“I ken Armstrong’s father well, and I ken his parents married long before his birth. Can you say the same for your da? I heard—” Angus leaned forward again.
“I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Alex interrupted. “Return our livestock and stay off our land. That’s the only thing you’ll be doing if you wish to live long enough to grow some whiskers.”
“Enough,” King Robert declared. “The time for measuring your cocks has come and gone. My decision will not change. If you do not carry my word out within the next moon, I shall get involved in a way that will satisfy no one. Leave.”
The five men rose, but once more, no one wished to take the first step. But same as the last time, the Scotts sat closer to the door. Alex raised his arm and gestured toward it. He no longer hid his smugness as he nodded his canted head. The Scotts marched toward the door, looking like petulant children trying not to leave in a huff. Alex turned toward King Robert and bowed low, careful not to bang his arm against the massive wood table. He and Angus took their leave together. Once in the passageway, Alex and Angus stopped to watch the Scotts disappear at the other end.
“Will you be ready to leave in the morn?” Alex asked.
“Aye. If it weren’t so late in the day, I would leave now. I don’t trust that we resolved this.”
“We most certainly didn’t resolve aught. And if what your mon overheard is right, the Scotts don’t believe it is either. We all were aware the Bruce intended to order them to pay restitution. I’d hoped we’d get all our animals back, but I hadn’t held my breath. I’m sure they didn’t think the penalty levied against them would be that steep. If they were already planning a way to attack us before this, it’s a guarantee that they will act now.”
“Do you think they might strike here? The king would know they are the likely culprits after what he just watched.”
“The Bruce would, but I still think they would do something within the castle.”
“We’d do well to remain with our men,” Angus suggested. Alex tried not to bristle. He was unsure if Angus’s comment was more directed at him, but it felt that way.
“I’m going back to my chamber to draft a missive to my father,” Alex explained.
“I should do the same, but I will meet with my men first and tell them we leave in the morn.”
“I will find mine after I get my missive to a messenger,” Alex stated. The men shook forearms and parted ways. Alex wound his way through the keep, his hand on one of his dirks, his senses keen to anyone who might approach. He glanced out of an arrow slit and noticed menacing clouds moving over the keep; a hellacious storm was brewing. He wished to be in his chamber for the night before it began.
Seven
Caitlyn noticed Alex entering the Great Hall for the evening meal. She noticed everything about him, even though she still wasn’t prepared to make amends. Her feelings remained hurt by the things he’d said, but she scrutinized him, hoping he didn’t note her increased curiosity. She noticed the small grimaces and flinches when he moved the wrong way or his left arm bumped into things. She observed how his right cheek sometimes twitched as though he wanted to scratch his scar, but he fought the temptation. But the most painful thing to watch was how others treated him.
Caitlyn told Margaret that Alex wasn’t a leper the first night he arrived, but most still treated him as such. She’d once been jealous when other women showered Alex with attention. She’d envied them when he partnered with them to dance, and she’d felt ill when she realized the familiarity he had with some. However, now her chest burned at the injustice and indignity of watching people shun him for his appearance. Women she was certain he’d bedded, or at least used to flirt with, turned up their noses because he was no longer the handsome man he’d once been. Men who’d respected him and even feared him now smirked and made snide comments that Caitlyn overheard far too often.
She fought not to lose her temper on his behalf, but she failed more than once. She hadn’t thrown wine on anyone like she had Margaret, but she’d had cross words with Sarah Anne and a few other ladies. She pointed out how shallow they were since not that long ago they fawned over Alex. But none of the women seemed concerned about her observations of their character. She’d refused to dance with men she noticed were rude to Alex or spoke ill of him within her hearing.
She struggled to reconcile her anger on Alex’s behalf with the anger she felt toward him. It had peaks and troughs, and it unsettled her. But a lifetime of friendship was hard to overlook, especially when she discovered what Alex’s life had become. He was a pariah, and there was nothing Alex or she could do. She recalled Alex denying that he believed she was good enough for him, but not the other way around. However, she’d always struggled with knowing people would speak poorly of Alex if they ever married. She could no more change her skin color than he could fix his injuries.
“Still gawking at him,” Catherine MacFarlane commented as the ladies took their seats for the evening meal. “You’d make a fine pair.”
The surrounding ladies tittered, but Blythe Dunbar slammed her hand on the table. She wasn’t prone to bouts of bad temper, but she was Caitlyn’s friend. “At least she’d make a pair. After Laird Gunn’s disgrace and your unfortunate ties to him, I don’t see your uncle making a match for you. Laird MacFarlane’s begging up every tree, but no one wants you. I’d say Caitlyn’s closer to the altar than you are.”
Caitlyn sat speechless as Blythe spoke aloud a well-known fact that no one discussed. Laird Edgar Gunn involved himself in a plot to ruin Laird Brodie Campbell’s marriage to Laurel Ross, a hellion no one expected to wed. The MacFarlanes were the Campbells’ ally. When Catherine’s cousin Andrew, heir to Clan MacFarlane, also entered the wagers against the couple, it only made matters worse. The potential match between Edgar and Catherine disintegrated when Laird MacFarlane learned of his son’s and potential nephew’s-by-marriage perfidy. It left Catherine practically at the altar without a groom.
“A mon doesn’t have to marry Caitlyn to get what he’s after,” Sarah Anne weighed in. “And if they did, which none of them need to do, then the only one who’d shame himself that much is a mon no one else wants.”
“I am sitting here,” Caitlyn spat.
“So?” Sarah Anne genuinely appeared perplexed that Caitlyn’s presence should make her curb her tongue.
“Summon a midwife. Stand at the foot of my bed while she examines me,” Caitlyn suggested. “She’ll tell you what we all know is the truth: I’m a maiden. But when she’s done with me, mayhap she’ll have time for your sister. Though I doubt it’s even worth it since the woman will find naught.”
“At least that insinuates men want me,” Margaret gloated.
“You hen-wit,” Caitlyn crowed. “It can’t be both. Either no one wants me, and I’m untouched, or I’m the whore you claim. Do make up your mind. It grows tiresome waiting.”
Margaret glowered at Caitlyn, having no comeback to the obvious. The women lobbed insults at Caitlyn frequently, but Caitlyn reminded herself that, as much as they hurt, they were only half of what her darker skinned sister endured.
“Liam Oliphant is courting my sister,” Sarah Anne boasted, but it fell on deaf ears. Everyone was aware the man was hardly a catch. Nelson MacDougall had been courting Margaret, but he’d died in a battle against the Campbells, when he, Edgar Gunn, Andrew MacFarlane and a handful of other men kidnapped Laurel and threatened to kill her to end the Campbell-Ross alliance.
