“See that ye do, David. Our clan deserves nay less.”
David turned and departed, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with a firm thud.
Connor sank back into his chair, hands clasped together, staring down at the floor. The weight of the investigation pressed upon him, mingled with thoughts of Eva and the fire she ignited within him. He couldn’t let distraction interfere, yet even now, her memory lingered, soft, intoxicating, and maddeningly irresistible.
Plans must be made, contingencies thought through. He needed scouts in the surrounding countryside, villagers discreetly questioned, and the routes to McKay Castle noted. Every detail mattered, every whisper of knowledge could be the key to unraveling the truth.
Thoughts of Michael’s birthmark haunted him, mingling with the anger at the injustice of his family’s loss. If David’s mission failed, if McKay remained an enigma, the fire inside Connor would only burn hotter. But he would not act rashly. He would bide his time, gather every fragment of information, and strike with the precision of a true McLaren Laird.
Rising once more, Connor strode to the window and stared out over the castle grounds, the morning wind brushing the banners atop the battlements. His mind replayed every possibility, every detail from the merchant’s tale. Laird McKay… the name rang in his ears like a bell tolling for vengeance. He clenched his fists, his resolve hardening; he would uncover the truth, and no shadow from the past would remain unchallenged.
He saw his grandmother strolling the gardens below the window. He turned on his heel and made his way out of the study.
“If anyone kens, it may be she,” he said.
Connor strolled through the castle gardens. His mind was a storm of thoughts, tangled with confusion and suspicion.
Jack Welsh… why would the man have anythin’ to do with me family’s tragedy?
Every thought Connor formed seemed more improbable than the last, and yet he could not shake the feeling that some truth lay hidden beneath the surface.
He spotted his grandmother, Margaret, tending a patch of lavender near the stone fountain. Quickening his pace, he jogged to catch up with her, the gravel crunching beneath his boots.
“Grandmaither,” he called softly, drawing her attention, “I wonder if ye can tell me somethin’ of a man… Jack Welsh.”
Margaret straightened, brushing her hands on her apron. “Jack Welsh? Hm, I have nae heard that name in years,” she murmured.
“What do ye ken of him?” he asked.
“Yer faither, he used to visit the McKay lands every summer, then stopped suddenly.”
Connor furrowed his brow. “Every summer? I dinnae ken that,” he said.
“Aye, yer faither dinnae speak of it much,” she said.
“Did ye ever ken why he stopped goin’?” he asked.
Margaret shook her head, eyes thoughtful. “Yer faither was nae one to speak of details, or of anything that bothered him. He kept everythin’ locked away. None ken why he ceased his visits, nae even me.”
She squinted at him, studying his expression. “Why are ye askin’ about Jack Welsh, Connor?”
Connor hesitated, feeling the weight of knowledge he couldn’t yet share. He didn’t want to worry his grandmother with suspicions and half-truths. Instead, he decided on a safer course.
“I was thinkin’ on the clans invited to the weddin’,” he said lightly. “I realized we daenae have much connection with the McKay clan, that’s all. It’s odd with the McKay lands nae so far from here.”
Margaret nodded slowly, her hands folding over each other. “Aye, I ken. I can only assume it is because yer faither had a fallin’ out with Jack some time ago, and our Clan McLaren lost contact with Clan McKay.”
Connor gave her a small nod, grateful for her understanding. “Thank ye, Grandmaither, for indulgin’ me curiosity.”
She smiled warmly, eyes twinkling. “Aye, I ken. Now, how are the weddin’ preparations comin’ along, since I am barred from helpin’?”
Connor allowed himself a small grin. “Eva has received her weddin’ clothes. She seems… pleased.”
Margaret’s eyes brightened, the lines of worry softening on her face. “That is lovely to hear, indeed. Ye’ve chosen well, Connor. She seems a fine lass, one to bring honor to our house.”
Connor felt a flush creep into his cheeks, a mixture of pride and unease.
“Aye, Grandmaither, she is… remarkable. More than I could have imagined, truly.”
