“Throw open the gates and invite the earl’s bloody soldiers in,” Mathe blurted. “That’s what will happen if ye send that missive.”
“Ye are overly critical of anything we discuss, Mathe,” Jamie said.
“If we doona learn anything from the past, we doona deserve to live.”
“Ye can live on yer knees then.” Jamie shot up from his chair and shoved the heavy table away. “I will take the lady into my own home.”
“Live on my knees?” Mathe stood up. “I was fighting for this clan while ye were still suckling yer ma’s breast.”
“Jamie! Mathe!” Alex warned.
Jamie ignored his cousin. “Admit ye’re afraid of retaliation from the earl if we keep his daughter here.”
“Nay,” Mathe seethed. “I’m nay afraid of anyone or anything. What I worry about is the future of this clan, our bairns and women. How many died two years ago in the attacks on the west village? Remember? Laird John? Yer kinsman?”
“I remember.” Jamie scrubbed his face. “All the more reason to help Lady Helen. Doona cast yer pearls before swine.” He stepped down from the dais and poured himself a cup of ale from a pitcher on one of the lower tables. After taking a deep drink, he wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand. “Since when does a Highlander struggle with what is morally right?” He stared long and hard at Mathe.
“Morally right,” Mathe seemed to agree, “but strategically irresponsible.”
Jamie dinna understand Mathe’s hesitation about helping Helen. His cowardice angered Jamie. The word Alex wanted stricken from his mind and heart, a word he had only today associated with Mathe. “Guma h-olc dhut!”
Instead of reacting hotly to Jamie’s curse, Mathe grinned like a wild dog. “Ye wish evil to befall me? Appears to me that a devil in a gown has already darkened yer conscience, Jamie MacKay.” With that, Mathe excused himself from the great hall.
Chapter Eight
“What did yeoverhear in the great hall, Miran?” Helen asked her maid upon her return to the bedchamber they shared.
Miran set the tray of food and wine on the nearest table. “Doona make me say, Lady Helen. Some things are better left unsaid.”
If Miran thought she was helping by speaking such words… “How often does the council meet?”
“Once a week,” Miran said. “And whenever there is important matters to discuss about the clan.”
Helen nodded; she understood. “I am the reason for this meeting?”
“Aye.”
“And several of the men want me to leave?”
“Nay!” Miran rushed over and placed her hands over Helen’s. “Never doubt my laird’s affection and appreciation for ye. All of the women agree—ye are welcome here. Ye helped our mistress, and for that, we are ever grateful.”
Helen smiled warmly. “I look forward to seeing Keely.” It had been too long. And there was so much to say, so many questions to ask. “Tell me about the bairns again.” She sat in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the hearth, glad for the roaring fire. It helped chase the frigid fear from her mind and body, the fear that had gripped her since she snuck out of her sire’s castle and mounted her horse to ride away forever.
“I love to talk about the wee babes,” Miran said.
“Good. Then join me. Bring us each a cup of wine.” Helen patted the empty chair across from her.
“Milady?” Miran dinna understand.
“Sit with me.”
“Nay. I couldna.”
“Tis a direct order.”
She reluctantly poured two cups of wine, offered one to Helen, then sat in the chair, holding her cup between her knees.
“Have ye never sat with yer mistress on a lonely, cold day?”
