"Have a good night, then, m'laird." Tavia could not hide the small smile as she exited.
Neacal glared after her as the door closed, then muttered a curse. He hadn't wanted her or anyone to know how he was drawn to Anna. But at least Tavia wouldn't tell anyone. Since she'd spent so much time with him while he was recovering, she probably knew him better than anyone.
He wished he could go see Anna for himself, to make sure she was all right… and just to glimpse her lovely face in the candlelight… but she needed her rest.
And he needed to remember his place as chief of the clan. He could not dally with someone like her. He respected her too much, and she deserved far better.
***
Chief Aonghus MacDonald of Sleat disembarked from his galley on the Scottish mainland at the MacRankin clan's tower house and glanced around at the gray, tempestuous sky. The stiff breeze smelled of rain.
"Come on, son." He motioned to Hamish.
As their clansmen dragged the rest of the galleys ashore, Sleat, Hamish and their main bodyguards headed up the rock-strewn heathery hill from the shore. After greetings were exchanged and ale served as refreshment, Sleat sat with the young MacRankin chief by the fire as the rain beat down outside.
"I wondered if you have forgiven Neacal MacDonald for spying on you as he did," Sleat said.
MacRankin bristled, his cold gray eyes narrowed. "Nay, why? Is the bastard still alive?"
"Aye, indeed. And he's clan chief now. I've only just come from Bearach Castle. He wanted me to tell you, if I ever saw you again, to burn in hell." Sleat forced himself not to snicker at the lie.
MacRankin shot up from his chair and paced, calling Neacal a long string of vile names. "The bastard is a traitor to Highlanders everywhere."
Sleat hid his grin, glad to see the MacRankin was just as enraged by the thought of Neacal as he'd always been. He did wonder though why MacRankin hadn't checked up on Neacal and finished him off long before now. No doubt he was afraid the king would send a fleet of warships after him.
"He is no Scot, but an arse kisser to a king who is more English than Scottish now. I wonder how much gold he earned for spying on us."
Sleat shook his head. "His da was knighted and he aspired to the same distinction."
MacRankin snorted. "Was he knighted?"
"Nay, I believe you halted his ambitions at court."
"Thanks to you for telling me of his duplicitous deeds. I hope he is a cripple!"
"Far from it. He appears strong in body. His mind is another matter entirely, though."
"He may as well have killed my betrothed," MacRankin said. "She threw herself from the tower after his clan attacked. I'll never forgive him for that."
"'Tis the same as murder." Sleat hoped to add fuel to the fire.
"Aye!" MacRankin's furious eyes near glowed like a devil's.
"If you want revenge, now is the time to act. His clan is weak," Sleat said. "The MacKenzies attacked and killed many of them. He has few soldiers."
MacRankin narrowed his eyes. "You're both MacDonalds. Why are you not helping him?"
"I offered him help. With his inflated pride, he refused and told me to leave. He has gone against the rest of us MacDonalds. He doesn't deserve to be chief. Half his clan wants him out. If you were to decide to lay siege to Bearach Castle, I would help you."
"Indeed? Against your own kin?"
"He is a very distant cousin, fifth or sixth." Sleat shrugged. "I owe the lunatic no loyalty. Several of his clansmen would be happy if he suddenly turned up dead."
"As would I," MacRankin said through his teeth.
Sleat nodded, satisfaction oozing through him that Neacal's enemy had been so easy to rile. "After he is gone, my son, Hamish, could watch over that branch of the MacDonald clan, protect and lead them until another, more suitable, chief could be found."
"Well, I kenned you were not helping me out of the goodness of your heart." MacRankin smirked.
He was glad MacRankin was not an imbecile, for intelligent and malicious allies had always served him well. "We understand each other." He raised his tankard of ale. "To bringing Neacal MacDonald down."
