“Would ye like me to have one of the lasses fetch us an ale?”
Or had she been sent specifically to keep him away from Caitrin so her son could continue what he’d started with her, without interruptions? In that case, Kyle would have a difficult morning.
“I would. Thank ye, lady MacGregor.”
She inclined her head. “Madeleine, please.”
“Madeleine. Ye’re verra kind.”
Jamie let his gaze drift lazily around the hall, but in truth, he noted who was there, how many MacGregor warriors were lingering over their breakfast, how many were coming and going through the hall. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. When the serving lass returned, he accepted his cup with a nod, then lifted it to Lady MacGregor. “Slàinte mhath, Madeleine.”
“And to ye,slàinte mhòr” she responded, lifting her cup. She took a delicate sip. “Great health.”
“I wish to thank ye again for yer care of Fletcher,” Jamie told her. The topic seemed neutral enough, befitting the toast, yet it might give him a better idea where this lady stood.
“I did little enough, and I enjoy his company. In fact, I’ve conceived of a desire to take him to the village this afternoon to see the preparations that are underway for market day tomorrow. I believe he would enjoy that.”
Jamie nodded, studying her for any shift of expression or posture that would tell him whether she had simply happened upon the greatest coincidence he’d ever experienced, or if she and Fletcher were somehow colluding. “That sounds like a pleasant way for ye to spend the afternoon.”
“Indeed. ’Tis a lovely day for a walk, but I believe we’ll ride. I wouldna wish him to further damage his leg. Tell me, though, do ye think his daughter would also enjoy such an outing?”
Jamie nearly choked on his ale and thought about things that seemed too good to be true. He fervently hoped this was not one of them. “I canna say. Perhaps ye should invite her and let her decide.”
“Aye, that’s what I’ll do. Right after I tell her father.” Madeleine put down her cup and stood, so Jamie stood, too. “And if ye feel the urge to enjoy a change of scenery, ye’d be welcome to join us.”
“Lady MacGregor…”
“Madeleine, please. Just Madeleine.”
Then, Jamie had it. If she was disavowing her position, her clan name, everything that tied her to MacGregor, then she was sincere in her intention to help them get away. At least, it seemed that way to him. He wished Caitrin were here to judge the truth of Madeleine’s statements.
“Madeleine, thank ye. I canna think of a better way to pass the afternoon.”
“I’ll just go and speak to Fletcher and to Caitrin, then. Why don’t ye meet us in the stable? By the time ye arrive, I’ll have the grooms readying our mounts.” With that, she left him. Her pace, while not noticeably hurried, was quicker than her usual sedate movements.
He set aside the remains of his ale and went to notify his men of the change of plans. On the way, he crossed paths with Malcolm, who stopped him.
“Lady Madeleine says that I’m to conduct her to the village, along with the Fletchers and ye.”
“That’s good news. Do ye happen to ken where yer laird is at the moment?”
“With the smith, I believe, inspecting some new lances.”
“Verra good. I’ll meet ye at the stables in a few minutes.”
Malcolm nodded and went on his way.
If Alasdair was with the smith, his solar would be accessible. Jamie had best retrieve Caitrin’s copies now, or there might never be another chance. He knocked lightly on the door in case Malcolm was mistaken. When no one responded, he peered inside. Empty.
He slipped in and closed the door behind him. The rolled-up parchment waited exactly where Caitrin had said it would be. He unrolled it far enough to confirm it contained the information she’d described, then rolled it tightly, and slipped it inside his shirt under his plaid.
Despite the danger of carrying these documents around with him, he had one more thing to do before they left. Find Annie.
****
Meg had described Annie’s workspace, and that’s where Jamie found her, at her loom, sitting with her back to the door. Not a position a man would choose. Too vulnerable by far. But she must feel safe here. He could use that confidence against her. And if he must, he would.
The fabric she wove bore the MacGregor hunting colors, more muted than other versions of the clan tartan, the better to blend in with the undergrowth. Jamie hoped he could keep his emotions similarly muted, no matter what she told him about how she came to have his sister’s comb.
