“Now, now, is that any way to talk to yer host?” Rory asked. He tutted and turned back to Jonah. “I heard from our mutual friend up at the keep that ye’ve been spending a lot of time with Miss Myrna Kinnear. I ken more than most how women can make motivations a wee bit blurry for all of us, so I did ye a favor.”
“A favor?” Jonah asked cautiously. He longed to scream, to attack, but he saw how close Rory’s hand was to the knife. He’d never be able to reach him before Rory had slit Betty’s throat. “What kind of favor…Me Laird?”
Rory smiled, obviously pleased that he was playing along. “Well, ye ken yer role and what ye need to do,” he said. “And Betty here and her bairn are gonnae stay right here with me until it’s done. After that, ye can all return to yer mither, and naebody will be any the worse off.”
Except for poor Rab. And Eithne. And…are ye the one who hurt me faither, too? Did ye kill him to manipulate me?
It didn’t seem to make any sense, and yet it was also frighteningly possible. But Jonah couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t risk his sister, not even for Myrna. Not when the baby was here too.
So, he had a choice to make. Right or wrong? Love or family?
He let out a long breath, cursing Rory with every fiber of his being. One day, he’d see that man cold in the ground, and he’d smile. But not today.
“Of course, Me Laird,” he said. “I ken the plan. I’m just waiting for yer word to get started.”
Rory smiled broadly. “Well, isnae that excellent! I’m delighted to hear it. And with Ivor Sinclair gone, at last, we can move as soon as we’re ready.”
Cautiously, Jonah moved to his sister’s side. He sat down next to her, desperately clutching at her hand under the table. “And when will that be, Me Laird?” he asked.
In response, Rory MacDuff just smiled.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Family
There was something of an awkward silence around the dining table. Eithne really didn’t know what to make of her uncle and her strange silent cousin even now. Gregor was a little older, yet he seemed like a distant old man for all the attention he paid to Myrna and Eithne. Their younger cousin, Walter, was nowhere to be seen. Their uncle, meanwhile, well, Eithne still didn’t know what to make of him.
“I trust ye are finding yer new quarters comfortable?” Laird MacDonnell asked, breaking the oppressive silence. She started, realizing he was looking at her and swallowed the food in her mouth quickly.
“Oh…aye, aye, Uncle, thank ye,” she said. “It’s good of ye to take us in as ye have.”
“Of course,” he replied, though his voice sounded odd. “Ye’re Siobhan’s own bairns. What else could I do? Family and me clan. That’s what matters, lass.”
“I agree,” Eithne replied, trying not to react to the odd way he spoke.
“Where’s Walter?” Myrna asked, obviously trying to help out with the awkwardness. “It isnae like him to miss dinner.”
The Laird’s face darkened. “Walter’s taken a wee sickness,” he replied brusquely. “He’s resting at the moment.”
“Aye, he’s sick, all right. Sick of remembering his place,” Gregor suddenly spat. Eithne almost jumped back in alarm. She had never heard him speak so loudly or with such venom.
What’s going on between me cousins? What’s got Gregor so angry?
“Enough,” the Laird warned. Gregor looked chastised, but when he went back to stare at the table again, Eithne could still see the anger there.
The silence returned, thicker and angrier than before. Eithne could imagine it as almost visible, heavy like black smoke from a fire, wrapping its tendrils and pulling her down…
“Uncle, this food is delicious,” Myrna said. Her voice sounded so small and reedy in this big stone hall, but she spoke with confidence. It surprised Eithne, who still saw her sister as something of a child – but she wasn’t anymore, was she?
She’s nigh marriageable if she chooses. Nearly six and ten, a woman already. What happened to the child who left Kinnear?
Myrna’s plan worked, and conversation – though still stilted – started to trickle along. By the time they’d finished the meal, the thick silence had all but evaporated, leaving air to breathe once more.
The sisters stood when the meal was done, intending to go walking together. It had become a ritual of sorts at night, taking in the lovely Highland air to try to soothe some of their seemingly endless troubles. Before they could leave, though, Eithne’s uncle spoke, directly addressing her once more.
“Eithne,” he said. “Yer mercenary. Sinclair. He’s gone, aye?”
It was like he’d grabbed her heart in his hands and squeezed it painfully tight. Eithne closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath, then said, “Aye. It’s been several days. I imagine he’s naewhere near us now, and I dinnae expect to see him again.”
