"You would, you old crone!"
Neacal shook his head. Tavia did not look old at all. "Pay her no heed and see if she has a dagger strapped to her leg."
Tavia searched beneath her skirts and a moment later pulled out a foot-long dirk.
Just as he suspected. Rarely did women carry such large weapons, especially while inside the castle. And he had never known Constance to have a fondness for knives.
"What! Another one?" Mistress Gilbert drew out another long, sheathed dagger from her other leg.
She must have intended to stab him. "Keep searching. We must disarm her."
The women located a small blade in her bodice, too.
"Why are you carrying so many weapons?" he demanded.
"I never know when you'll go berserk and try to kill me," Constance said.
He snorted, then turned to the housekeeper. "Have two maids you trust search her room for more weapons. Watch them to make sure they look in every nook and cranny. Then, bring the weapons here. Tie her to the chair," he told the guards. "All of you, except for Mistress Gilbert, stay right here with her until I return. If she says anything at all, tie a gag in her mouth."
Annoyance twisting through him, Neacal slammed the door on the way out.
In the great hall, he paused and called out, "Vardon Clemmens."
"M'laird?" The piper meekly shuffled from the corner, his wide gaze only darting to Neacal once.
"Come with me." Neacal led the way up the steps to the solar. Once the man entered, Neacal closed the door. "What have you told my cousin, Constance Gordon?"
"What… what do you mean, m'laird?" he stammered.
"What did you tell her about Anna Douglas?"
"Oh… um…"
The man's hesitation and silence irked Neacal to no end. "You ken who she really is, do you not? You ken who her clan is."
"Eh… aye."
"So what did you tell Constance?" Neacal prompted.
"That she… is the wife of Chief MacCromar."
"Damnation." Neacal hated that his hunch was correct. "Do you realize what you've done?"
Warily meeting his gaze, Vardon hesitated, then shook his head.
Neacal forced himself to remain calm when all he wanted to do was shake some sense into the man. "You've put Anna's life in danger."
"How?"
"Don't be a dimwit, man! Constance has sent a missive to Blackburn MacCromar and he will be here forthwith to try to reclaim Anna. Do you know anything about the man?"
He shook his head even harder, his eyes growing wider by the second.
"He's a murderer. If he were to get his hands on her, he would beat, abuse and possibly kill her."
"Nay. His wife?"
"Indeed. Why on earth do you think she would leave her fine home and become a traveling minstrel? For the fun of it?" he demanded. "Nay, she's trying to survive."
