Page 77 of Lady Len and the Mysterious Mac

“How did you come by it?”

“Norval MacKenzie brought it back from his travels. You’re not falling ill now too, are ye, milord?”

“No.”

“Then what d’ye mean to say?” Mrs. Kynoch asked, fussing over him and straightening his shirt.

“That I’m a fool who couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”

“To the clan, Silas.”

Si blinked. “Ah.” He’d prepared a little, but now his mind was blank of anything but Ellen and his father.

The cook rolled her eyes. “Just ask them for their allegiance and have done with it.”

“Here he is lads!” a ruddy-faced MacKenzie called, spotting Si and dragging him out into an ebbing sea of cousins. “Hiding wherever there’s fresh bannocks. And not much changes under the sun, does it, Si?” he guffawed, slapping Silas on the back as others yelled and laughed and he was surrounded and shoved towards the front of the Hall.

“Well, I…” Si began, but no one could hear his stammering over the general rabble of the clan.

“Where’s your father, Silas?” Blair called, stepping away from the wall he’d been leaning against with crossed arms, his eye still a mess of bruise and swelling. “Shouldn’t he be present on a night like this?”

“As should yours,” Si replied, noticing that Blair stood alone, without either Norval or Rabbie Stewart to flank him.

Blair shrugged. “Everyone knows my father washed his hands of me years ago. Besides, it’s not my special night, it’s yours.”

“Let’s get on with it, then.” Si made his way to the top of the Hall like a salmon persevering upstream.

“I notice your wife is absent as well. Neither of the people who’re supposed to love you best are here to bear witness on your momentous day. What does it mean, I wonder?”

A rumble went up from the men surrounding Blair, while those supporting Silas fell uncomfortably silent.

Then Ced the piper stepped forward. “You always did like the sound of your own voice, Blair. Every man here knows the Kintail chose Si.”

“Way I heard it,” one on Blair’s side piped up, “the Kintail hasn’t been fit to choose much of anything for quite some time.”

“Maybe we should go and ask him,” Blair said with a grin. “Or at least ask the bride. Now, where could she be hiding? With a stranger in the forest glade perhaps?”

Si was two seconds from ripping off Blair’s lips and shoving them up his arsehole. Then a stramash turned his attention back to the kitchen door where a soaking wet Angus was pushing his way inside, his face white as a ghost, and Si’s stomach fell.

Intellectually he knew it couldn’t possibly be to do with Ellen or his father, for Angus wouldn’t have reached them yet, but still he was afraid.

Si forced his way back towards his newly appointed steward, but there were too many blasted MacKenzies in the way and none of them inclined to move.

“I beg a word, milord,” Angus called, and Si started shoving men out of his way, ignoring their yelps of surprise and grumbles of dismay.

“What?” he asked, and Angus jerked his head back towards the kitchen, away from prying ears. “What can be more important than delivering that letter to my—” they pressed into the kitchen to find a sodden messenger warming himself by the fire.

“Tell him,” Angus ordered.

“McInnes, sir. Of the Sheep’s Head Inn.”

Si’s stomach would have emptied itself there on the kitchen floor if he’d remembered to eat since breakfast.

“Say your piece,” Angus urged.

“They send word. Well, here.” The boy handed Si a note, which he unfolded with trembling hands.

“What’s it say?” Mrs. Kynoch asked, peering over his elbow.