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An’ I have me own reasons to wish this doesn’ae go wrong, too.
Because Nathair intended to ask Jeanie McCaul to marry him when this was all over. He knew it had only been a few weeks since they met, but he also knew that he would not change his mind. When Cicilia returned to the farm, he did not want Jeanie to go with her. If she must, she could bring her grandfather here to the castle.
If Cicilia goes back to the farm. If they let her.
Because that was what concerned him most. Someone had discovered Cameron O’Donnel was alive no longer, and he supposed someone had put two and two together and worked out the inevitable.
“They really dinnae like the idea o’ a woman in charge o’ our biggest profit-maker,” the spy said solemnly. “If Me Laird publicly supports it, there might be a riot.”
“Aye,” Nathair replied, rubbing his sore head. “Aye, I ken. Right, dismissed. Away an’ let me think about all o’ this a wee bit before I take it to Alexander, all right?”
The young soldier nodded. He couldn’t have been more than five-and-ten, barely even able to grow a beard. And yet, without him, a bad situation could be much, much worse.
“What was yer name?” Nathair asked again.
“Smithson, sir,” the spy replied. “Graham Smithson.”
Nathair nodded and passed him a heavy pouch. “Ye take that coin home to yer Mither, Graham Smithson. Tell her ye’re a credit to yer clan.”
Smithson went pink at the ears before thanking him and hurrying off with the cash.
When he was gone, Nathair sighed heavily. He had to have a long conversation with Alexander, he supposed.
An’ I’ve never looked forward to anythin’ less.
Cicilia and Jeanie were in the garden sketching together when the young soldier walked past.
“Och, look at him,” Jeanie said with a small giggle. “He’s right proud o’ that uniform, an’ he’s nae even got a chin hair!”
Cicilia chuckled but nudged her friend. “Hush. Boy or nae, he may hear ye. Ye wouldnae want to be offendin’ anybody.”
Jeanie snorted. “Och, I suppose, aye. Do ye think he works for Nathair?”
Raising her eyebrows, Cicilia put down her charcoal and said, “Ye ken, Jeanie, I’m beginnin’ to think ye’re nae just havin’ a fling wi’ our great Man-at-arms. Could it be that our insatiable Miss McCaul is finally developin’ feelin’s?”
Jeanie blushed, but instead of answering, she smirked and said, “An’ what o’ ye? I ken where the Laird has spent these last many nights, an’ it is nae in his own bed chamber.”
Now it was Cicilia’s turn to have rosy cheeks, but before she could respond, she noticed that the young soldier was approaching them.
“Er, Miss Cicilia?” the soldier asked, looking back and forth between them.
“I’m Cicilia,” she replied. “An’ this is Jeanie.”
“Me name is Graham,” the soldier told her. “An’ I’m sorry to interrupt, Miss Cicilia, but I’ve heard from me brother in the kitchens that ye an’ yer siblings are awfie nice even if the bairns can be troublemakers, an’ I thought I should give ye fair warnin’.”
The women glanced at each other.
“Warnin’ o’ what?” Cicilia asked after a moment.
Graham hesitated, then said, “Well, I just spoke wi’ the Man-at-arms. There’s a lot o’ upset in the village.”
An’ what has that to do wi’ me?
Cicilia glanced at Jeanie, figuring that if something was going on with Nathair, her friend would know about it. Jeanie, however, shrugged.
“Go on, Graham,” Jeanie encouraged.
And so Graham explained some of the news of unrest, and the rumors swirling about her and Alexander, her and her father, her and the farm. Cicilia got increasingly pale as he recounted each of the poisonous tales. Even those that were true were twisted horribly out of context!
