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“The king looks for someone,” Bryce said.
“That he does,” Willow said. “The true king of Scotland.”
Reeve shook his head. “No, he seeks travelers. The true king would not travel obvious roadways.”
“You’re right,” Willow said with a nod.
“Travelers would also lead one to assume he means more than one person,” Bryce said.
“Whoever it is,” Carmag said, “he’s of extreme importance to the king.”
Reeve grinned. “That means we should find him first.”
“I’ll help,” Willow offered.
“Mum could use help with Trey,” Bryce said.
Willow shook her head adamantly. “I meant in finding this person or persons. I’m not good with just sitting idly by while the men tend to things. My Rory taught me how to handle weapons, the bow and arrow being my favorite. Jacob continued to teach me all he could—”
She paused, tears once again clouding her eyes. “He had been adamant about the lessons, pushing me harder and harder each day, as if he only had so much time left.”
“This mission is best left to men,” Bryce said gently.
“Why?” Willow snapped.
Bryce rested his hand on her arm. “You’re upset—”
“Damn right, I am,” Willow said, shoving his hand off her. “I’ve lost my husband, his child I carried, and his grandda, and if you think I will sit idly by—” She shook her head, her cheeks turning a furious red. “You’re wrong. Dead wrong!”
“We’ll see if we can somehow use your help,” Bryce said.
“Don’t placate me,” Willow warned, and stood. “Or I’ll go off on my own and find out who this person or persons of interest are and damn well make him or them pay for taking the last of my family from me.”
The three men watched her march off.
“She’ll calm down and come to her senses,” Bryce said.
Reeve shook his head. “I wouldn’t wager on that.”
Duncan all but flew off the stairs into the great hall, two pails swinging from each hand. “Trey’s burning up again.”
Chapter 19
The next two days passed in a blur, with Trey needing constant attention. Mercy went through bouts of fatigue and not being able to keep food down, and Rand took ill, running a fever that refused to let go.
Tara, Willow, and Mara ran tirelessly amongst all of them tending them as best as they could, with Duncan remaining by his wife’s side doing more for her than anyone. The storm continued to rage outside, leaving the Picts stranded with the MacAlpin clan.
When things seemed settled, though illness continued to plague the clan, Tara took a moment to return to her cottage. She needed time to think, time to refresh not only her thoughts but her body.
She heated a cauldron full of snow so that she could wash and slip into clean garments before returning to the keep. And she worried, worried terribly that she had brought this plague of problems down upon Reeve’s clan. How to correct the situation? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she had to do something. She hoped refreshing herself would help clear the muddled confusion in her mind and help her find a way to amend this mess.
Tara sighed and slipped out of her clothes, draping them over the chair, to be washed and dried by the fire when she was done. Getting her boot off had proven a slight chore since her ankle had swelled on and off over the last couple of days. She knew it would have done her good to have remained off it, but that hadn’t been possible. There had been too much to do.
Given time, it would heal, and she would not think anymore on it. It was, after all, the least of her worries.
The wind whipped around the cottage, trembling the timber frame and penetrating the wattle-and-daub walls with a chill. She was grateful for the roaring fire that burned brightly in the fireplace and kept the one room warm.
She hurried to wash herself with the heated water in the cauldron. She had wanted to wash her hair, but it would have taken much too long to dry, and so she had twisted it and pinned it to the back of her head with her bone comb to keep it out of her way.
