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“Sandy?” Nathair called again. “What’s happenin’? Are ye all right? Is Cicilia?”
Alexander completely ignored him, stalking onwards and inside.
Once I’m clean, I can think again. The muck and the girl both are makin’ me lose me heid.
And that…well, that simply wouldn’t do. Not at all.
Gather yer wits, Alexander. Before it’s too late.
But now even his own thoughts were confusing him. Too late for what?
Not knowing the answer was what really worried him most.
Chapter 8
Quaere
To Seek
Angry and embarrassed still, Alexander did not leave his room again for the rest of the afternoon. The maid who had wakened him tried to coax him out for a noon meal, but he stayed firmly where he was, reveling in his own dark thoughts.
Nathair brought some food to him and passed it in the door, telling him to pull himself together, but Alexander wasn’t sure how to do that. Everything was wrong, and it was filling him with the kind of uncertainty that would have brought tears could he have afforded such a luxury.
Now he lay on his borrowed bed, staring at the low ceiling of the attic room as if squinting at it in the right way would somehow bring out all the answers which he sought.
I dinnae understand this farm. Somethin’ is nae right here, and it starts wi’ that lassie.
Cicilia O’Donnel. She was an enigma, that much was certain, just like this bizarre farm. The more he thought about her story, the less sense it made. She said her father was on a trip and would not be back for weeks, but whenever he pressed, her details got very vague.
Is it likely that a reputable farmer such as Cameron O’Donnel would vanish an’ leave his unwed daughter and two young children alone for such a length of time? Nay.
And why was she unwed? He had thought it already, but it seemed strange, especially for the daughter of a farmer. Yes, some peasant daughters married closer to thirty than twenty, but that was hardly the situation here. After all, Cicilia’s family was only separated from the gentry by name. Alexander was confident that the O’Donnels had more money than some minor Lairds.
He’d heard from Ilene back when the wedding was approaching that four-and-twenty was the usual age by which women were wed across all social classes. Of course, most preferred to marry at ten-and-seven or one-and-twenty, for luck. But Cicilia was older than even the usual by a year.
It’s nae that she’s unattractive. Aye, she’s got those strange eyes an’ the freckles an’ the mismatched hair, but she’s pretty enough.
Actually, he had to admit, if it wasn’t for her imperfections, he’d find her rather attractive. The way her body moved and curved, the easiness of her laugh, the intelligence in her eyes…it was hard to believe that such a woman had not received courtship from someone matching or even above her station by now.
It makes nae sense. I cannae stand things that make nae sense.
And so, at last, Alexander slipped out of bed and fixed his clothing. He had some people to question, and he would not rest until he had found the answers.
That day, he took a tour of the farm, careful to avoid Cicilia as much as he could. After questioning some of the farmhands and house servants, and having a quick look around for anything suspicious, he told Nathair that it was high time they visited the local village.
“Why?” Nathair asked, even as he helped Alexander prepare the horses. “Ye bored already?”
“I wish I was bored,” Alexander grumbled. “But nay. I’ve got some questions to ask o’ the locals.”
It only took about twenty minutes by horse to reach the village of Wauton, named for its position between the border of the farm and the border of the clan. It was smaller than many of the Gallagher land’s other villages, but all the essentials were there.
They had a blacksmith, a tavern, the market stall run by Cicilia’s friend Jeanie. They had a butcher, a baker, and a tiny kirk—in short, more than Alexander would have ever pictured could fit into such a small place.
Nathair let out a low whistle as they walked around. “I dinnae ken any o’ the villages out this way had this sort o’ money,” he commented.
Alexander narrowed his eyes as they passed the provisioners with farm-fresh fruit on display. “Aye. More worryingly, nor did I. I think Farmer O’Donnel has been sharin’ his illicit wealth more than we thought.”
“But ye’ve got nae proof o’ him doin’ anything illegal,” Nathair reminded him. “I ken it’s annoyin’ ye, Sandy, but dinnae let it get to yer heid.”
