“But does that matter? Either way, he willnae be Laird. How does he benefit if ye marry? Yer husband would be in control.”
“Blackwell would choose someone who would do his bidding. He’s getting old, but he’s nae ready to give up control.”
The hall was quiet except for the sound of forks on pewter plates and the clinking of glasses. She had the attention of everyone in the hall. She wanted to run away and hide in her room.
Before she could make her excuses, a tall man with silvery-blonde hair entered the room, a fierce expression on his face. He stood near the foot of the tables, waiting until Arran acknowledged him.
“Ivar, what is it?”
“Fionn comes with a message from Magnus. I told him to wait, but he says it’s important.”
His accent was foreign to Skye, but from his tall, muscular frame and the tattoos that ran up his arms and his neck, she guessed he was of from the north.
“Send him in.”
A young boy of about ten years with wavy brown hair bounded in the room. He was all arms and legs, and his pants were far too short. Without any thought of properness or propriety around his Laird, he ran through the hall straight to Arran.
“I have a message for ye, Arran!” he said excitedly.
“Fionn! Where are yer manners? Running in the Great Hall? And is that how ye address yer Laird?” the man sitting to Arran’s right admonished the child.
The boy stopped his wiggling, stood straight, looked Arran right in the eye and executed a dramatic bow. “Greetings, oh great one, back from his mission in the Highlands. I come to yehumbly with important news that yer noble and dignified ears must hear immediately.”
Skye giggled, and the man who’d scolded the child shook his head and mumbled, “I’ll get ye later, lad.” But he too had a grin on his face. The boy was obviously well-loved here in the castle.
“Fionn, what is yer message?”
“Me faither said that MacKeith is on his way. Here. Now. He told me to give this to ye.” Fionn pulled a small piece of rolled-up parchment and handed it to Arran.
Skye’s stomach sank at the boy’s announcement, and her heart rate quickened. “What does it say, Arran?”
Concern and then anger flashed across Arran’s face. “Somehow, MacKeith has figured out that we have come here. I was hopin’ we’d have more time, but we dinnae.”
Arran bowed his head for a moment as if in thought. Then he said, “Thank ye, Fionn. Run and tell yer faither that I need to speak to him immediately.”
“He already told me he’d be up here straightaway as soon as he took care of a small matter with the council.” The boy’s face turned serious when he saw his Laird’s somber look. “What is Laird MacKeith coming here for, Arran? Is everything all right?”
“Laird MacKeith believes I wrongly took something that belonged to him. Dinnae worry, we will work it out.” Arran tousled the boy’s hair. “Ye go in the kitchen and see if there’s anything left for ye.”
He waited until Fionn left the room and then told Skye what was in the note from the enforcer. “Magnus says Laird MacKeith will arrive before nightfall tomorrow.” He turned to Skye. “He wants ye back. And he’s willin’ to go to battle for ye, lass.”
The color drained from Skye’s face, and she clutched at the table, feeling ill.
Nae! This cannae be happenin’. I’ve got to leave, now.
“Arran, nay one needs to fight for me! I couldnae live with the guilt if anyone got hurt.”
“Me men are brave warriors, Skye, but I dinnae want to risk anyone’s life either. But I need the lands back, Skye. I’ll lose everythin’ if I dinnae get the deeds.”
Skye slammed her hands on the table. “I ken ye will, Arran. But I’ll lose everythin’, too. Ye dinnae ken what it was like there! I’m nae sure I can go back.” Her hands trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “I just want to be free of that vile man!”
Arran cleared his throat. “Skye, I dinnae want Blackwell to take ye back. The thoughts of what he might do to ye…” He stopped as if he couldn’t make himself say what he knew was true. But thenhe continued. “Magnus is comin’. And as I said, the council may rule in yer favor,” he reminded her.
“How can ye be so sure?” Skye asked. “Members of the council must have suspected what her was doin’ to his wives. Me maither is his fourth wife. Forth, Arran. Yet nary a one of them stepped forth to champion them and put a stop to the beatings. So I have nay hope that they will help me now.”
The room was silent except for her quiet sobs, but then she continued.
“Me maither and I ran for a full year, Arran. And his men chased us down like criminals. Me maither had to go into hiding, even in Braewall, for fear of being recognized with the scar that evil man gave her!”
