Thinking quickly, Reyna snatched it away. “Och, ye cannae drink tae such an important toast with the dregs o’ a dirty cup! ‘Tis nae proper.” She huffed. “I’m sorry I spilled it, I’ll go get him a fresh drink.”
Hutch laughed. To Reyna it sounded a little strained. “Och, it’s nay big deal.” He turned to Blake with a smirk. “Have ye gone soft in yer time away then, cousin, that ye can only drink out o’ a clean tankard? Or is yer lass just eager tae pamper ye?”
His insistence on both completing the toast at that moment, and at having Blake drink from the spilled cup turned Reyna’s suspicions from vague questions to utter certainties.
There was something in the cup.
She blushed and held the tankard out to him. “Och, well, me laird, then ‘tis best ye show him how tae take a toast like a proper Sinclair. In fact, who better than ye, me laird?”
Blake flushed, looking slightly awkward and embarrassed. “Reyna, lass, ye cannae just ask the laird o’ a clan tae drink out o’ a dirty cup. Besides, a proper toast should be made in front o’ the clan, in the Great Hall. That being the case, I dinnae ken why I cannae see tae me maither, then get a fresh tankard when I return.”
“Och, I dinnae ken.” She smiled disarmingly, in a way she often had when planning mischief. She hoped Blake would recognize the expression. “But if yer cousin, the laird, is as determined tae have the toast now, well, there are plenty o’ lads and lasseshere now. There’s even a few o’ the Elders, tae celebrate with ye.” She turned her smile to the older men, making them grin indulgently. “And I’m sure this willnae take long.”
Reyna turned and stepped closer to Hutch. “Here, ye can have Blake’s tankard, and ye can show him how a Sinclair should toast, and after I’ll take him tae see his maither.”
There was a rumble of agreement from the assembled clansmen. One o’ the warriors nearby raised a well-used tankard. “Toast, me laird! Toast!” The words were taken up by the men around him.
Hutch froze. The amiable smile now looked fixed in place, and there was no more laughter in his eyes. “Now lass, I dinnae ken what ye’re on about. I was only teasing me cousin…”
“But ye’re so insistent that he is soft, or subordinate tae me, if he cannae even drink from a dirty cup. Surely ye’re neither o’ those things, me laird.” She pushed the cup closer, offering him a sweet smile. “Unless... is there some reason ye dinnae wish tae drink from this cup instead? Some reason only Blake is supposed tae drink from it?”
Hutch frowned. So did everyone else. But it was Blake who asked the important question. “Reyna, what are ye talking about?”
Reyna shoved the tankard into Hutch’s chest, raising her voice so it could ring through the corridors like the sound of a bell. “I’m saying that Hutch doesnae want ye tae drink from another cup, and he doesnae want tae drink from this one, fer the samereason. Because he’s the one who poisoned the previous lairds, and he wants tae dae the same tae ye!”
