That distracted Alan and he raised his brows. Cunningham was the Fifth Earl of Glencairn, and one of those who plotted against the queen.
“Earl Glencairn and Erskine, Earl o’ Mar, are coming to consult wi’ me.”
“Here?” Alan asked, appalled.
“Aye. It could scarcely be worse, could it? With everything in disarray.”
“Why do they come?” Father had rarely included Alan in diplomatic matters. He’d rarely included Evan either, though for far different reasons. But Alan had gleaned enough to know that the Earl of Glencairn was a powerful man. And perhaps a dangerous one.
Father shot him a look. “I suspect he wishes to get me on side. Before they move against—well, the monarch.”
Alan lowered his voice still farther. “Will they move against her?”
“It seems inevitable, God help us all.”
“Wha’ will ye do?”
Father sighed. “For a long while, I ha’ walked a thin line between loyalty to the crown and treason. It seems my trail may be running out ahead o’ me.”
Alan blinked at his father.
“If I choose wrong—or step wrong—” Father murmured, “we could ultimately lose everything.”
Alan’s heart fell. It was one thing supposing he might lose this place he loved to his brother. Another to suppose they might have to cede ancestral lands to powers on the rise.
“I thought this would come,” Father said heavily. “Hoped it would no’. For it to come now, wi’ Evan on the loose and my affairs in such disorder—”
“Aye. When do they arrive?”
“Tomorrow. If we can find yer brother before then, ’twould be well.”
“Aye, so. But if we do—” Alan voiced his previous concerns. “Wha’ then? Do we confine him? Lock him up?”
“In the cellars, if need be. Just until the accursed visit from these earls be done.”
By God, it scarce rained but it poured. The skies lowered, and loyalties shifted.
Including Alan’s own.
Chapter Twenty-Five
They slept that night with the connecting door between the two chambers left open. That was, if anyone slept.
Annista knew that Bonnie at least dozed for a while, since she sat with the little maid, insisting she keep Annista’s own bed. Bonnie declared she felt better and could return to her duties. Annista did not quite believe it.
She noticed the way Bonnie’s gaze flew to the door every time she heard a sound. And how she clung to Cora, or Morag when that woman was not attending her own mistress and took a turn. The two serving women seemed to have bonded with Bonnie, and Mistress MacKallan lent Morag when she could.
Annista was glad of that, for her energies felt oddly scattered and her own heart strangely divided. She wanted to protect Bonnie from further fright and harm.
Something, though, drew her persistently to Alan.
It was merely because he was sore injured, so she told herself, and had no one else at hand to look after him. For sure, he did not seem inclined to look after himself.
So, though she started out the night in her own chamber, as soon as Bonnie fell into her doze, Annista walked on bare feet to join her husband.
He, at least, was not sleeping, not then. Far too uncomfortable, perhaps, though he would not admit it. He sat propped up against the bolsters in the curtained bed, his dark hair tumbled against the linen and a scowl on his face.
A large measure of the awkwardness between them had flown, chased by circumstance, so Annista reflected when she climbed up into the bed beside him, tucking her feet beneath her.
