of my father and so my father granted it.’
Requested, or ordered. It was Hamish’s right to make orders. A chief was Chief until he died. A Tanist was only heir apparent. But Hamish was dying and, from the time he’d been here, Hamish was bedridden, and Frederick had been making decisions. How much control did the Chief have?
‘Who is in charge of this clan?’ he said.
‘Hamish,’ she said too quickly.
‘Ailsa,’ he prodded.
‘Don’t think to reprimand or demand answers from me.’ She glanced at Hamish’s door. ‘My father is a great warrior and well respected. Hamish is our Chief. There is nothing else.’
A change of power wasn’t ‘nothing else’. He’d seen enough last night to know that Frederickhad power here. Many McCrieffs raised their goblets at his announcement and there were no open denials or interruptions when he’d given his speech. If there was disagreement, Rory hadn’t noticed it.
It appeared the Chief did not have control. If Frederick and Hamish agreed on matters, the transfer of power would be unproblematic. If they held differing opinions, however... No, the results would be too disastrous to even think about, let alone be true.
‘You have a person who tried to murder a Lochmore,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said more quietly than him.
Her honesty jarred him. Just a few hours before she’d prevaricated about Paiden’s poisoning. Had she thought about it some more or did she know something more?
He hid secrets, but there were some here as well. ‘Ailsa, your father invited me here. If he poisoned—’
