Fia let Meggie tell her all about the ball, but she wasn’t really listening. Her mind drifted back to Alasdair Og, how he’d looked at her in the kitchen, the way he’d asked her if she sang. He didn’t remember. What if he’d opened his eyes, seen her hovering above him in the dark of night, singing? She felt a tingle rush through her body. She remembered the way he’d tended her burn, gentle, kind, and gallant. He hadn’t said a word about her being clumsy. She sighed.
“Fia? You’re not listening! You’re daydreaming again. I suppose that’s how you came to burn yourself today, isn’t it? I’ll write and tell Papa you’re not being careful—”
“Oh, please don’t do that!” Fia felt panic rising in her breast.
Meggie’s gaze narrowed. “Oh? Why not?” she asked. “I saw the sweet look in Andrew Pyper’s eyes this afternoon when your name was mentioned. Have you made a conquest?”
“Me?” Fia squeaked. “Of course not. Who would look at me with you here to charm them? Are you not enjoying our visit here? Because if Papa summons me home, you’ll have to come too.”
Meggie’s hand tightened on the hairbrush as she considered that. “Well, it wouldn’t do to leave too soon, I suppose—to depart before the Sinclair returns from Edinburgh and we can say a proper good-bye.”
“Of course,” Fia said, and turned to fluff her pillow.
“Then we’ll not say a word to Papa for now,” Meggie said as she blew out the candle and climbed into bed.
There was no scratch at the door that night, and Fia woke at dawn from a sleep broken by dangerous dreams of Dair Sinclair gazing into her eyes, asking her to sing. And behind him, the face she’d seen in the spring waited in the shadows, with baleful blue eyes eyes locked on Dair.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Dair entered the library in answer to his father’s summons. He expected Padraig wished to talk about how Fia had worked magic with a song in the dark. Instead, the chief informed his son that he was leaving for Edinburgh the following morning.
“I’ve had news, Dair,” he said, waving a letter. “An English ship has sailed into Leith, theWorcester. She was damaged in a storm, needs repairs. They say her captain hates Scots, is known to have ordered the taking of Scottish ships at sea, killed the crews, and stole the cargoes. Does that sound familiar? We’ve arrested the crew. Do you know what this means?” Dair felt a knot of dread in his chest. His father shook his fist, didn’t wait for a reply. “Revenge, Dair. Revenge for what the English bastards did to you, what they’ve done to other Scots. They won’t get away with it this time. I’ll see them hang.” Padraig Sinclair’s eyes burned with fervor.
“No good will come of persecuting the crew of one English ship,” Dair warned. “In fact, it will make things worse with the English. You will, I trust, be the voice of reason in this. Let them go.”
The Sinclair’s nostrils flared. “You can say that, after what the English bastards did to you, and to Jeannie?”
Dair hesitated. Revenge. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it?Not against innocent men.He pictured the faces of the men leaning over Jeannie. He’d memorized all of them. “They aren’t the ones. They weren’t at Berwick.”
“They’ve called the Sinclairs pirates for years,” Padraig said. “Treated us like vermin. Now it’s our turn.”
“We’ve never been pirates. We abide by Scottish law. We were merely clever, found ways around English laws and their unfair trade practices,” Dair said. “We’ve prospered while they’ve managed to crush other Scots traders. We grew rich and cocky. It made us—me—a target. Others got caught up, innocents—”
Padraig snorted. “Nonsense—you’re smarter than the rest, Scot or English. Thanks to you we put our money into things that offered a solid return, earned a fortune while others lost theirs. Jealousy made us unpopular.”
“It made us targets,” Dair said again, feeling the weight of exhaustion. His leg ached, and he stretched it out, easing it. “The English want to crush Scotland, rein us in, force the union. They’re looking for excuses. Hanging English sailors on a pretense will only provoke more violence. Where will it end?”
“What does it matter? We’ll show them we’re made of strong stuff, that we won’t be cowed. We’re not a colony, by God, even if we share a queen. Queen Annie’s forgotten she’s a Stuart and a Scot. This will serve to remind her. We’ll make the crew of theWorcesterpay the price for what they did to you.”
Not tome;to others, perhaps, but not tome, not these men. It would be murder . . .He shut his eyes.
“I’m leaving you in charge while I’m gone. You’ll have the running of things,” Padraig said.
Dair opened his eyes. “No.”
“No?”
“You know I cannot. Choose Angus Mor, or let Logan—”
“Logan is not my heir. You are. This is your duty, and an order. You will do this.” Dair met his father’s hard glare. A clansman did not disobey an order from his clan chief.
“Will our people follow a madman, one who got an innocent woman and eight men killed?”
Padraig raised his chin. “They respect strength, Dair. They trusted you in the past, and they know you’re my heir. You’ll be their chief someday.”
“They doubt me now, fear what will come when—if—I take your place.”
Dair saw a flash of uncertainty in his father’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by arrogance and anger. “Curse it, will you sit in the shadows forever? Everything this clan is, everything we have, is due to you. Pirate? Maybe. But you made this clan, kept us from making bad choices during times of famine and foolishness. We survived. For you—and for myself—I am going to take revenge for what the Sassenach bastards did to me and mine. It will end there, and you will forget her. I order you to do so. You will do your duty to me and your clan.”
