“Then perhaps I should stop berating myself for not trying to buy her from you the first time I was here.”
“Rest assured, my lord, giving her to you would have delighted me had it not meant my death. I could have only given her in marriage to a Scottish laird.”
“That is why you kept her hidden? To keep away the unworthy?”
“Nay, my lord. You know by now why I kept her close to my…heart. Nearly twenty years ago, when the MacPhersons came to get King Duncan’s spawn, I realized who they were, that I had been fooled by my own husband. So I insisted that the girl remain behind.”
“But why? If you hated them so badly why not be finished with them?”
Agatha’s face transformed into something he had seen but in his own reflection. Her eyes lit with an energy that belied her age, her smile more than pleased. “It was the only way to hurt them all. Malcolm, Kenna, Angus and the MacPhersons. Then, when I could no longer stand her keening for her brother to return, nor Angus resenting having to stay behind—to keep a watch over me, I assume—I found a way to make them all bleed again.”
“You let the MacPhersons believe?—"
“I sent word that the sister was dead. But not just that. I had a missive delivered back here announcing that Sander had died of a fever. It was beautiful, my revenge.”
“Sander?”
“Malcolm Alexander…Canmore now.Shealways called him Sander. Until the MacPhersons came, I doubt he had remembered his full name. They had been so young when they arrived here. Angus never told them, or reminded them. That would have been too dangerous. What if they had been overheard? By me?”
Agatha sunk further into her seat as if her loathing were a weight too heavy for her aging shoulders, as if her husband’s deceit had eaten up her middle and there was no support left for her bones. “If that boy ever told Kenna of their parents, she never remembered it. I doubt he remembered much himself.”
The light in Agatha’s eyes had faded once more. She frowned a bit as older people do when trying to remember something.But in spite of that, Balloch was sure she could provide all the information he would need.
In the next instant, that light was back, as was her posture. “Rape,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“We were speaking of rape. Did you rape her?”
“No. No doubt she will remember my attempt if she had such limited experience with men. I will have to think of a way to keep her silent.”
“We can think of something,” she said, making her implication clear. “I am one of the few who could identify Kenna Carlisle. I believe you will need me, whatever you are plotting.”
“Agatha, my dear,” he smiled, “How likeminded we are.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Back at Gowry Hall…
Kenna suppressed a grumble when placed unceremoniously on a horse. With not a moment to center herself in the saddle, she and the band of twenty-odd warriors rode briskly away from Gowry Hall.
She had hoped they would ride off without her if she dawdled long enough. In fact, the giant had not noticed when she’d stopped following him through Gowry’s courtyard, and she was about to wander casually out the postern gate when she was spun around by one arm and hefted over the shoulder of herlaird and master.
Now, she traveled in the center of the company with the youngest of the knights at the lead on a grand black destrier. He was a bonny young man. Uncontainable energy shined from his blue eyes and spilled out into his blond curly hair. His warhorse was the embodiment of the same spirit, tossing its dark mane and stepping high, and the pair made for an entertaining ride.
The oldest of the men brought up the rear on a smaller, leaner courser. The horse suited him. He still dripped from a hasty bath made necessary by his earlier meeting with Kenna’s chamber pot. She wondered if it was his duty to ride behindthem, or if he was sparing everyone the smell that still clung to him.
She had avoided eye contact with the man but had noted the subtle strands of silver shooting out from his temples and burrowing into his sable hair. A combination of small scars and faint creases disguised any youth that could be found on his face. This one ignored her in turn, though the other men seemed curious enough. She caught many of them slanting looks her way, but never him.
He hates me.
The giant drove a wagon far behind. Likely there was not a horse bred large enough to handle his weight. Earlier, from her position on the warrior’s shoulder she had a peek of the collection of armor the big man hauled, along with his miniature battering ram, before she noticed the frown on the titan’s face. Even bobbing upside down, she could not have mistaken the long black line of his brows that made clear his disappointment in her.
She had not protested her rough handling, hoping her acceptance made some amends for trying to escape, even if she regretted nothing. However, now that she sat upright, her ribs ached in unison with the violent trotting of her mount.
But for the lead and rear, the party rode four abreast, except when the road narrowed and they were forced to ride by twos or threes. There was at least one rider on each side of her horse even in the tightest spaces, and she marveled at how smoothly the soldiers changed position. Having never seen such a group before, it would not surprise her if their horses could speak.
Out here in the world, finally, anything seemed possible.
