Wanting to take them to task immediately, Anna clenched her jaw.
"He's no fit chief for this clan," the man continued. "If he cannot be the ally of another MacDonald, he won't have any allies. We'll be attacked and killed and some other clan will take over these lands and this castle."
"What'll we do to make sure the clan is nay destroyed?"
"I'm going to help Sleat in any way I can. He'd make a far better chief for us."
Saints, what traitors, Anna thought. She could not believe how many in the clan were disloyal to Neacal. Not only Farquar, but also these two.
"Are you thinking Sleat will return?" one of the men asked.
"Before the MacKenzies kicked him out, 'twas what he said—that he would be back with a larger garrison. He figured the elders would put Neacal in as chief, but he knows as well as I that Neacal is not cut out to be chief. I'm going to talk to some other clansmen and find out who shares our view."
"As will I."
"We'll talk again in the morn."
Anna slipped forward and peered around the corner, through the wide opening into the great hall. The two men parted ways and, in the dim candlelight, she recognized them. She knew not their names, but she had seen each of them before.
She had to tell Neacal of his traitorous clansmen. She did not wish to wait until the morn, for these men could do a lot of damage in that short span of time. One of the maids had shown her around the castle days ago. She knew where the laird's chamber was.
As silently as possible, she crept up the steps, a lone sconce in the stone stairwell lighting her way. At the oaken door, she knocked lightly.
No response.
Blast! He must be sleeping.
She hated to wake him, but the matter of clan traitors was of vital importance. He'd likely be angry with her if she didn't wake him. This time, she knocked harder, but still heard naught from inside. Where was he?
Footsteps approached along the corridor. Was it him? She hid in the darkness of the nearby alcove to make sure. She didn't wish anyone else to know what she was about. As the footsteps drew near, she peeped out from her hiding place. A tall silhouette waited before the door and it seemed he stared straight at her.
'Twas him. She forced herself to breathe. "M'laird?" she mumbled.
"Anna?" His voice held surprise. "What is it?"
She emerged from her hiding place and moved toward him. "I was looking for you."
"Are you well? How is the burn?"
"I'm feeling better. I thank you." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "I must speak to you in private."
"Very well." He hesitated, his gaze searching hers. "Do you want to talk here or… in my chamber?"
Craning her neck, she glanced behind him, fearful some traitorous servant might be lurking there in the darkness.
"I gave my guard the night off," he whispered, following her gaze, then eyed her again. "We can go inside, if you dare to trust me that much."
"Aye, I think that might be best. And, of course, I trust you." How could she not after he'd rescued her from a rapist?
He opened the door and held it while she entered. A low fire burned in the hearth, lighting the room to a dim glow.
He closed the door and stood stiffly by, watching her.
"I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I heard something which concerned me a great deal."
"Aye? What is it? Have a seat." He motioned to a wooden chair by the hearth and she sat.
"I was passing by the great hall when I heard two of your clansmen talking." She spoke in a hushed tone, lest someone in the corridor overhear.
