His brother frowned. "The Paul MacTarril you fostered with at the Comyns?"
"Aye. The very same. His clan was from north of Aberdeen, and he was one of the chief's younger sons. Also, he was the best friend and accomplice of that murderer Ben Comyn."
"MacTarril is naught but a criminal himself."
"True."
"What did he say?"
"That one of Lady Grey's staff stole the jewels."
"One of the guards who vanished?"
"'Tis possible." He would not tell Fraser of MacTarril's offensive words to Elspeth. Clearly, the whoreson wanted to besmirch her name in any way possible. At the time, Cyrus had been tempted to break the man's jaw, but 'twould likely have only made matters worse.
Elspeth came toward them, giving him a fleeting, discomfited glance. "The midday meal will be served shortly. In the meantime, have some ale, if you please." She motioned toward the full tankards, along with a pitcher for refills, sitting on a wooden tray at the end of the nearby table.
Cyrus thanked her and helped himself. The ale was dark and bitter, just the way he liked it.
"We appreciate your generous hospitality, Lady Grey." Fraser bowed over her hand and kissed it.
Her face coloring in a fetching blush, she smiled. "Please, as I said before, call me Elspeth. And 'tis my honor to have such esteemed guests."
It was the correct and formal thing to say, but did she mean it? She'd been trying to usher him out the door since last evening. Was it because she was trying to hide something about a wealthy earl? Who was the whoreson and what was their connection? Were they lovers? A feeling akin to jealousy gored his vitals. Saints, he'd lost every last shred of sanity. He had no reason to feel jealousy. She meant naught to him.
"We're the ones who are honored to have such a stunning hostess." Fraser grinned.
Her face flushed even brighter. "You're too kind."
Cyrus rolled his eyes at Fraser. What the devil was he doing? Trying once again to seduce her? It wouldn't work… he would make sure of it.
To add to the madness, Cyrus found himself illogically yearning for her to shift her whisky-colored eyes to him. Why the devil would he crave such a thing? He generally didn't care, one way or another, whether a woman looked at him or not. Plenty did when he wished they would watch some other man. Most women were complicated creatures he would rather not become ensnared with.
As for Elspeth, he found he wanted to look deeply into her eyes and discover the secrets of her mind. Like it or not—and he didn't—she was the most intriguing woman he had met in years.
"The meal will be served in a few moments, if you would like to be seated." Still avoiding looking at him directly, Elspeth motioned toward the long table.
He would wait until later to have a private conversation with her. He didn't want to snag Fraser's curiosity.
When she walked away, Cyrus observed his brother, who continued to watch her. He knew exactly what Fraser was thinking.
"What are you doing?" To Cyrus's chagrin, the words emerged as a growl rather than the bland inquiry he'd intended.
Fraser dragged his gaze away from her and focused on him. "What do you mean?"
Cyrus narrowed his eyes and kept his voice low. "Are you trying to seduce her?"
Fraser snorted. "If I was, dirk me now."
What the devil did he mean by that? That he wasn't interested in her? "You made her uncomfortable with the excessive compliments."
"Uncomfortable?" His brother looked flummoxed. "Did you not see her smile and blush?"
"Aye. You embarrassed her."
Fraser barked a laugh. "You have been too long on the battlefield, brother. 'Twas a blush of pure pleasure and happiness."
"You're daft," Cyrus muttered, realizing he couldn't differentiate between a blush of pleasure and one of embarrassment. Mayhap his brother was right in that he had been away from women and their subtle sensitivities too long.
