Then, in another surprise gesture and with a practiced hand, Reade unwound his plaid from his shoulder and tossed it over her head as shelter from the rain.
His kindness and consideration for her comfort were such a stark contrast to his harsh words and harsher exterior. And why give such comfort to a prisoner? Especially when ‘twas obvious he despised her.
“My sister saw ye as ye departed the keep,” Reade explained as he walked her back to the imposing stone stronghold.Reade fits well with his home – ‘tis as imposing as he is,she thought wildly as she tried to figure out why he wasn’t dragging her to a moldy dungeon. “Why ye would leave so late in the day, in naught but a thin day dress, is beyond my mortal ken, what with a fine chamber and a warm meal waiting for ye. Is there some place ye need to be?”
The question held more than a suggestion of her state of mind in taking an evening stroll, that maybe she had some other reason for leaving the castle. What reason that could be, she had no inkling. Blair had the sense that she might know more than she’d told them, some sort of information that didn’t matter to her, but how many ways could she tell these short-sighted men that her husband shared nothing with her, other than a volatile marriage and a sorry excuse of a cock in bed?
She shook her head under the warm plaid. The rainfall grew steadily stronger, pounding the grass of the yard into mud. They reached the wide double door, and Reade halted her before she entered.
“My father wishes to speak with ye before ye return to your chambers.”
Ahh, there ‘twas. Time for her interrogation. She cut her eyes sidelong at him. Why had he told her that? To prepare her? Why was he suddenly giving her such kindness after his off-putting behavior on the ride here?
This son of the MacDonalds was an enigma, indeed. A thick, rough-edged enigma.
“But dinna fret,” Reade continued. “He has but a few questions for ye, then he will discuss your future here with the MacDonalds.”
Blair stiffened at that, and Reade threw her a hard look before tugging on her arm several times to get her to enter the main hall.
Her future with the MacDonalds? So she had tostayhere? How long washer future?
A ball of lead settled into her stomach as they walked toward the stairs.
Mayhap she was more of a prisoner than she realized.
The walk to meet Reade’sfather, Laird MacDonald of Glenachulish, was more like a walk to the executioner’s scaffold to Blair. What was he going to tell her? What questions was he going to ask? And what was going to happen to her when she couldn’t answer the questions to his satisfaction?
Blair shuddered. The massive man next to her must have noticed, because Reade tilted his head and peered at her from the corner of his eye. But he said nothing.
Laird MacDonald’s study was on the second floor of the keep, a cavernous stone room set with heavy wooden beams and narrow, glass windows that faced east on either side of a tall bookcase and surely lit the room in stunning brilliance on sunny mornings. An ornately carved wooden desk sat in the middle of the room atop a blue and gray woven rug, and Laird MacDonald sat behind it, his face buried in wax-edged communications.
Reade let her to a padded chair and pressed on her shoulder, urging her to sit. Since she didn’t see any other options, what with the man’s hand solidly on her shoulder, she sat while Reade’s wide hand kept her in the chair. Though the weight of Reade’s hand should have been disconcerting, it wasn’t. Rather, it was comforting, as his plaid had been when the rain came.
His comforting presence was a good thing, because the man sitting across from her, though he’d been nothing but kind – as kind as one could be to a potential spy – was as imposing as his son. But this man was going to decide her fate, which made him much more terrifying. Blair gripped the curved wooden armrests as she waited for the grizzled man to raise his head.
She counted the moment out in her pounding heartbeats, counting to twelve before the man turned his gaze to her.
It wasn’t an angry or disgruntled look, which surprised her. His light hazel eyes were wide, his expression soft as he looked her over. Blair blew out the breath she’d been holding. When would the surprises end?
“Lass, ye find yourself in quite the predicament, aye?” His voice was a lighter rumbling version of his son’s – perchance one tempered with age? Blair nodded. His assessment of her was not something with which she could disagree.
“There are some who claim ye and your husband were spies for the Campbells. Yet, the Campbells slayed your husband, which suggests they did no’ trust him, or believed he double-crossed them in some way.”
His gaze upon her never faltered. It was steady, engaging, and patiently awaiting her response. She remained silent. She had no answers. Seamus’s shoulders slumped.
“Thus it falls on ye, lass. What do ye know about your husband and his activities? Anything ye can tell us might help us manage our relations with the Campbells.”
Blair leaned into the comforting weight of Reade’s hand, and he squeezed her gently. Encouraging her to speak? Offering support? It didn’t matter. Her husband had kept everything as secret from her as he did from the warring clans. She had nothing to offer.
“I dinna know anything of my husband’s affairs. He shared naught with me,” she told Seamus, her voice little more than a wisp on the warm air of the study.
Reade’s hand shifted off her shoulder, and his immense presence moved away. And with it went his supportive warmth. He must not have cared for her answer.
The laird’s jaw clenched under his beard, then relaxed as he folded his hands on the table before him. “Anything, lass. Anything at all. Did ye see your husband meet with anyone of note? Who came to your manse?”
Blair shook her head. She wished she had some information to give them, something that might sweeten her position with Laird MacDonald. Though she searched her mind for a tidbit that she might offer, nothing came. They had confiscated everything in her house. She had nothing left for them.
“Did ye know any places your husband went? Did ye see letters or hear about a letter –?”
