“He will back Montgomerie, he says—willna allow any man to endanger the alliances formed these past few months. ’Tis too precious, he says.”
It was indeed. It had taken Iain’s entire lifetime to achieve it. Broc would never ask him to risk it. It wouldn’t be right. “I canna blame him,” he said, and sighed.
“Nor I,” Cameron agreed, sounding more like a man in that instant than Broc had ever witnessed. “Sassenach or nay, Montgomerie is here to stay, it seems, and Iain says it would behoove us to back him.”
Broc stopped and turned to his cousin, taking his measure. The lad was maturing, Broc was pleased to see. He reached out, smacking him on the shoulder.
Cameron smiled at Broc’s unspoken praise, and the two of them shared a moment of kinship.
“Anyway, I think Iain wishes to speak to ye.”
That was the last thing Broc wished to hear.
He couldn’t face him yet. Iain would know him for a liar and he couldn’t tell him the truth.
“Tell him I will come to him later.”
Cameron blinked, surprised by Broc’s response. He had never declined a summons from Iain before. He started again toward the storage and didn’t stop, refusing to look back into Cameron’s eyes. He didn’t wish to give explanations and didn’t want questions asked. He didn’t want to lie any more than he had to.
Cameron didn’t follow. “Where are you going?”
Broc didn’t answer. He picked up his pace, leaving Cameron to stare after him.
Iain MacKinnon stoodwith arms akimbo.
His wife rose from the table to join him.
He and Page had remained at table long after the breaking of their fast, discussing the news that had been delivered at first rising. And now he couldn’t believe what Cameron was telling him. He narrowed his eyes at the youth, disbelieving his ears. “You say he came and left again?”
Cameron nodded, his expression apologetic.
“And you told him I wished to speak with him?”
“Aye, sir, I did.”
Iain knew the boy still felt guilty about his dealings with Page’s lunatic father. And well he should. He’d nearly gotten his sister, little Constance, murdered by the madman and had endangered Page’s life—not to mention the death of poor Merry, Broc’s dog. God’s truth, there had been not a dry eye in the village at the sight of Broc burying his beloved companion. If Cameron knew what was good for him, he would tread warily for some time to come.
“He said he would come to you later,” the youth added uncomfortably.
Iain didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine what circumstances would have Broc so preoccupied that he would deny Iain a few moments of his time.
He wasn’t angry though he’d wished to speak with Broc about the murders to see if he’d heard anything at all. “I suppose whatever he’s doing is of utmost importance. I’ll talk to him when he returns. Thanks for the message, Cameron.”
Cameron turned to go, and Iain turned to his wife.
Her brows were knit, and she seemed to be thinking—he hoped not the same thing as he. The description that had been given of the murderer matched Broc in part, but Iain had dismissed the possibility. The slaying was far too brutal and far too cold-blooded to have been committed by Broc Ceannfhionn.
They’d claimed the man had assaulted the party without provocation, leaping upon their mistress from the woodland and taking her at knife point, threatening to ruthlessly slash her throat as he had her brother’s.
Once Cameron was gone and they were alone, Page opened her mouth to speak but then said nothing at all.
Iain felt he knew what she was thinking. “I’m certain he’s merely preoccupied,” he assured her.
His wife nodded, though her expression remained full of concern. “Aye, I’m certain, as well.”
He took her by the shoulders and held her firmly, gazing reassuringly into her eyes. “There is little to be concerned about, wife. Broc is not the man they are searching for.”
“But Montgomerie swore to carve open the man’s throat...”
