"I cannot believe what my father has done."'TwasRebbie'svoice and he did not sound happy.
"Aye. He's a meddler, is he not?" Lachlan chuckled.
"I'm not marrying that chit of a girl."Rebbie'sdeep voice, almost a growl, sent shivers over Calla's body.
"What of the contract?"
"Once I find it, I'll burn it."
Lachlan laughed.
"I haven't felt the urge to marry, so why should I be forced into it?'Tismadness. You know me; I love my freedom."
"Aye."
Saints!Rebbie sounded as if he was determined not to marry Elena. Mayhap he would leave soon and she'd never have to meet him face-to-face.Please, God…Calla squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, praying 'twouldbe so.
She could hear naught now. What were they doing?
Carefully, Calla crept closer along the level portion of the secret passage. Dim light gleamed through a crack in the wall. She peered through and saw the two men in the library, Rebbie crouching before the fireplace, poking at the coals and adding wood, while Lachlan poured whisky. Seconds later, Rebbie rose to accept the small glass his friend offered.
Calla froze and dared not even breathe too heavily. If she made a small sound, they might hear her.
"Slàinte."Glasses clinked. "A toast to your bonny new daughter," Rebbie said. "When she reaches eighteen summers, may all the rogues in Scotland be chasing after her skirts."
"Och! What kind of hellish curse is that?" Lachlan demanded.
Rebbie laughed. "Dirk told me to tell you he hopes you have ten daughters and one son. You ken why, being a former rogue and all."
"Devil take you both," Lachlan muttered. Though Calla could tell by his tone he was not serious or angry about his friend's teasing.
"Nay," Rebbie said. "In truth, I hope you have many more healthy daughters and sons."
"I thank you. And I hope you do, too, with your young wife-to-be."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Rebbie said dryly and downed the dram of whisky.
"So, tell me of your travels since you left here with Dirk last November."
As Rebbie began his tale, Calla placed the candleholder upon the stone floor of the passage and seated herself on a low step of the narrow stairwell. The men talked for what had to be an hour or longer aboutRebbie'sadventures, traveling toDurnessand other places. He had tangled with highwaymen, a band of outlaws, and various clans while fighting to protect his friends. Another time, he was knocked out when a clan chief tried to force him to marry his daughter.
Thinking at first that she would be bored with this recounting, Calla shook her head. She would never tire of listening to Rebbie talk. His deep voice held a hint of a rolling Highland burr that lured her and trapped her, spellbound to his story. His dry sense of humor often showed through, causing Lachlan to laugh. She smiled, both in amusement at his story and because she was enjoying learning more about him. She could not believe how often and how boldly he'd charged into danger.
Closing her eyes, she remembered his voice, murmuring into her ear that night. Words of affection and praise. He'd called herlass, since he didn't know her name. He'd even used a few Gaelic endearments—at least, she'd assumed they were endearments—and refused to tell her what they meant.
"How about a game of cards? Then, I'm turning in for the night," Lachlan said.
"Aye, what's your wager?" Rebbie asked.
Calla frowned. She did not care to listen to this. She hated gambling with a passion, for her late husband had lost everything to gambling just before he was killed, leaving her and her son penniless. Besides, she needed to leave the passage before Lachlan joined Angelique in the bedchamber, else Calla would be trapped here all night.
She stood and bent to pick up the candleholder but her hand encountered something furry instead. In her panic to draw her hand away, she gasped and leapt back. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.
"What was that?" Rebbie asked.
"Someone is in the secret passage!" Lachlan growled. "Come. We'll catch them." They bolted from the library.
Blast!Calla kicked in the general area where the rat had been and picked up the candleholder, then she scurried as quickly as she could to the steps that led up to the laird's bedchamber. Oh dear God, at all costs, they could not catch her. How mortifying that would be. She scuttled up the steps. At the top, she shoved the tapestry aside and emerged in the empty bedchamber. Not taking the time to close the door—she knew not how anyway—she ran from the room and into Angelique's sitting room where she sat holding her wee daughter. Calla feared if she fled into the corridor, she would run right into the men.
