‘More recently I received reports about this betrothal with The MacMillan’s daughter. His claim on Castle Sween is tenuous at best now that his wife is dead. But if his daughter married the Cameron chieftain, he might be amenable to defending her father’s claim.’
‘How is that trouble for the Mackintoshes or the treaty? The MacMillans are long-time allies to the Chattan Confederation. Would that not bind the Camerons more closely to your side?’ he asked Brodie.
Brodie’s smile then was stark and devoid of mirth. Alan tried to think of all the ramifications of the match that had almost happened. There were so many bonds and feuds between this clan and that one all over Scotland that he found it impossible to see all the strands in the spider web of connections. Clearly, Brodie had been thinking about this for some time.
‘Hugh MacMillan is an upstart who claimed Castle Sween from the MacNeills. He would change allegiances if it benefitted him.’ Brodie crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I will be watching to see their next moves.’
‘If I learn anything that I can tell you, I will,’ Alan said. ‘You ken that I will, do you not?’
He would. He could not let this honourable man face destruction or mayhem without warning, if he knew about it. There were ways to walk that narrow path between friendship and betrayal and Alan had been learning that well these last years since he first met Brodie Mackintosh.
Alan drank down the last of his wine, realising how late it was, and bade them both farewell. As he reached the door, he needed to ask something of Brodie.
‘’Tis clear that your spies are effective, my Lord Mackintosh,’ he began, bowing his head in a mock salute. ‘I would ask the same of you. That you inform me of anything you believe I should know.’
Arabella smiled then, for the first time since their earlier discussion at supper about the attractive widow Saraid MacPherson. She wanted peace between all of them, all her kith and kin, and trouble and discord tore at her heart.
‘And you as well, my Lady Mackintosh,’ Alan said, nodding at his cousin. He rarely used a title when addressing her. ‘I ken that some of your sp...inform...sources ken as much as your husband’s and would appreciate being told what you discover.’
Thinking that was the end of their discussion, he lifted the latch and pulled it open. As he tugged it to close behind him, Arabella called out to him. He slowed to hear her words.
‘My informants have told me that the widow Saraid MacPherson plans to enter a convent on Skye when she leaves here.’
The door was closed with some force so Alan knew there was no chance of saying anything back to her. Or asking her any questions. He walked away, listening to the laughter coming from inside the chamber—his cousin’s and Brodie’s, too. He thought about his experience with women and let out some words that would rival even Rob Mackintosh’s best, or rather worst, efforts.
He’d searched for his cousin and found her, but got captured, too.
He’d fallen in love with Agneis, but lost her to Gilbert.
He’d searched for, found and lost Fia Mackintosh, who then turned down his offer of marriage.
He’d searched for the MacMillan girl and found that she’d died.
Alan shook his head and let out an exasperated breath then as he realised that even showing interest in a woman seemed to move them out of his reach. As Saraid MacPherson would be when she left Glenlui and travelled on to Skye.
A nun.
A bl—
Alan stopped at the blasphemous words he almost thought and laughed at the irony of his situation instead.
The man known throughout the Highlands as the best tracker of all manner of things seemed to lose the women he wanted to find and find the ones he could only lose.
As he made his way to the chamber he used here, he could almost hear the Fates laughing at him.
Chapter Five
Sorcha followed the two older children out of the cottage, carrying Robbie on her hip in the way she’d watched her cousin do. The bairn was a happy one, content to gurgle and drool and smile most of the day. This morn, while the weather was clear and brisk, Clara announced it was a good day to walk to the baker’s and miller’s cottages and see to some other errands.
So, while Clara finished up inside, the four of them followed the path from Clara’s cottage back towards the road leading to the village’s centre and then the keep in the distance. Wee Jamie and Wee Clara chattered and called out to children along the way. Sorcha had met many of those who lived here over the last weeks.
With Clara’s introduction, no one thought she was anyone but the widowed MacPherson cousin. Even James had not been told the truth and, for that, Sorcha felt guilty for asking her cousin to keep it from him. But, until she left, she wanted no one else privy to her true identity. If they knew not her true name or what she’d done, they could not be punished or be held responsible. Clara assured her it would all work out, though Sorcha was not so certain. She’d almost reached the first place on her list when Clara caught up with her.
‘I finished sooner than I thought,’ her cousin said, holding out her hands for the bairn. ‘Was he fussing?’
‘Nay,’ she said. As it turned out, there was little demand in their household for the fine embroidery skills of which she could boast. Of all the tasks she’d tried to help Clara with, seeing to the babe was the most pleasant and one which she could claim she could do. Or at least until he was hungry.
That happened the moment he saw his mother. As though the sight of her reminded him that he had not eaten for several hours, Robbie scrunched up his little face and cried out his displeasure. Clara just smiled and shrugged since this happened several times each day.
