“He’s our Laird,” she reminded her sister sternly, “and he’s bound by honor and duty to help us.”
Again, she said these things with an absolute certainty that she didn’t feel in the least. And again, she didn’t think her sister needed to know that.
“If he were a good laird,” Violet muttered just loud enough to be heard, “we wouldnae be watching friends and family die.”
Hannah didn’t miss that Violet had referred to others, excluding herself and her fragile state.
“Och!” she snapped, more surprised than her sister by her instant defence of the man, when she’d never had a particular thought one way or the other to spare him before. “He cannae control an illness, Violet. He’s a laird, nae the good God above.”
She reflexively signed the cross and shook her head, swirling the steeping mixture before her just so she could busy her hands and avoid having to think too hard about what she was saying.
“He could send healers,” Violet retorted after a long pause. “Some sort of help.” She huffed a breath as she sank lower in her chair and met her older sister’s eyes for a moment, before adding begrudgingly, “At least we daenae have the bandits on top of it. Ihear they are plaguing the North.” The momentary defiance that had sparked had fizzled back to resigned exhaustion.
Hannah heaved a sigh and nodded her head, her mind involuntarily returning to her attempted escort from the day before. She had perhaps been too hasty in her refusal of armed assistance. What if she had actually run afoul of such a threat alone?
Perishing the thought, she drew a breath.
“He seemed surprised when I asked for this herb.” She gestured to the angelica remaining on the table. “Perhaps he truly doesnae ken.”
“How is that possible?” Violet asked, looking like she might have pounded her fist on the table if she had such energy. “He’s our Laird. He should ken all important goings-on.”
“Perhaps people arenae telling him everything that’s going on, Violet,” Hannah suggested as she began straining the pale gold liquid, leaving the steeped herb in the previous container. She tried a taste and found it much less bitter, but still not overly pleasant. A small spoonful of honey mixed into the cordial made it far more palatable, and she placed it in front of her little sister. “Ye’ll be having that, or we’ll be having words.”
Violet sighed and lifted the small glass as if she were doing her a great kindness. After the first suspicious sip, she tipped the rest of the liquid back and let out a long breath. They both waited as if she might start glowing. What they received was an absenceof immediate gagging, and Hannah was happy with that. Violet looked equally relieved and placed the glass delicately on the table.
“That seems to have agreed with ye,” Hannah noted with a smile.
“Aye,” Violet said. “Why would people nae tell him what’s happening in his own lands?”
“Perhaps they’re too frightened.” Hannah began peeling the herb anew.
If the mixture quelled the nausea, she would most certainly see to it that a bottle was prepared. She couldn’t help a little shiver at her own words, spoken so casually, remembering the way the Laird had loomed so casually over her and made her feel smaller than she had in her life.
“Perhaps someone should get brave.”
“Perhaps someone has.” Hannah wiggled the herb in her hand before continuing to work her knife over it, adding it to the mortar on the table before her a bit at a time.
“I hope ye ken what ye’re doing.”
Hannah smiled at her sister without looking up from her work and fought back another shiver.
Me too.
5
“Why, pray tell…” He was trying his absolute best to keep his voice controlled, to sound reasonable and in command, but he was doing a poor job of it. “… am I learning just now about what’s been happening onme lands?” He turned on his heel and planted his palms on the heavy wooden table that held a gathering of men that made up the council. “Why was I nae informed that there’s an illness ravaging the villages in this area?”
The six men across from him shifted almost in unison, and one glanced to Aiden’s right where his man-at-arms sat.
The man beside him brushed long red hair from his face with his left hand and gestured with his right. “Ye may be overstating it, Aide—me Laird.”
Aiden clenched his jaw and glanced down as the man spoke, drawing a long breath and holding it. He knew his man-at-arms had been loyal to his elder brother and knew just as surelythe man was still feeling him out. Judging his every move and decision to see what he would choose to do with command of the council that had seen to his expulsion all those years ago. Who hadn’t breathed a word in his defence or offered a word of comfort when his brother had used him to prove a point.
Another man from across the table spoke up, and Aiden’s blue gaze shot to him—The tacksman. He shared Theodore’s red hair, and Aiden was almost sure they were cousins.
“Everything is going well,” the tacksman reassured quickly. “I’ve nae noted fuss from me folk.”
“Aye,” a dark-haired man beside him agreed quickly, gesturing with his flagon. Aiden had, of course, provided the men with drink. He had not provided them withthatdrink. Their ilk hadn’t earned the honor of trying the Leon whiskey. “Ye shouldnae concern yerself with such things.”
