After one last smug smile, Sleat turned and strode away, back down toward the shore, his glowering men following.
If anyone were to attack, 'twould no doubt be Sleat himself. And when he did, Neacal had to make sure his clan was ready to fight.
***
Anna Douglas descended the stairs and entered the great hall of Bearach Castle to break her fast, noticing immediately the servants and MacDonald clansmen were in an uproar. As one of the traveling minstrels who'd arrived a fortnight earlier, she was not a member of the clan and had no right to pry into their business. But she did wonder what was afoot.
Taking a seat on the bench beside Jules, a ginger-haired lad of seventeen who traveled with them and played the flute and other instruments, she asked, "What is happening?"
"The laird disappeared," he whispered. "They wondered if he was taken hostage and were organizing a search party when some other chief named Sleat arrived."
"An enemy?" Anna asked.
Jules shrugged.
"What about the laird?"
No sooner had the words left her mouth than the entry door opened and Chief Neacal MacDonald strode in, his long black hair damp. She could not help that her gaze devoured his tall, lean and muscular form in the belted plaid. He had to be the most beautiful man she had ever seen, despite the jagged scar which marred one side of his face… and his infuriated expression.
His large, shaggy brown dog followed. Clansmen surrounded the chief, asking a hundred questions at once. He answered a couple of them before impatiently moving through the crowd. His stark, blue-eyed gaze darted to Anna and burned into her. Her breath halted. She felt trapped, her secrets and her soul laid bare.
Not stopping, he disappeared up the steps.
"Heavens, he's a strange one," her fellow singer, a matron named Harriet, muttered on her other side.
Anna frowned, her breath slowly returning. "I think he is simply misunderstood," she murmured. No one knew what secrets lurked behind those haunted blue eyes of his. The servants whispered that he'd been tortured by an enemy clan, but she did not know the details.
One part of her craved knowing everything about him, while the other urged her to pack up her meager belongings and leave immediately. Something about him frightened her. 'Twas not that she feared he would physically harm her. Nay, it was in the way he watched her intently when he thought she didn't notice. With those perceptive, intelligent eyes, he might see beneath her surface… he could discover the secrets she hid that no one could ever find out if she wished to live. Her stomach ached so severely she didn't think she could eat, but she forced down a few bites of the porridge.
The mysterious chief had barely spoken to her since she had arrived at Bearach. But why would he? She was naught but one of the five traveling minstrels, hoping to sing for their room and board. Not much better than beggars, in truth, but at least they provided a service wherever they stayed—entertainment. They made people laugh, clap and dance. She was glad to bring people joy, even though she experienced little of it herself.
The laird might order them to leave at any time and they'd have no choice but to do as he bid. They depended upon his hospitality and generosity. She didn't even know whether he enjoyed their music or not. Often, he arose from the table and left the room whilst they were playing, saying not a word to anyone.
At other times, she noticed him staring at her while she sang, his deep blue gaze sharp as the dirk he carried at his belt. He seemed a lethal blade himself at those moments. And his look of raw anguish distracted her so much she had to look away and focus on someone else in order to remember the words of the song.
When she'd sung at his sister's wedding feast a fortnight ago, she'd become aware of Neacal's attention on her, and it had only intensified since that night.
The servants whispered that the former chief, Elrick, had been a terrible leader, but they were not certain Neacal would be any better, when it came down to it, for he suffered from madness.
***
Neacal quickly climbed the spiraling stone stairs to the top and shoved out the door to the ramparts. Drawing the cool breeze into his lungs, he watched Sleat's galleys being rowed away into the distance. The bastard might be leaving but Neacal's simmering rage remained. Damn the man! After his threats and taunts, Neacal was itching for a fight. The bastard would without doubt return another day, and Neacal had to make the clan ready.
Even seeing the beautiful singer in the great hall for a moment hadn't calmed his fury at Sleat. Anytime he looked into her green eyes 'twas like a quick punch to the gut. They called her Anna Douglas and that was all he knew about her.
And why should he wish to know more?
He'd avoided women since one had betrayed him. Aye, of course, he still craved a woman now and then, but he dealt with it through physical exertion and training. That was likely the only reason he'd noticed her specifically… she was a pretty lass and her voice dug into his soul. 'Twas so beautiful that, at times, he could not endure it.
"Forget about her," he growled through clenched teeth. But he knew he wouldn't. Seeing her face, hearing her sing… these sparkling jewels had latched themselves onto his mind and wouldn't be shaken loose, taunting him to want something more. What the hell was wrong with him?
At the soft footstep behind him, warning surged through him. He whipped his head around, hand flying to his dagger hilt. When he saw 'twas only Eonan, his manservant, annoyance gored a hole through his gut. He hated it when people sneaked up on him.
"Chief?"
"Aye?"
Eonan stared at him wide-eyed for a moment. "I left your breakfast in your bedchamber."
