I chatter nervously, “Yeah, like, just go. Move someplace else.”
“You don’t understand. My clan…the Campbell won’t let us leave.”
“But your clan name is Black. You said the Campbells don’t have a problem with them.”
“Black.” He runs a hand through his hair, and I need to make myself concentrate on what he’s saying, rather than speculating what those thick waves might feel like.
“Black,” he repeats. He casts a quick look at the door, but nobody is there.
“What’s wrong with Black?” I hadn’t meant to whisper, but I guess that’s my way of letting him know he can confide in me.
Finally, he says, “There is no Clan Black. I’m a MacGregor.”
He pauses, waiting for me to understand.
When I don’t, he elaborates, “Remember I told you that to be MacGregor is outlawed? Those of us whosurvived took other names instead. Such like Black, King, Dunn?—”
“Ohh. This is that clan war you told me about.”
He gives me a satisfied nod. “This is that.”
“Wait.” The name clangs in my head.MacGregor. Like on the lone gravestone beneath the apple tree.
He gives me a concerned, puzzled look.
“Never mind. It’s nothing. Only…” I remember how furious the old Campbell had gotten when he suspected I might be a MacGregor spy. “If the Campbell laird knows you’re a MacGregor, why doesn’t he kill you like he did the others? Why keep you around?”
“Many years past, my great-grandfather MacGregor fostered with the Campbells?—”
“I don’t get it,” I interrupt. “Like a foster kid? Was he an orphan?”
“It’s simply what’s done. Entitled lads are sent to live with powerful families of other clans. A way of forging alliances. That’s how it was with my great-grandfather. He fostered with the Campbells and fell in love with a comely lass. That lass came to be my great-grandmother. The kinship with the current laird is distant, but enough to give the old man pause. And so he keeps us around.”
“For his amusement,” I say acidly.
“As his servants. And, aye, as it amuses him. But he could turn on us at any time.”
“Campbell probably likes lording that over you.”
“Not probably. I ken it for certain. He likes the feel of his power.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Flexes it like a muscle.”
“Just that,” Callum agrees with a smile. “Well said, Rosie.”
His praise is like the glow of the kitchen fire, enveloping me with reassuring warmth. I meet his eyes, and something shifts in his expression, becoming softer, more intent.
Neither of us look away, and he’s still standing so close I can see flecks of gold in his gray eyes. The warmth deepens, begins to glow a little hotter.
We speak at the same time.
“I—”
“We—”
“A bhobain!” comes a shout from the doorway.
For a heartbeat, we both freeze, the spell broken. Then we spring apart. I stumble backward, my elbow catching the edge of a pot, sending it crashing to the floor with a deafening clang. Callum rubs a hand over his face, muttering something that sounds distinctly like a curse.
