Once Anna sat, Tavia knelt before her, lifted the hem of her charred skirt and rested it over her knee. She then rolled Anna's burnt stocking down her calf and drew it off.
Neacal barged into the room. "How bad is the burn?"
"'Tis red but not terrible," Tavia said. "I'm thinking a poultice will start it to healing nicely."
"Aye. Good. Let me see." He dropped to one knee beside the healer and eyed Anna's ankle and shin.
Her face felt hotter than her burn.
He gazed up at her, his blue eyes intense in the candlelight. "I apologize for my daft clansmen. They know better than to brawl within the castle."
"Do not fash over it. I'm sure I'll be fine in a day or two, m'laird, especially with Tavia's exceptional healing skills."
After lingering for another moment, he gave a brief nod and arose. "I'm going to find out what the two men were fighting about." He left, closing the door behind him.
"'Tis good the laird is quick on his feet," Tavia said.
"Indeed."
Tavia smiled. "'Tis also good that he keeps his eye on you at all times."
Heat consumed Anna's face yet again.
***
Constance glared after Anna, wishing the huge iron candelabrum had struck the trollop on top of the head and killed her. Just as Neacal had killed Farquar. She still could not believe he was gone. Her eyes burned just as rage burned within her. She would have her revenge against Neacal before he married her off to some old bastard, but she had to hurry.
'Twas obvious how much Neacal liked Anna. He always watched her. No doubt they secretly spent nights together in his chamber. If she could dispatch Anna, then Neacal would know how she felt when he'd killed Farquar.
Had Neacal spoken the truth? Had Farquar tried to have his way with Anna Douglas? Why would he? Constance knew she was far lovelier than that dowdy little bird. Everyone told Constance she was a great beauty.
With unease, she remembered finding Farquar talking to Anna in the bailey one day. But just because he'd talked to her didn't mean he wanted under her skirts.
Who was Anna Douglas, anyway? Where was she from? She had to find out something about the jezebel. She glanced around and her gaze landed on the piper. He'd been playing when the fight broke out but now stood, holding his pipes, by one of the tables. He was not bad looking, though tall and scrawny. Mayhap she could find out something from him.
She sauntered toward him, pasting a sweet smile upon her face. "I was enjoying your playing. 'Twas too bad the fight interrupted it."
"I thank you, m'lady." He bowed.
Constance felt her smile widen; it wasn't often people mistakenly called her 'lady.' But she always enjoyed it when they did. "I do hope Mistress Douglas is all right."
"I'm certain she will be."
"What is your name?"
"Vardon Clemmens, m'lady."
"Where are you from?" Constance kept up the idle chit chat, pretending great interest, sending the daft man flirtatious grins and fluttering her lashes.
He blushed more than she ever had, even as a green virgin. She was happy to see he would be easy pickings. In a day or two, he would spill everything he knew about Anna Douglas.
***
The next day, the clan elders summoned Neacal to a meeting in the library. What the devil were they concerned about this time? He had more important things to do than counter their complaints. Training the soldiers and finding more was his first priority… except when he was thinking about Anna. He was glad to get a report from Tavia that Anna's burn was healing well, but he'd had no opportunity to talk to her this day.
Neacal strode into the library and took a seat at the head of the table where all the elders sat.
He scanned the expressions of the white-haired men, some dire and others forcing smiles.
