Forty-Five
“IF I’M GOINGto lug this treasure home,” Trick muttered on the way down the stairs, “I need to make plans.”
Behind him in the dark, narrow turret, Kendra sighed. All the sensual feelings between them seemed to have vanished into thin air. She a put a hand on his shoulder. “What is it you have to do? Maybe I can help.”
“I must see these twenty-three chests and decide how many extra vehicles I’ll need to transport them, how many additional guards I must hire. And what am I going to do with it all during overnight stops? We’ll attract attention traveling through the country with an entourage worthy of royalty. The treasure will need to be protected around the clock.”
“We’ll work it out,” she soothed. “Let’s see the treasure first, then we’ll deal with the logistics.”
“My head aches just thinking about it.”
“Perhaps it would be best to dispatch a messenger to Charles. He could send a contingent of soldiers to escort the goods.”
“And wait here, twiddling my thumbs, for three weeks or more until the soldiers arrive? I think not.”
They arrived downstairs to find that the dancing had ended and the trestle tables were back in place. Torches had been lit on the walls to augment the light from the iron chandeliers, and women bustled about, setting out all the dishes they’d brought for thedraidgiesupper.
Trick handed Kendra a trencher from a stack on the end of a table, then took one for himself. The food smelled delicious, but he was in a devil of a mood, and the offerings he piled on his platter didn’t seem to help any.
Odd, he was, for a man, she thought as she chose a piece of spice cake and a wedge of lemon tart. Her brothers had never failed to be cheered by a hearty plate of food.
Niall waved them over to join him at an empty table, filling two more goblets with ale from a pitcher. They’d no sooner settled themselves than Annag and Duncan dragged her young ones over to take the remaining seats.
“What did Da want with you?” Annag demanded, waving a girl onto the bench and plopping a runny-nosed toddler beside her.
Niall filled another goblet for her. “Nothing of your concern.”
Duncan sat, lowering his trencher to the table with a thud. “Did he not tell you of a new will, then?” he asked in a voice pitched to sound casual.
“Nay,” Trick said flatly. He cut a hunk of mutton with more vigor than was necessary.
“Here, Alastair.” Annag shoved a dish of hoch-poch in front of another of her children, a boy who seemed to have a sneer to match hers. “Are you certain there was no mention of a will?”
“Aye.” Niall reached for some bread. “And Da seems to be gaining strength. So whatever it is you’re hoping to gain upon his death, you shouldn’t be expecting it anytime soon.”
Kendra found Annag’s affronted look less than convincing. “I’m not wanting Da to die, you eejit.”
“But now thathe’sshown up, a duke and all”—Duncan slanted a none-too-friendly glance at Trick before focusing back on Niall—“you won’t be needing any of Da’s paltry holdings. With a new brother to provide for you.”
Niall’s mouth opened and closed like a salmon out of water.
Kendra saw Trick’s jaw set before he pointed his knife at Duncan. “What makes you so certain I’m willing to provide for Niall? I’d lay odds your father didn’t jump to such a conclusion.”
Duncan sipped from his ever-present whisky, glaring over the rim. “What do you know of our father?”
“Enough to suspect he wouldn’t readily cut his youngest son out of his will.” Trick met Duncan’s glare with one of his own. “Hisfavoriteson.”
Sensing violence about to erupt, Kendra bit the inside of her cheek. “Can we not all be civil?”
Annag turned with a huff, her gaze narrowing with disdain on Kendra’s low neckline. “You stay out of this.”
“You’ll address my wife with respect,” Trick said through gritted teeth. If Annag had been a man, he’d have been on her, Kendra thought, drawing the shawl tighter to cover the front of her gown. As it was, she sensed he was barely holding himself in check.
When Annag’s son began crying, Duncan’s face turned red to match. “Who needs this trouble?” he barked at Niall, half-rising to his feet. “Ever since they got here”—he waved an angry hand at Trick and Kendra—“I cannot have a word with you without them sticking in their noses. Keep them out of our family business, or else—”
“Or else what?” Niall stood, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m grown now, aye? You cannot beat me up anymore. I’ll floor you in a minute.”
It was no idle threat. Niall topped the older man by a good four inches, and his youthful frame was hard and honed, while Duncan’s was softened by sloth and drink.
