Page 57 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

Si would be completely lost without the groom.

“But really, where is the laird?” another asked. “Is he so poorly he cannae even show his face? Or is he not sick at all, and merely preferred exile?”

“Ashamed, more like,” chimed a third, Angus, the one who held his tongue at the wedding and interceded for Blair in the street. “Ashamed of how high he’s raised the rents these last two years, and how little to show for it.”

“Or maybe he’s just tired of your bellyaching, Angus MacKenzie,” came the Kintail’s voice from across the Hall—stronger than Si had heard it in days, but controlled to hide the wheezing. “Maybe ’tis not for you to decide what rent is proper, but what amount would make you happy? None at all, for it goes against human nature. I could cut it down by half and half again and you lot would still be complaining.”

Angus, perhaps all of twenty years old, immediately studied the ground and backed away muttering, “Aye, milord.”

“Alex, you’re looking well,” Norval greeted, moving to his side to assist him, though the laird shook him off, determined that the clan should not suspect any weakness.

“And why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who got his tail kicked from here to next Tuesday on the shinty pitch.” There was a twinkle in the old man’s eye when he said it, but Si heard reproach for letting the game get out of hand. If anyone else did, though, they masked it with teasing and laughter. “Now, who’s going to fetch me a dram?” the old man asked.

All eyes turned to Si, who poured the drink and took it to his father.

“Good to see you,” he said softly, handing it over.

“There’s some saying you were too hard on the lad at shinty,” his father said before taking a swig.

“Bram? He probably was a might small to join in the game, but he’s fine.”

“Not Bram,” his father said, nodding toward the doorway where Blair and Rabbie had just slunk inside, searching the room nervously. He looked like hell, and Silas’s mouth tasted of iron.

“Ah,” was all Si said.

“Shinty can be an unforgiving sport,” Gawyn added, sliding his own glance over Blair, who was now assembling a plate of food.

Si relaxed his hand, which had balled into a fist at the sight of the younger man. “Aye, especially the way we play.”

“Suppose that’s true,” the Kintail agreed, watching Si watch Blair. “Did he deserve it?”

“He did indeed.”

Alex nodded. “Only remember, son, start as you mean to go on.”

He was suggesting, of course, that Si must rein in his temper unless he wanted to rule the clan by violence from start to finish, and he knew well enough Si had no stomach for that.

Well, and wasn’t ruthlessness what was expected of him on account of his size?

“I have,” he told his father, because if anyone else tried to force themselves on his wife, he would probably kill them. He should check on her. “Since you’ve everything under control, I should see to my wife.”

“Where is she?” the laird asked, looking around. “Not under the weather, I hope.”

“Most likely overexerted herself on her project. She’ll be well by morning.” Why was he lying? Why not admit, loudly and publicly, what Blair had tried to do to her, the reason he’d earned all those bruises? Except it wasn’t Si’s story to tell.

“Project? What project? Is that what’s been going on in the chapel? I dreamed I heard singing.”

“Singing?” Silas scoffed. When she refused to speak above a whisper? “It’s nothing. A hobby. I’ll go and see she’s all right.”

“Ask her to come and read to me again tomorrow.”

Si turned, again unable to cover his surprise. “Read?”

“Aye. She spends more time with a poor, sick old man than his own son does. Ye can barely hear her, but then I suppose that’s why it’s so soothing. I have to concentrate on listening and it makes me forget my worries.”

“How long’s this been going on?” he couldn’t help asking.

The old man shrugged. “I cannae tell time anymore. Ask her to come tomorrow?”