The stout man had a familiarity to him. She stood up and narrowed her eyes. His mangy hair fell around his shoulders, and he waddled more than walked. But his nose had a distinctive bump, one that she had seen before.
“Blair Gordon?” the man asked.
What was she to say? She had been a Gordon, but no more. And what did they want with her?
And why did the stout man’s face seem familiar?
“Blair MacDonald,” she clarified in a trembling voice.
The man looked down his bumpy nose at her.
“Do ye no’ recall me, Blair? Then again, ‘tis been more than a year.” He stared at her, waiting.
Other than his nose, she couldn’t bring the man’s name or how she knew him to her mind. But even if she did know him, why had he sought her out?
“I’m here with the MacDonalds,” she instead answered vaguely, hoping the knowledge of others around her might drive the men away. She didn’t know why they were here, but she wanted nothing to do with them. Their filth and hard faces bespoke danger, and she’d had quite enough of that.
The stout man’s glance flitted around the trees with disinterest. “I dinna see any of them here. We have enough privacy for this conversation.”
Blair’s stomach flip-flopped at his tone. What possible conversation? She pressed her lips closed. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t utter a sound. If she screamed, then Adaira would come running, and Blair wasn’t going to lead that fine lass into these brigands’ arms. Nay, she’d keep quiet and keep Adaira safe.
“What conversation?” Blair asked with far more courage than she felt.
“Do ye no’ recall me at all? Has your time with these barbarians made ye forget your husband completely?”
“My dead husband,” Blair spat out.
“Aye. My deadcousin.”
Blair paused, recognition coming to her. Paden Gordon. Mungo’s degenerate cousin. They had worked together, Mungo had told her, and this leering man had visited the manse two or three times. Much of their work had been with the Campbells, as far as Blair discerned. She had tried to turn a blind eye to their machinations, and Paden had gained some weight in the past year. Where Mungo had been old, lean, and frail, his cousin was old, short, and stout. They did not resemble each other much, at least in appearance.
“Paden,” Blair responded, her voice tight, “what brings ye to MacDonald land?”
Paden stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and Blair instinctively moved backward to keep as much distance from him as possible. Untrustworthy was too weak a word for Paden.
“Ye are in an opportune place, aye? In the keep with the kin of Glengarry himself. A son or nephew of the sort? I’m sure they asked about a letter?”
Blair blinked. What was it about that letter everyone kept asking her about? She couldn’t even read! “Aye, but ye well know Gordon shared naught with me.”
Paden leered at her, and Blair’s skin crawled under her plaid. “I know that. Mungo would have rather swallowed vitriol than leaked any of his secrets with the likes of ye. What I want from ye is information. The Campbells desire to learn which of the clans are planning on signing the oath to King William, and which ones are no’. Ye can find that out for me.”
“What? Paden, I dinna speak to Glengarry. I’ve never met the man! I —”
He lunged at her and she flinched, recalling his hand was as heavy as Mungo’s. “No’ to Glengarry, to the nephew and grandnephew. They will talk at dinner, or better, your new husband will talk to ye in bed. Find out what ye can and meet me here again. As his wife, ye are in a unique position to use your wares as best ye may.”
Blair clenched her hands into fists. “Why would I do that? Ye must leave. I will do none of that. And if ye think to hurt me here, leave a mark, I shall tell my husband and his father what happened, and they will hunt ye down like the dog ye are.”
His leer grew wide, splitting his face grotesquely in two. “Aye. But I’m no’ going to hurt ye.” His eyes flicked over her shoulder, northward, where Adaira traipsed through the wood by herself. “The sister, the one ye’ve befriended, and her mother, your husband’s own family. Unlike ye, they leave the keep regularly. Ye dinna want them to reap your punishment if ye dinna bring me what I desire, do ye?”
The lump in Blair’s throat became a jagged boulder. Here it was — his resemblance to Mungo was in his behavior. He dared to threaten Adaira and Sorcha! And Paden was correct — they regularly departed the keep. And if she tried to alert them, they’d want to know why she was conversing with a Gordon alone in the wood. Her husband already believed her to be a spy . . . Oh, but this moment suddenly spun out of her control, and she reached behind her, placing her hand on the tree for balance.
Paden’s eyes danced at her frightened form.
“Aye, I thought ye’d see it my way. Let’s say in a fortnight. Right back here. And ye better have information for me. Otherwise, that sweet lass will suffer.”
Blair remained frozen where she was, watching wide-eyed as Paden returned to his horse, mounted it, and rode off without a look behind him.
What shall I do?Blair thought wildly, as she gripped the tree until the horses had disappeared into the trees.What can I do?
