“How, Mistress MacWherter, would you deal with a savage dog? Would you have it stand trial, or would you make sure it will never harm anyone else?”
“Even a dog deserves its life. And we speak not of a dog but a man.”
“That is where you are mistaken. Finnan MacAllister is nothing more than a mercenary, a turncoat. Does he deserve to breathe the air of this blessed glen?”
And, Jeannie thought indignantly, who had driven Finnan MacAllister to the life of a mercenary? Who had forced him from his ancestral lands?
“A man,” she said carefully, “will do as he must to survive.”
The Dowager gave her a long look. “You have a woman’s heart, soft and sympathetic,” she observed then with no hint of kindness, “and so easily deceived. Do not be mistaken in the nature of this particular man, Mistress MacWherter. We speak of a dangerous felon who needs to be put down as swiftly as possible. Indeed, I thought to bring you here today and offer you our protection.”
“Protection?” Jeannie faltered.
“Aye, so. He is capable of occupying your house if he goes to ground, of murdering you and your lass, or worse.” The old woman’s eyes gleamed precisely as if she could see Finnan’s handprints all over Jeannie’s skin. Heat flooded her. Did the Dowager know the truth?
“May I suggest,” the Dowager went on, “you allow my sons to station a number of their men on your property? That way, if MacAllister does attempt to use you, they may intercept him before any harm is done.”
“That will not happen,” Jeannie said. “He will not approach me. As you say, he knew my husband, not me.”
“He will still consider that property his, no matter he deeded it to your husband under law. What is law to such a man?” The Dowager Avrie leaned forward in her chair and fixed Jeannie with a still more demanding stare. “I urge you, place yourself under our protection.”
A reasonable enough offer, Jeannie thought, given the situation here in the glen. And what excuse might she give for failing to accept it?
She twisted her fingers tightly in her lap. “I do appreciate your concern, Lady Avrie. But I am an independent woman and have been for some time, comfortable looking after myself.”
The Dowager Avrie did not so much as blink. “I am afraid I shall have to insist. I will send two of my grandsons’ men to accompany you home. They will remain and stand guard on the road to your cottage, and watch the ford, as well.”
Jeannie’s heart faltered in her breast even as she fought to keep from revealing the extent of her dismay. No, and no. How could Finnan return to her then?
How could she go on living if he did not?
Surely the Avries had seen something that made them suspect her.
A tight smile curled one corner of the Dowager’s mouth. “I assure you, my dear, it will only be until the blackguard is caught and dealt with.”
“I see.”
“And then life here in the glen will return to normal. We will rebuild Dun Mhor and take up a peaceful existence there. You will be most welcome to stay in the glen. Though the rest of that traitor’s lands will be forfeit, we will gladly leave Rowan Cottage in your possession.”
Jeannie fought an inner battle to hold back the words she wished to say, and failed. “How can that be? You do not hold ownership of Dun Mhor.”
“I do not, no. But with MacAllister dead, it will pass to my grandson, Stuart.”
“How is that, if you do not mind me asking?”
“I do not.” A small flash of satisfaction ignited in the Dowager’s eyes. “It comes to him by right of marriage. You see, he is married to Finnan MacAllister’s sister—the last surviving member of her family, as she will then be.”
“Oh!” Jeannie gasped.
“Indeed.” The Dowager folded her hands. “My grandson struggles on her behalf. Once that renegade is dead, she too can take her rightful place.”
“But MacAllister is her brother.”
“And she will do what is right. My grandson has taught her well about obedience.”
Jeannie’s heart sank. Did Finnan know his sister was here in his enemies’ power?
The Dowager tipped her head as if reading Jeannie’s expression. “Perhaps you would like to meet her before you go.”
