Page 37 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

“Come inside. You look hungry.”

“I always look hungry when there's a free meal involved.”

“You haven't changed,” Alastair chuckled.

Creagan grinned. “Why tamper with perfection?”

Alastair's laugh followed him into the house.

It was well after supper before the conversation took a turn Creagan hadn't expected.

They sat with tankards of ale before the hearth, Alastair's wife having retired for the evening. Creagan had been listening to his friend complain about a neighboring chieftain allowing cattle to wander where they shouldn't when Alastair suddenly grew thoughtful.

“You're heading toward Dunsire?”

“Aye.”

“Any particular reason?”

Creagan shrugged. “It's as good a direction as any.”

Alastair took a drink, then studied him for a moment. “You've heard the talk, then.”

“What talk?” Creagan asked, though knew what the man meant.

“About the queen.”

Creagan kept his expression indifferent. “People always talk about whoever sits on the throne.”

“This is different.”

“So, I've been hearing.”

Alastair leaned back in his chair. “There are questions about whether Queen Eudora has any right to wear it.”

Creagan's fingers tightened slightly around his tankard. “Questions asked by whom?”

“More people every day.”

“That doesn't make them true.”

“Nay. But it doesn't make them false either.”

Creagan looked at him.

Alastair was no fool. He wasn't a man who spent his evenings in taverns listening eagerly to gossip, nor was he easily swayed by the opinions of others. That made his words more troubling than anything Creagan had heard on the road.

“You believe them?” Creagan asked.

“I didn't say that.”

“You're considering that they might be true. That's close enough.”

Alastair frowned. “What do we truly know about Eudora's claim other than what we've been told? Queen Eleanor, her grandmother, raised her. Eleanor named her heir. We accepted it.”

“With good reason. She was next in line for the crown.”

“Perhaps.”