“Absolutely, Chieftain MacDonald. Or is it Commander MacDonald?” Walpole’s eyes narrowed as he sipped his wine.
“Either is fine.” Teague met the challenge with a narrow-eyed glare of his own. “Commanderis a holdover from days gone by.”
“Days gone by,” the devil softly repeated, then offered Mila a half-smile. “I was not aware that the MacDonald had married. My congratulations to you both.”
Mila granted the repulsive man a graceful nod. “Thank ye, fine sir. Ye must sit with us at the head table after we meet with Lairds Drummond, Bellingham, and Devon.” She rejoiced in the shock registering on Walpole’s face. “Ye appear confused. I felt sure a man as connected as yerself knew this gathering was for a meeting. Did ye not?” She thrust the question at him with an innocent batting of her lashes.
“I was aware of a meeting,” he said with enough cautiousness to make her heart sing.
“Aye.” She moved closer, taking care to breathe through her mouth to avoid his foul odor. “We tire of the Campbells’ constant thievery and disrespect of our borders. ’Tis high time it ended.”
“Clan Campbell,” he repeated slowly.
Teague joined in the game, his brusque gruffness quite convincing. “Aye. The bloody bastards escaped with twenty from our finest herd. I will stomach them no more.”
“Is this the registering of an official complaint?” Walpole snorted a pinch of snuff, turned aside, and sneezed so hard it was a wonder his wig didn’t fly off.
Mila eyed the dusty gray curls, wondering how he attached them so securely to his head. Before pondering the mechanics further, she cleared her throat and stepped between Teague and Walpole. “Best to leave the clans to work it out between themselves, good sir. I am sure a man of yer stature wouldna wish to be seen as taking sides.” She fixed him with a pointed glare. “Remember what happened to Dalrymple over the treachery at Glencoe?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he immediately turned his focus to Teague. “It appears ye have married quite an astute woman.”
“I have.” Teague rested his hand at the small of her back and gently pressed. “She is my precious dove as well as my fearsome lioness.”
Mila noted that the trio of lairds who had insisted on the dangerous meeting were nowhere to be seen. Even Lizzie’s admirer, Master Cranson, was gone. “It appears some of our guests are no longer with us.” She turned to Teague. “Was their guide ready to lead them out on a moment’s notice?”
“Aye,” Teague said, but it sounded more like the growl of an irritated mongrel. He craned his neck, scoping out every corner and shadow of the room. “He was to be available to them whenever they wished.”
“How very rude,” Walpole commented, then flicked a glance back at his men waiting near the keep’s entrance. Their unspoken orders received, the four exited at a fast pace. “I expected more mannerly behavior from Bellingham, Drummond, and Devon.”
“Laird Devon is probably asleep under a table,” Mila murmured without thinking. She clamped her lips shut tight, hoping Walpole hadn’t heard.
He had, and laughed. “A fair assessment of the man, m’lady.” While fiddling with his snuffbox, he studied her. “Such an intriguing woman. And what, pray tell, is your assessment of me?”
Even though Teague shot her a warning look, she couldn’t help herself. “Predatory. Dangerous. Plotting. Much like a man-eating tiger terrorizing villagers as it picks them off one by one.”
Unmistakable pride gleamed in the statesman’s eyes as he tucked his snuff back into his pocket. “Why, thank you, m’lady. I shall treasure that compliment always.”
“Ye are most welcome,” she replied. “Ye will join us for dinner, aye?”
“Under normal circumstances, I would consider it an honor, Lady MacDonald.” He paused long enough to cast a barbed smirk at Teague. “But I fear a matter of some urgency requires my presence elsewhere. Do forgive me for begging off.”
“Why of course. If ye must go, then ye must.” An ominous feeling of doom wrapped icy fingers around her heart and squeezed. The man didn’t appear disappointed that his prey had escaped. Quite the contrary. Victory gleamed in his eyes.
“Good evening to you, Chieftain MacDonald.” Walpole leaned a dismissive bow, then paused. “I shall be certain to relay your newfound loyalty to the king.”
Teague replied with a scowling nod.
Walpole offered her a politer smile and a bow, then turned and sauntered from the room like a predator willing to bide its time for the final kill.
“Something just happened here,” she said while watching him leave their midst.
“I agree.” Teague cast a dark look around the room, found Calder, and summoned him with a flip of his hand. “This reeks of a trap, and I dinna ken if we stepped in it or slipped out of it.”
“I was trying to break free of Duff’s caterwauling to come to warn ye that Laird Devon was nay as drunk as he seemed.” Calder turned and scowled at those left milling around the room waiting for the feast to be served.
Mila held up a hand before either man could utter another word. “We should not speak here. Remember, we have a traitor in our midst.”
“What?” Calder looked from her to Teague.
