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“But will she? Or will she only keep more from ye if ye demand answers she is no’ willin’ to give ye?”
Alastair stopped in his tracks. Niven was usually naught but a dimwit but sometimes he made sense. This was one of those times.
“Ye’re right,” said Alastair, touching the outside of the pouch thinking about the heart brooch. If he pushed Fia too hard, he would never find out what he wanted to know about the pin. Therefore, he would never find out whom the mysterious woman was who saved his life. He closed the door and came back into the room. “We have to trick her into tellin’ me.”
“We?” Niven’s palms slapped against his chest and his brows arched. “Are ye sayin’ ye want me to help ye?”
“Why no’? Ye were the one who came up with the idea.”
“I did?” Niven’s eyes opened wide, and bewilderment showed in his features. “I mean . . . I did.” He stood up straighter and fixed his plaid. “So what do ye think we should do next?”
“I have an idea that might work. But ye have to keep it a secret, do ye understand?”
“I’m good at keepin’ secrets,” said Niven. “My lips are sealed.” He pressed his lips together tightly.
All Alastair could think about was his last birthday and how Niven told him months in advance that the clan was getting him a dog. Niven had come up with the idea and also chosen the hellhound for him, he reminded himself. Alastair groaned inwardly, realizing this whole plan was probably going to backfire and blow up in his face.
