"How can I be in greater danger? The man wants to kill me."
"But nay right away, aye? He has been thinking of using ye to tighten his grip on Drumwich. Howbeit, if he kens that your kinsmen have learned of his crimes and seek to make him pay, marrying ye willnae save him. Then, lass, his thoughts will turn to revenge. I have nay doubt at all that he will blame ye for all of his failures."
"Reynard, too?” she asked in a near whisper, fear for her nephew stealing the strength from her voice.
"From all he has done and all ye have told me about the mon, I believe I ken weel the sort of devil we deal with, and, nay, not Reynard as weel. Once Harold thinks he has lost this game, he willnae e'en think of the boy unless he comes up with some plan to buy his life with that of the boy's. Nay, he will want ye. Ye are the one who eluded him, the one who took the boy and fled Drumwich, and the one who has kept him running o'er this country until he lost whate'er chance he might have had of gaining all he covets. I suspicion ye will be seen as the cause of every ache, every bruise, every moment of discomfort, every coin spent, and every humiliation and indignity."
If she did not know better, Jolene would think Sigimor had known Harold for years, so accurate was his judgment. Harold would indeed blame her for everything that had gone wrong since he had murdered Peter. He would want to make her pay dearly, to suffer for his own mistakes. It was a chilling thought and even the knowledge that Harold's attention would be pulled away from Reynard did not ease that chill much.
She quickly shook aside the fear that seized her. It was a poor time to falter. One way or another, the end of their trial drew near. Jolene knew that she and the Camerons had done, and were doing, all they could to keep her and Reynard safe. She also had boundless faith in Sigimor. If he could not defeat Harold, she doubted anyone else she might have chosen could, either. She would fix her thoughts only upon the battle to come and not fret over all the possible outcomes.
"You are right,” she said. “He will want to make me pay. Harold was always best at blaming others for whate'er went wrong. But, we are almost to Dubheidland and then it will be his turn to look over his shoulder."
"Aye, wife, it will be. Tis why I am eager to get ye there.” He reached out and patted her leg. “Tis why we will be riding from now until we reach the gates,” he said, then quickly moved away to rejoin his brother Tait.
Jolene sighed and tried not to think of how her backside was going to feel at the end of this ride.
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Chapter Fourteen
"Jesu! She is English!"
Jolene glared at the man Somerled who looked so much like her husband. She had just spent almost two days in the saddle for Sigimor had pushed them hard. She was tired, dirty, sore, and hungry. The appalled look the man wore, one reflected in the faces of all the other Camerons gathered around, was more than she could bear.
"Aye, I am English. A Sassenach. In fact, I am the sister of an English Marcher lord. What of it?” she snapped and angrily shoved a stray lock of hair off her face.
Although he was tempted to laugh, Sigimor forced himself to be serious. It was hard. His kinsmen now looked more startled than appalled, as if a mouse had suddenly grown fangs and leapt at Somerled's throat. Jolene did look a little inclined to kill someone.
"Ah, now, Jolene,” he began in as soothing a voice as he could muster.
"What?!” She briefly glanced at him, before returning her glare to Somerled. “I am very, very tired of seeing this reaction every time I meet someone on this side of the border. You would think I was a plague carrier. What about all one hears of Scottish hospitality, hmm? This is justrude, that is what this is."
"Ah, here is Old Nancy,” Sigimor said, gently pushing his furious wife toward the plump, graying woman who stepped up beside Jolene. “She will see ye to your chambers where ye can have a hot bath and put on some clean clothes. We can finish the introductions later, after ye have had a wee rest, mayhap? Aye, a wee sleep ere we dine is just what ye need."
"Do not talk to me as if I am crazed, husband,” she hissed at him. “Where is Reynard?"
"The lad was asleep, so Liam took him up to the room where the children are bedded down."
"Good.” She curtsied to the gathered men, took a grinning Old Nancy by the arm and started out of the crowded great hall. “Mayhap by the time we gather to dine some people will have found their manners."
Sigimor watched carefully until he was sure she was out of earshot and then started to laugh. Chuckling to himself, he moved to the head table, sat down, and poured himself some ale. By the time he had soothed his dry throat, his brothers were all seated at the table and his cousins were crowded around behind them.
"Mayhap I was, er, rude,” said Somerled, “but, curse it, she is English! What were ye thinking to take to wife an Englishwoman?"
"That I wanted her as my wife!” Sigimor sighed when his family just stared at him and then he told them the whole story from the moment he had ridden through the gates of Drumwich until he had arrived back here at Dubheidland. “Any questions?"
Before anyone could say anything, Liam strolled into the great hall. He grinned at all the dour faces as he walked to the head table. Nodding a greeting to everyone, he sat down, leaving the chair he usually took on Sigimor's left empty for Jolene.
"Have I missed the customaryOh, m'God, she is English!?” he asked as he helped himself to some ale.
"Aye,” replied Sigimor, “and the whole tale of our wee adventure."
"Weel, I had to speak to Nanty. He returned but a few hours ago thinking we would be here already. He said most everyone had heard of the Englishmon and that he was traveling hard and fast. They would, however, keep watch. Nanty said he would tell ye all about it in the morning. He was asleep ere I left the room."
"E'en though Harold isnae within their reach, ‘tis still good that they were warned. If the bastard gets hold of Jolene or the boy, he will flee to England. Then they will all be a great help."
"Aye, ‘tis what he thought."
