“I’m sure he wasn’t meaning ye would put me in danger. He was thinking aboot the English.”
“The English have no quarrel with the people of Scotland—at least, those who don’t join the battles raging all over the land. We who prefer to live in peace are not in any danger, lassie.”
Maeve straightened her back at not being called “my lady.” He was an obnoxious man, and she hoped with all her heart Iain would refuse Fiona. However, she shrugged. “I do not follow politics, Laird MacKinnon. I am the lady of MacLaren, and to that end, I am our clan’s protector. If the English came here, I would offer our hospitality, but if they wanted a fight, I would offer one in return.”
“Be careful what you say. There are spies all over Scotland, and the Jacobites are all but done for. Bonnie Prince Charles will be no more, and we must all protect our clans, our people, the people of Scotland.”
“You have no argument from me, and as far as Iain is concerned, he wasn’t pleased to be dragged into this war, but he is a man of honor, and he believes all Scotland’s people should stand behind their prince.”
MacKinnon snorted but stopped talking as he watchedone of his men stride into the great hall and stand before him. “A message, my lord.”
MacKinnon read it and held up the piece of paper. “The Jacobites are finished. The English have won the battle and the war. We are now under England’s rule.” He picked up his tankard. “To England.”
Everyone in the great hall stared at him and at one another, but none joined his toast.
His face turned bright red, and he stood up, pushing his chair back with such force, it fell with a crash. “Scotland is defeated. We can keep our holdings if we bow down to the English, but if we do not, we will be persecuted and stripped of our property. Now, raise your drinks. To England.”
MacKinnon’s men stood up. “To England.”
Callum, a trusted MacLaren guard, bent and whispered something into Jannet’s ear. She blinked slowly at Maeve and raised her glass. Maeve did the same, and once her clan followed, they all mumbled, “To England.”
The captain of MacLaren’s guard hurried down the aisle between the tables, followed by a thin, dirty young man Maeve recognized as Duncan.
“My lady, Duncan has news of our laird for ye.”
Duncan bowed low. “My lady.”
Maeve smiled, but her heart raced. Duncan looked grief-stricken. “What news do ye have?”
“First, I wanted to tell ye, Laird MacLaren saved me life. He was a brave man.”
Jannet rushed to Maeve’s side.
“Was? Are ye saying Iain is dead?” A large rock lodged in Maeve’s stomach, but she searched her mind, her soul, and the connection between her and her brother was still solid. She stood up on shaky legs and gazed at Jannet, who wrapped her arm around Maeve’s shoulders. “I don’t believe it. He isn’t dead. I would know if something happened to him.” She speared Duncan with a quelling look. “Did ye see him fall? Did ye see his life leave him?”
“Nae. He told me to run and I did, but when I looked back, he lay motionless on the ground. The lowland traitor, an officer of the English army, was laughing as he and his men walked away from the laird.”
Maeve’s entire body shook. She fisted her hands. “Why dinnae ye go back? Why did ye leave him?”
“My lady, I tried, but the Scottish army had fled, and the English were hunting them down like boars. My only thought was to survive so that I may tell you the news.”
“You did the right thing, Duncan,” Donal said, and looked at Maeve. “I have been receiving news all this day. The battle was over before it began. The prince’s army never stood a chance, my lady.” He glanced down at his boots and back up and whispered, “Iain would want you to be strong in this. Ye must lead by example.”
Jannet squeezed Maeve’s sinking shoulders so hard that without her, Maeve would have fallen to the ground. Gathering all her inner resources, Maeve forced her shaky legs to keep her upright. She gazed around the great hall where her people sat or stood graven-faced, some weeping openly.
Fiona held her cup up to the captain of MacKinnon’s guard as if in a toast before emptying it in one swallow. She tipped her cup at Leah, who was standing holding another plate of bannock. “More wine and ale.”
Leah’s tears rolled down her face unimpeded. She lifted her head, threw a knife-filled glare at the woman, and left the hall.
Maeve couldn’t help smiling inwardly at that. She wasn’t coming back.
Her heart told her Iain wasn’t dead, and without proof, she refused to believe it. Eyeing Fiona, Maeve noted her gaze locked with the guard’s. The woman was not to be trusted,and by all that was holy, when Iain came back, he would not be marrying her.
***
Abby noted the curiosity in the man’s expression. He wouldn’t swallow just any silly story even if she could come up with one. Although he was wounded—and wearing an old blanket—he stood before her in regal splendor. His eyes, dark as a moonless night, penetrated her soul. He would know the instant she lied.
She followed his gaze down her front. Darn. She should have put on her shirt and the vest, but she had been so busy and too tired to think about them . . . until now.
