No war, then. Andrew is dead. The other councilmen are on their best behavior. Watching a fellow councilman get decapitated would encourage a person to behave anyway.
He sighed, covering his face with his hands.
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, making him flinch.
“Tea,” came a familiar, muffled voice.
Evander rolled his eyes. “If that is ye, Fergus, ye daenae need an excuse to come up here.”
The door swung open, revealing Fergus with a tray.
“It’s nae an excuse,” he responded with a grin.
“Normally one of the maids brings that up.”
“Aye, I ken. I wanted a chance to talk to ye.”
“Well then, talk to me. Here I am.”
Fergus moved over to the desk, pushing aside a stack of papers and crumpled rubbish. Gingerly, he slid the tea tray into the freshly cleared space. Evander noticed he’d added a second cup.
“Shall I pour?” Fergus offered pleasantly.
“I’m nae really in the mood for tea, but fine.”
He poured two cups and pushed one toward Evander.
“Now,” he sighed, settling into the only available chair. “Let’s talk.”
“That’s nae possible. I’m nae in the mood to discuss business matters. I’ve got enough to do.”
“Did I say business matters?”
“No gossip, either. Me head aches.”
Fergus pursed his lips. “It’s nae gossip. I want to talk about ye, Evander. Ye and Lady Skye.”
Evander tensed up at her name. There’d been no avoiding the mention of it. The councilmen brought her up frequently, askingwhen she would return. Evander had avoided giving a direct answer, but whatever reply he managed to cobble together was generally so sharp and angry that the councilmen didn’t bother to ask a second time.
Rumors abounded, of course. One popular rumor was that the woman who’d returned with Evander wasn’t Skye at all, only a woman who looked terrifyingly like her. That would explain the missing memories, they said.
Anyone who actually knew Skye angrily denied that rumor.
Another rumor which seemed to be taking root was that Evander had been cruel to her, shouting at her and even striking her, and she’d fled. That one was easily disproved, since Clan MacCrimmon and Clan MacColl hadn’t declared war on his clan, which they would have done if there’d been a huge insult like that.
Another explanation—the most commonly accepted one—was that since the marriage had only ever been a political one, Skye simply didn’t feel obliged to stay.
“I understand it, ye ken,” he’d once overheard a maid whisper to her companion. “If I were in her shoes, I’d want to be safe at home.”
“Ye never would be in her dainty shoes,” huffed her friend. “Nae with yer massive feet.”
“Oh, hush. Ye ken what I mean. Keep Bryden is nice enough, but it’s hardly a home for her. When she was here before, she tiptoed around the place. I could tell how uncomfortable she was.”
“She’d have warmed up to it soon enough.”
“I suppose. Never had the chance, though, did she?”
The maids had moved on without realizing that Evander was listening to them, and he was happy enough to keep it that way.
