A genuinely puzzled look stole over her face. “You cannot believe that I remember the names of all the king’s men.”
“Not all, just this one.”
“And why him?”
“He was standing next to your brother when I was dragged into the great hall and accused of my crimes.”
She adjusted her skirts, fanning the pale blue material out to dry the folds that were still wet. “I was not there, but if you describe him, perhaps I can name him.”
“He wore black from tip to toe, including a black wolf cloak.”
“And his face?”
“I did not see it.”
“The color of his hair, then?”
Aiden said nothing. He had no more to offer. The black wolf cloak was his best clue.
Isabail shook her head. “I cannot identify a man simply by his clothing.”
“Surely you would remember a man who garbed himself entirely in black? A man of enough consequence to wear a wolf pelt?”
“You ask too much. That night is several months in the past, and my brother took ill and died shortly thereafter.” A shadow passed over her face.
He empathized with her loss. Buthismemories of that night were clear as spring rain, and the safety of his clan hung on her ability to remember. “Name all the men of consequence who were guests of your brother, then.”
“And have you accuse them falsely of murder? Nay, I will not.”
Aiden stalked across the room. This woman was his only hope of identifying the poisoner. He needed those names. “You will tell me.”
Isabail shot to her feet and darted back to her corner of the hut, flattening herself against the wall like a tapestry of some enacted Greek tragedy.
Aiden followed, determined. “I will have the truth.” Placing his hands on the wall on either side of her, he caged her in. Then he leaned closer, his gaze pinning hers. “Give me the names.”
Aiden fully expected Isabail to maintain her dignified refusal, but she did something quite unexpected—she fainted. He was so surprised, he almost neglected to catch her as she fell. English ladies fainted all the time, especially when confronted with large, fierce Highlanders, but Scottish noblewomen tended to be made of sterner stuff.
He adjusted the unconscious woman in his arms. Light as thistledown.
Perhaps she was overly weary, exhausted from her trek through the snow. Surely, she hadn’t collapsed due to his anger. As chatelaine of Lochurkie, she would have regularly dealt with soldiers and laborers, many of them clad much as he was. Of course, he was larger than many and built of sturdy MacCurran stock. Raised as a warrior first and a chief second.
Aiden laid the woman gently on her pallet and covered her with a blanket. Almost without thinking, he picked up her heavy braid of hair. The strands glistened like silk, the hue so blond, it was almost white. Gazing at her this close, it was hard to imagine she was John Grant’s sister. The earl had been a large dark-haired man, perhaps a little too fond of ale and fine foods. Quite an imposing fellow, especially with a sword strapped to his side.
Perhaps they were born of different mothers.
The earl he knew reasonably well; John Grant had been the justiciar of Glen Avon, and as such held court for the judgments of serious crimes in the region. But all Aiden knew of his sister was that she’d been wed to the ill-fated young Macintosh heir who’d died of a festered knife wound shortly after a faire in honor of his name day.
He stepped back, frowning.
She was also deeply frightened of him. To her mind, he was a savage stranger who had attacked her carriage, slain her guards, and kidnapped her person. In truth, she’d been remarkably brave thus far. He doubted his mother would have endured such an attack without weeping or wailing.
Isabail’s fear could cause him serious grief, however.
In little more than a week, the king would grant Dunstoras to a new lord. The MacCurran keep had been reclaimed by the king when Aiden was arrested in November, and only Alexander mac Alexander’s infatuation with his new bride had seen it linger without a lord this long. Aiden had only a brief window of time to prove his innocence before the land was lost. And it wasn’t just the land he would lose. Outlawed after their chief’s disgrace and routed by soldiers, much of his clan had scattered. Only a handful of loyal kin remained, and those had withdrawn to a stone ruin deep in the forest. If Dunstoras were given to a new lord, it would not be long before those kin, too, were gone.
Aiden’s hands fisted at his sides.
If he gained the identity of the man in black, he might have a chance to save Dunstoras and rebuild his fractured clan. But to gain the names of John Grant’s guests, he would have to conquer Isabail’s fear and gain her trust. In less than a sennight.
