“Aye.” Galen added a solemn nod.
“Andthe Lady Trulie?”
“Aye.” Galen pulled up short and eased back a step as they reached the arch leading to the stairwell up to the chieftain’s private rooms. The man eyed the narrow doorway as though it were the gateway to hell.
“And ye are certain ye have no idea of what it might be?” Colum glanced toward the winding stone steps leading up to the MacKenna’s solar and swallowed hard. With the Sinclair women plotting against him, he would feel more at ease going to the gallows.
Galen thumped Colum’s shoulder, then hurriedly motioned the sign of the cross over his chest. “I dinna ken. But I will say a prayer for ye and make a sacrifice to the old gods as well. Here’s to the hopes that all the entities watch over ye. I feel ye will be a needing the lot of them.” Galen jerked his chin toward his chest, squeezed Colum’s arm one last time, then turned and barreled back down the hallway.
Colum watched Galen disappear through the arch. A deep-seated sense of survival strongly advised him to follow the man.Colum shook free of the urge. He had saved the MacKenna’s life several times; surely his chief would protect him from whatever the women plotted.
He traced his fingertips along the cold rough stones of the tower wall as he slowly climbed the winding stairs. Aye, the MacKenna would protect him.A delayed flash of pride surged through him. What the hell was wrong with him?Afraid of two women?
He sucked in a deep breath and took the remaining steps two at a time. He was not a cowardAs soon as the words crossed his mind, he felt a bit sheepish. It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of his own courage.
The tension in the room hit him as soon as he walked into the chieftain’s private solar. He paused a moment, wiping his damp palms on the coarse wool of his plaid. Well, mayhap not tension—’twas more like the gut-tightening feel a man got the night before a battle. There was damn sure something ill a stirring, and he did not care for the feel of it at all.
Gray MacKenna, chieftain of Clan MacKenna and Colum’s best friend since they were both snot-nosed lads, lounged comfortably on one end of a pillowed bench with a look on his face that could only mean trouble. His wife, Lady Trulie, sat at his side, one hand slowly stroking her great rounded belly as though comforting the child within.
“My chief.” Colum nodded as he studied Gray’s expression closer. What the hell was the man thinking? More oft than not he knew Gray’s thoughts before the man even spoke them; they had fought side by side that long. But he had no idea what his liege was thinking this time. Sucking in a deep breath, Colum turned and politely bowed to Lady Trulie. “MY lady.”
Lady Trulie didn’t say a word, just lowered her chin in a polite nod and continued rubbing the wool-covered mound of her belly.
Colum got the uncomfortable feeling he was being sized up as prey. He widened his stance, sent up a prayer for divine protection, and hoped like hell Galen was making that promised sacrifice to the old gods.
Gray blew out a noisy exhale and shifted among the pillows. He still didn’t speak, just appeared to be struggling against some inner turmoil. Whatever it was had to be serious. The man looked as though he was about to explode. Had the clan been attacked? Was the king on the rampage again? If that were the case, why would the Sinclair women intervene? Had the Fates sent them one of their visions?
Colum caught a subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. Senses on edge, he jerked and faced it. Nothing moved but the slight shifting of the MacKenna colors hanging beside the great stone fireplace. Lady Trulie’s huge beast of a dog, Karma, rolled to his side on the hide stretched before the hearth and groaned in his sleep. Colum swallowed hard. Damn them all. What the hell was afoot? He turned back and faced his chieftain.
Lady Trulie resettled herself in the corner of the settee. The devilry flashing in her smile worried Colum more than anything else. Her thoughtful expression sent a chill through his bones. Lady Trulie was a great deal like her grandmother. She demanded a heavy dose of respect, and any who underestimated the woman quickly rued their stupidity. Her dangerous smile shifted to a look of intense concentration as she wriggled uncomfortably in the seat. Leaning forward as far as her rounded belly would allow, she shoved another colorful pillow down behind her lower back. “Lordy, I wish this baby would come soon. I feel like a bloated cow.”
Colum bit the inside of his cheek. Lady Trulie had never behaved like any other woman he had ever known. But he supposed that stood to reason since she came from some strange place called Kentucky in the even stranger-sounding future.
“Are ye not well then, my lady?” Colum ignored Gray’s barking laugh. And damned, if his chieftain didn’t sit there and shake his head as if he couldn’t believe Colum had asked that question. What the hell was he supposed to say to the woman? ’Twas obvious she was miserable. He was merely attempting to show proper respect to his chief’s wife.
Lady Trulie smiled as she swatted Gray’s arm. “I am quite well, thank you.” She motioned toward a cushioned chair beside a low table containing a metal pitcher and several cups. “Please—pour yourself a drink and have a seat while we wait for Granny.”
“While we wait for Mother Sinclair?” Every muscle tensed several notches tighter. He felt like someone had just doused him with a bucket of water from the coldest part of the loch. Why the hell were they waiting for Mother Sinclair? Damn Galen and his faulty eavesdropping. When he had heard Gray mention Mother Sinclair, why had the man not found out what in blue blazes was about to befall?
“Aye.” Gray grinned and slid out of swatting reach of his wife. “Mother Sinclair wishes to have a word with ye.”
“I see.” Colum resettled his stance and clasped his hands to the small of his back.
Gray’s grin widened to a knowing smile and a wicked chuckle escaped him. “Do ye not wish to sit, man?”
“Nay.” Colum rolled his shoulders. “I prefer to meet Mother Sinclair standing.”
Gray barked out a laugh and rose from his seat. “I know ye need a drink before she arrives.”
Colum verra much doubted there was enough whisky in all of Scotland to prepare a man to face Mother Sinclair. “Will the two of ye give me no hint as to what the woman wants with me?”
“Nothing bad.” Lady Trulie fidgeted in the seat, arching her back while pressing a hand to the bottom of her ribs and pushing against the subtly moving swell of her stomach. “I promise it’s nothing bad.”
Colum very much doubted the accuracy of her statement.
The door creaked, then softly bumped closed behind him. Colum did not have to turn to know Mother Sinclair had entered the room. The hairs prickling up the back of his neck announced her presence like a blaring battle horn.
The slight old woman hurried past him. Her twisted staff with the odd crystal embedded in the top tangle of roots lightly thumped out her every step. “Sorry to be late, everyone. I had a small situation to sort out in the hall.” Mother Sinclair shot Colum a disapproving look as she lowered herself into a chair.
