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Strange times, indeed, for men to be followin’ that lump o’ puddin’ dough. His poor wife.
He surveyed the laughing men with distaste. “I suggest a puttin’ down o’ arms,” Nathair said again, as calmly as he could. “An’ that ye send three o’ yer best men wi’ me, an’ we can head on up yonder stairs an’ see if we cannae work out exactly what’s goin’ on.”
The murmurs swelled again, then another rebel called, “An’ if we are nae satisfied wi’ whatever pish-poor excuse yer Laird has waitin’ for us?”
Nathair struggled not to roll his eyes. “Well, assumin’ Alexander an’ the lass an’ the bairns are nae already deid, ye’re welcome to run me through wi’ yer sword. Or try to, at least. Now, are we in agreement or nay?”
Alexander saw all four of the guards he’d posted outside Cicilia’s room, and he could not believe his eyes. They were joking, laughing, and currently coming down the main staircase towards him—as far from the residential wing as they could be while still being in range.
“What in the name o’ the Sidhe devils are ye doin’?” he snapped, and all four of the men stood upright, looking terrified.
“Wha—What are ye talkin’ about, Laird?” one, braver than the other, asked him. “Mr. Cunningha
m said—”
“Ye saw Thomaes?” Alexander demanded. “Doin’ what? Where?”
The guards all looked at each other before another replied. “Outside the room where we were posted, Laird. The accomptant informed us that ye needed us down at the battle.”
It’s a good thing I dinnae, the jocular way ye’re movin’ an’ laughin’!
“An’ what o’ the task I set for ye?” Alexander demanded impatiently, trying hard not to lose his patience. “Eh? What about the woman an’ the bairns?”
The third guard gulped and went pale. He was young, five-and-ten or so, and Alexander would feel sorry for him if his mind was not otherwise occupied at the moment.
“I asked a question!” he snarled in his most Laird-like voice.
“He said he’d been sent to protect the O’Donnels!” the fourth guard told him. “He said—”
But Alexander was already sprinting away, leaving the young men behind him, half-forgetting they’d ever existed in the first place.
He bolted up the remainder of the stairs, knowing he should be winded but unable to care as he rushed towards the room where he—he, himself—had put her.
What a fool I am! How could I nae see me own man turn against me! Hang on, Cicilia. Hang on, Annys an’ Jamie.
The more he ran, the more the pain of betrayal threatened to drown him. Because while his initial reaction had been a wish to deny, he kept finding more and more reasons to accept.
Who else could have so easily manipulated the economic output of the castle? Who else could have known the Laird’s intimate secrets to twist and spread around the clan? Who else knew about Cameron O’Donnel’s death?
Stupid. Alexander had been naïve and foolish and brought shame unto his father and the Lairdship. He’d do better—he would—but first, he had to make sure Cicilia wasn’t dead or worse at the hands of a man he’d trusted.
And of course, who else would have been in the position to plant men at the O’Donnel farm to slaughter the livestock and start the flames? Who else could leave a note on Cicilia’s pillow here in the protected Castle?
When he reached Cicilia’s door, his heart dropped like a stone to see it was slightly open. He could not hear voices from the inside, and the horrific images inside his head simply would not go away.
Suddenly, he really, really did not want to enter that room. He did not want to see the children in pain or dead. He did not want to see Cicilia gone.
But he had to.
So, he pushed open the door with one hand, holding his sword tight with the other. When he stumbled through, the powerful shock of the scene inside nearly made him collapse then and there.
Chapter 27
Alea Iacta Est
The Die is Cast
It all seemed to be going well. Had Nathair not been so distracted, perhaps he’d have realized that it was, in fact, going too well. That, as with every battle turned without too much bloodshed, something was about to go very, very wrong.
