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"Colin and Peter died more than a year before me da did," she said quietly.
"How?" Geordie asked at once.
Murine fell silent and Dougall felt a tremble slip through her. "We were attacked on our way home from Sinclair. Both me brothers and half the soldiers who traveled with us died that night."
"Night?" Conran asked sharply. "Ye were attacked at night?"
"Aye. They crept up on us while we slept and had slit the throats of the guard and several of the sleeping men, including me brothers, before someone woke and cried the alarm. The remaining soldiers managed to fight them off, else we'd all be dead, I'm sure."
When Conran's gaze shifted his way, Dougall nodded solemnly, knowing what his brother was thinking. Bandits made traveling dangerous. They waited at passes and bridges, hiding to the sides and charging out to rob unsuspecting travelers on their approach. But they didn't usually follow a party, wait for them to fall asleep and then creep up to slit their throats. That sounded more like an assassination, murder for coin rather than murder in the hopes of gaining coin. It was a very slight difference, but with the number of people who had died in Murine's life of late, it was very, very suspicious.
"Who the de'il did that?" Alick said suddenly, apparently not suspecting what Dougall and Conran did, but then he was still young.
Murine shrugged helplessly. "We ne'er found out. Me father suspected they were mercenaries, hired to kill me brothers, and perhaps me. But he ne'er told me who he thought was behind it." She fell silent for a minute and then said wearily, "Losing me brothers on top o' losing William just the year before that . . ." She shook her head. "Me mother took it hard. She wouldn't eat and was always weeping, and then she became ill and she just did no' ha'e the will to fight it." Murine shrugged unhappily. "She died a month and a half after me brothers."
"Ye lost both brothers and yer ma and then yer da too in the span o' little more than two years?" Geordie asked with dismay.
"And yer half brother William died the year before yer other two brothers?" Alick pointed out as if she may have missed that fact.
"Aye," Murine said, and before he could ask, offered, "A riding accident."
"How long before that did yer betrothed die?" Dougall asked now.
"Just a month before William," Murine admitted.
"That's a muckle lot o' death fer one family to suffer in so short a time," Conran said grimly.
"Aye, too much," Dougall muttered and when she turned to glance at him in question, he asked, "How did yer da die?"
"He fell ill this past spring, just ere I was to visit Sinclair again. A chest complaint; fever, cough and a runny nose. It did no' seem that serious. Still, I almost did no' go because o' it, but he insisted, and he did seem to be improving so I went, but the day after Joan had her child, Montrose arrived at Sinclair. Father was dead, cousin Connor had inherited the title and Carmichael Castle, and Montrose had been named my guardian. I was to live with him in England."
"That's no' right," Geordie said grimly. "Who the de'il was this cousin Connor?"
"Aye, and why were ye left with nothing?" Alick asked and pointed out, "The English may no' leave lands and castles to their women, but we Scots do. If the clan supported ye, ye'd ha'e been clan leader."
Murine had turned her head sideways at Alick's question and Dougall saw sadness and disappointment cross her face, and then she bit her lip and turned her face forward before admitting, "Connor is the son o' me father's sister. She married the younger brother o' Laird Barclay and Connor was raised among the Barclay clan. I've ne'er met him."
"Yer da left Carmichael to a Barclay rather than his own daughter?" Geordie asked with dismay.
"Connor is only half Barclay," Murine corrected. "He is Carmichael by blood on his mother's side."
"Still," Alick said with a shake of the head. "He was raised at Barclay, with no ties to the Carmichael clan. Why the devil would yer father leave all to him and not you?"
Dougall was rather interested in the answer himself. It just didn't seem like something the Carmichael he'd heard of would do.
Murine lowered her head and plucked unhappily at one of the ties on her skirt as she admitted, "Montrose said 'tis because I am so weak. That with me constant fainting, Da did no' think the clan would back me as clan leader. He thought it best me cousin Connor take his place, and that 'twould be kinder for me to live in England and start afresh than to have to step aside and watch me cousin claim all I was too weak to gain."
Dougall noted the expressions on his brothers' faces and knew they reflected his own. Reluctant understanding. Aye, it might be hard to get the clan to rally behind a lass who so frequently dropped in a faint. Still, he felt the father could have and should have done better by her than to leave her in the hands of her half brother. Surely the man had known Montrose's nature? He must have. He'd never heard the Carmichael to be a stupid man. Hell, the story of how he gained his wife, Murine's mother, proved his intelligence. His leaving Murine to Montrose's less than tender mercies just didn't make sense.
"And o' course he was right," Murine said suddenly with a firmness that brooked no argument.
Dougall peered down at her solemnly. She sat stiff and still before him again, her head lifted and face turned forward so that she needn't look at anyone as she gave that lie. Her father's decision had obviously hurt her, but on top of all the other losses she'd suffered, he suspected that to her mind it was just one more blow among many that she'd had to endure the last couple of years.
"But--" Geordie began in protest, only to pause abruptly when Dougall turned a stern look his way.
"Enough talk. We left late and need to make up time," he said grimly and then urged his horse to more speed, making talk impossible.
While he did want to make up time, Dougall's main concern was Murine and how this discussion upset her. She had suffered a great deal in a short time, and was ailing because of it. He suspected her fainting problem was completely due to her not eating enough. He also suspected that issue may have saved her life. Had she been healthy and hale enough to rule as clan leader, he was quite sure she too would have died in some unnatural manner. Either slain by roadside bandits, or a nasty fall. Because he suspected this cousin, Connor, might be behind the deaths. Certainly, he was the one who had gained from them.
Dougall's arms tightened around her as they rode, and not just to prevent her tumbling from the horse should she faint again. For some reason Dougall found himself with the most damnable urge to protect the lass; from her brother, from the pain of her father's decisions . . . hell, from the world at large. And he hadn't a clue why.
C
hapter 5
"'Tis early to stop, is it no'?"
Dougall glanced down at the top of Murine's head at that comment as he turned his horse off the road and into a clearing. He then shifted his gaze to Conran when his brother urged his horse up beside them and agreed, "Aye. Should we no' continue on for another hour or so?"
"There will no' be a spot by the water in another hour or so," Dougall said mildly, although that wasn't completely true. He'd traveled this route many times delivering his horses and there were a couple some distance ahead, but none of them offered a waterfall to bathe under. His decision to stop here was because he fancied a nice dip in the water and thought Murine might too. She'd commented self-consciously about the lack of water at their last stop, and that she hoped she did not have a dirty face or something.
Noting the way Conran was eyeing him, he added, "The horses need water."
"We let them drink an hour or so ere stopping last night and then a couple o' times today," Conran pointed out mildly.
"Aye, but this way they can drink their fill," he responded firmly.
"Hmm," Conran murmured, and had the audacity to smile knowingly.
Dougall glowered at him for his trouble as he slid off his mount. He then turned to lift Murine down.
"Thank you." She almost whispered the words as he set her on the ground. She'd been as quiet as a mouse since their discussion of her family. But then, Dougall had kept up a steady pace to prevent conversation.
"Oh, how lovely!"
Dougall glanced around at that exclamation to see Murine at the water's edge, peering along the river to the right and even now moving in that direction. The sight made his eyes widen with alarm. He'd set her down beside him and turned to retrieve the bag with the cooked meat from his horse, expecting her to stay still and wait for him, but the woman had not stayed where he put her. Off she'd flitted like a butterfly, traipsing across the clearing to the water's edge where--should she have one of her fainting spells--she'd most like tumble into the river and drown before anyone could reach her.
"Ye chose well. She likes the spot," Conran commented, smiling after the woman like a simpleton.
