‘You never gave him a choice to be happy. Instead, you forced his hand by threatening him with losing his inheritance. Was that not cruel? Are you not trying to undermine me so you can force Clara McMullan onto him?’
Jasper went red in the face. ‘On the contrary. He is never to have Clara. She is too good for him.’
‘Whereas I am not good enough.’
‘As to that….’
A servant came running up before Jasper could answer. ‘Laird, a visitor,’ he declared.
‘Who dammit?’ bellowed Jasper.
‘Tis your nephew, Hew Dunbar.’
‘Damn his eyes. Tell him to wait.’ He looked at Maren with disappointment all over his face and then called after the servant. ‘No, tell him I will come presently.’
Jasper turned back to Maren. ‘This conversation will have to keep, but we will have it, lass, and we will have a resolution. You are withholding some truth from me. I am sure of it.’
He stalked off, and Maren was left alone in the garden with a pounding sense of dread. She had to warn Bryce that his father knew of their ruse. She had to make this right. Time seemed to stand still as her mind flitted about the implications of Jasper’s discovery.
She barely noticed that the sky had darkened. Grey clouds scuttled past the sun, and it began to drizzle. The cold wind suddenly seemed to burrow deep into her bones, so Maren wrapped her plaid about her and headed inside.
As she passed the hall, she caught a scrap of conversation.
‘You have mired yourself in this, and you must drag yourself out.’ Jasper, his voice gravelled with impatience. ‘Tell all to Dunbar. It is the only way.’
‘I cannot. You know my father. He wants an advantage over other lairds, to hold sway over all in the county. His pride demands it, and he demands it of me. He set such high expectations when I returned from my education in London. So I wed for money, and where I did not love, to please him, and even that did not appease his greed and ambition. And that union has ended in misery of the acutest kind.’
‘Fenella is a good match.’
‘She is a ridiculous, nagging shrew.’
‘Will you never face the blame where it lies, Hew, which is squarely on your shoulders?’
‘I met the Baron’s men in a tavern. I had no idea what murderous cutthroats they were.’
Maren’s breath caught.
‘They convinced me to trade secrets, to weaken our enemies with information they could use,’ whined Hew. ‘I hoped to aid my father, and I never meant anyone to get hurt.’
‘So you listened at doorways like a common night crawler, Hew?’
Maren’s heart thudded. She was doing the same thing, and the contempt in Jasper’s tone might just as well be directed at her.
‘It was not as sordid as that,’ said Hew. ‘I passed on snippets, nothing more – when cattle were being moved to market, drovers’ routes, when cargo was being brought in from the wharf in Inverness, that kind of thing.’
Jasper’s voice rose to a shout. ‘Men died defending those cattle. Your father should know the truth of what a snivelling, conniving good-for-nothing he has spawned.’
‘Insult me all you like, Uncle, but help me, please. The Baron has returned. That corpse lying at the edge of Dunbar land was proof of it – a warning to me of retribution. And it is a sign of things to come for all of us. He will want vengeance for being routed.’
‘Aye, but the Baron can’t blame you for his downfall, Hew.’
‘I did not warn him of Callum’s ambush in time, so he can.’
There was a scrape of a chair overturning and the sound of a scuffle. Maren peered around the door, and Jasper had Hew by the scruff.
‘So you would have done that, forewarned that murderer. You would have sent Callum to his doom and my son with him?’
‘No…I would not…it was just secrets I passed, nothing more. Please, the monster will tell everyone I was his ally and ‘tis not true. I will be ruined.’
