Sir Marmaduke pinned him with a stare.
“I will not contest Lady Caterine’s many talents,” Duncan conceded, restraining himself with effort. “Even so, you have yet to tell me why you e’er seem to lurk about at the worst possible moments?”
Perchance to help you becalm yourself?
Duncan blinked, certain he’d heard the lout mutter such nonsense under his fool English breath. But his friend and good-brother was merely studying his knuckles, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips.
A smile that indicated he’d soon spew some sage wisdom that Duncan knew he didn’t want to hear.
“We’ve journeyed a long road together, and it grieves me to say this,” the other began, proving it. “But mayhap you should be concerned about age if your memory serves you so poorly. I am here to collect your promised winter provender for Devorgilla. Caterine and I set sail for Doon within a sennight and you’d offered —”
“I ken what I offered!” Duncan began pacing, furious he’d forgotten. “Not that she needs aught. I’d wager my sword that old woman can spin porridge from moonglow and ale from sunshadows on the hills.”
Certain of it, he paused by one of the arched windows, his gaze stretching across Loch Duich’s glittering blue waters and beyond, seeking a certain little-visited corner of Kintail.
The only tainted corner of his lands.
His back to the room, he swallowed hard, not wanting to admit the dread spreading through him, tightening his chest and robbing him of breath. Only when he knew nary a sign of it would show on his face did he turn around, immediately scowling upon seeing his wife presenting the Sassunach with a platter of oatcakes and cheese.
Just as she’d plied the courier fromthat placewith good ale and a hot meal, even promising him a soft heather pallet before the hall’s fire.
Ne’er guessing the damnation the man had brought them.
His mood more sour than ever, Duncan folded his arms. “Mayhap I should venture along when you set sail for Doon,” he said, ignoring his wife’s head-shaking in favor of throwing a dark look at his friend. “Perhaps thecailleachcan toss together some toads’ warts and newts’ eyes, chant a few spelling words, and rid me of my troubles?”
His wife ceased her head-shaking at once. “Oh, Duncan, you are making your troubles,” she said, setting down the tray of oatcakes and cheese.
“It scarce matters whether I am or not. Or if I traveled to Doon.” Tipping back his head, Duncan stared up at the heavy-beamed ceiling, then at his wife. “I doubt even the great Devorgilla can undo the past.”
Linnet’s eyes widened. “The past?”
Duncan nodded. “So I have said. My own and that of Clan MacRuari.”
“The offer for Gelis came from the MacRuaris,” Sir Marmaduke observed, pushing to his feet. “The courier feasting on meat pies and stewed eels in the hall is one of that ilk. I heard the name before I came abovestairs.”
Duncan frowned at him. “Be that as it may, this is one time when you are not privy to my affairs. Take heed before you speak that name so easily.”
“ ’Tis a name I’ve never heard before.” The Sassunach slanted a glance at Linnet, but she only shrugged, her face echoing his puzzlement.
“I knew naught of them either,” she said, her gaze lighting on the rolled parchment. “Not until their chieftain’s man rode through our gates this morn.”
“Very few know of them.” Duncan took to pacing again, not surprised when two of his oldest hounds struggled to their feet to trail after him. Named Telve and Troddan for two ancient broch towers in nearby Glenelg, the beasts always knew when his moods were at their darkest. “From what I hear, the clan wishes it that way and” — he paused to shove a hand through his hair — “for certes, they are best avoided.”
Sir Marmaduke snorted. “I see no reason for your concern, my friend. If you find the MacRuaris so unsavory, send their man on his way. As you’ve done with all the others.”
Duncan sighed, his world contracting to a small, spinning place of misery.
Slowing his pace to match his dogs’ stiff-legged gaits, he slid a look at his lifelong friend and the woman he loved even more than life, no longer caring if they could see into his soul, recognize the fears simmering there.
The saints knew he had good reason for them.
“I told you,” he began, directing his words at the Sassunach, “this suitor is different. He is a man like no other. The last man I would see married to either of my girls. And” — Duncan pressed his fingers to his temples — “he is the one man I cannot refuse.”
Linnet gasped.
Sir Marmaduke had the audacity to remain unmoved. His gaze flashed to Duncan’s great sword, the jeweled dirk thrust beneath his belt. “Since when have you lacked the courage to decline an unwelcome marriage bid for one of your daughters?”
“They call him the Raven,” Duncan said as if his friend hadn’t spoken. “Ronan MacRuari is his given name. He is the scion of a dark clan, his house the most blighted in all the land.”
