“Do they take pleasure in hurting him?” she demanded.
“I dinna know about that, Miss Drummond, but I know they use the guilt they cause him to squeeze his coffers. He allows it, of course. And in the meantime Tor’s coffers will soon run dry.”
Ismay stared at Constantine’s steward. Were Constantine’s in-laws truly here to squeeze his coffers? Did his steward have any sort of loyalty to Constantine, or was it solely to Tor’s coffers? She had heard him questioning the chief about draining the coffers the morning she had followed Constantine out into the mists.
Her brow dipped over her eyes creating shadows in their depths, like turbulent seas under a charcoal sky.
“’Tis best if ye do yer best to avoid the MacMillans,” the steward told her, “and dinna look at them as if ye have been keeping company with a savage.”
She blinked and confusion washed over her. Did the steward like Constantine, or hate him? The chief’s own men were not certain, andneither was she.
“Do ye consider the Lochiel a savage?”
He picked up his steps again and didn’t look at her when he spoke. “A man who could cut down a regiment of enemy soldiers with nae other help than from his arm has to be a savage. Dinna ye think? Surely ye have been around savages before. Ye are running from one.”
How did he know about MacRae? Had Constantine told him? Had she and she didn’t remember? Was he even referring to MacRae?
“No’ a savage but a soldier with a skilled arm and a strong will to live,” she corrected him.
He smiled but there was more mockery in it than merriment. “Does the Lochiel strike ye as a man with a strong will to survive, then? Nae,” he answered for her, “ye didna see him when he returned from battle covered from foot to crown in the blood of others.”
She shook her head as if to chase away images Hugh conjured in her thoughts. “Should he have laid down his sword and died then?” she challenged, tired of hearing his treacherous talk coated in false compassion. “Hugh, has it not occurred to ye that he suffers? Ye have heard his night terrors, I’m sure. Even the chambermaids have heard him crying out. Ye say he doesna smile or speak much with others, and then ye tell me how his in-laws accuse him of heinous lies. Do ye truly believe he doesna suffer? Is it not enough fer ye?”
The steward did not stop or even slow his pace, but continued on to the castle. He left her side when a silver-haired woman left the Great Hall, saw her, and came nearer to circle her like a cat.
Ismay offered her a slight smile and took a step to leave. The woman’s words stopped her. “Are ye the homeless wench who thinks to take my daughter’s place?”
Ismay wondered for a moment where she had come up with that notion, but then she spotted Bethia leaving the gGeat Hall next.
“I assure ye,” Ismay said slowly, returning her attention to the silver-haired woman, “no one can take yer daughter’splace in the Lochiel’s heart. He was verra dedicated to her.”
She said this because of what Hugh had told her was the reason they were here: to remind him that he hadn’t loved their daughter enough.
The woman raised her brow as she assessed Ismay. She appeared to come to a distasteful conclusion. “Then why did she die alone, Miss Drummond?”
“Because she married a soldier, Lady MacMillan,” Ismay said in a soft voice.
It appeared that Lady MacMillan was not able to conceal her ire the way Ismay could and was doing right now. The older woman tightened her lips and balled her hands into fists. “Listen ye trollop. Are ye trying to blame my Alison fer dying alone?” She could barely deliver her question without trembling, and for a moment Ismay thought she might shatter and break.
“My lady, I am truly sorry fer yer loss. I canna imagine—”
“Ye are correct, ye know nothing of the loss my husband and I suffered. I am warning ye now to stay away from my son-in-law.”
Watching her storm away, Ismay wanted to say something else, but truly, it wasn’t her place. She didn’t know if she was anything more to Constantine than his friend…whom he kissed.
She left the hall and heard Joan calling out to her as she ascended the stairs.
“Dinna pay any attention to that old crow,” Joan advised her, catching up with her on her way up the stairs.
“I think Bethia sent for her,” Ismay let her know her suspicions. “Lady MacMillan accused me of trying to take her daughter’s place with Con—” she paused, hating to appear overly close with the chief and hating even more that she believed she needed to hide it—“the chief.”
“Well, if ye do take her place, ’twill be a good thing fer the Lochiel. Ye have been nothing but good fer him.”
Ismay smiled at her reassurance but inwardly she cringed. She still could not see her future. She thought he was the one man she would like to marry. But she had spoken the truth to Lady MacMillan. No one could take her daughter’s place in the Lochiel’s heart.
It was a truth she was going to have to either accept or refuse.
Joan agreed to bring supper to Ismay’s chamber to keep Ismay from having to speak to Lady MacMillan again, and left her friend to see to the task.
