She encountered Mistress MacKallan in the gallery which overlooked the entry hall, the woman lurking like a spirit amid the dark bannisters and wainscoting. Had she been waiting for her? Surely not.
Mistress MacKallan stepped forward and slid a perceptive look over Annista as if—surely she did not imagine Annista and her son had shared a wedding night?
“My dear, how are ye this morning?”
“I am well enough, Mistress MacKallan.
“And your chamber—do ye find it adequate?”
“I do.”
“That is well.” Mistress MacKallan gave an unconvincing smile. “If ye are looking for Alan, I am afraid he is no’ in the house. He went out early—”
“He went riding.”
Now Mistress MacKallan looked surprised, wondering perhaps how Annista knew that.
In truth, Annista was far more worried about the location of Mistress MacKallan’s other son. She needed to know Evan’s whereabouts—both for self-defense and so she might plan how best to give him what he deserved.
Softly and carefully, she advised herself. You have time. And you may get only one chance at this.
“Will ye come and await Alan’s return wi’ me in the solar?”
And do what there? Merely languish over Alan’s potential arrival? Did Mistress MacKallan imagine Annista was so eager to lay eyes on her husband?
“If ye do no’ mind, Mistress MacKallan, I think I would prefer to explore the house. Learn the lay of the chambers and hallways.”
“Ah, then,” Mistress MacKallan sighed. “I will show ye the place mysel’.”
Chapter Nine
Alan felt better with the cold wind in his ears and Chieftain beneath him. Well, marginally better. They left the house in the gray light of pre-dawn and the morning grew around them, a glow of gold that should bode a beautiful day.
Unfortunate that he did not believe in it.
The place he inhabited was a wild one, primitive and ancient, and he loved it to his bones. The blood of his ancestors ran deep here, since back when the Scots lived close to the earth and had not so much as played at being civilized.
He did not suppose he was truly civilized even now. A different man resided just below the surface he displayed to the world, one far more atavistic.
As for his brother—
Nay, Evan could be called naught but a savage, and always had been.
Alan had grown up with the powder keg that was his brother, and knew his nature. He merely did not know why Evan was the way he was, though over the years he’d often pondered it.
Something in the bloodline? That ancient savagery surging out?
God knew, despite his predilection for the drink, Father was sane and steady as they came. Far more levelheaded than either of his sons. There were tales of daring ancestors, men who had fought hard for this land and done what they must to retain hold of it. Violent men, at times. But no stories at all of cruelty or the madness he sometimes glimpsed in Evan’s eyes.
Perhaps it was somewhat on Mother’s side.
He urged Chieftain to a gallop, and the strong north wind engulfed them, driving all thought away. For those few moments there was only the stony land underfoot, the sound of the horse’s hooves pounding the turf, the limitless sky above, and the growing golden light.
Despite everything, Alan’s heart rose. This was when he was happiest. If only he could go on riding away from his responsibilities. Especially the newest ones.
Ahead of him the land rose in a broad rugged sweep, far too steep for a gallop, and he reined the horse in. The hills here were old and felt as if they’d never been tamed. Like the men they bred?
If he rode to the summit and gazed northward, he’d be able to glimpse the sea. Beyond that, naught.
