Isabail pushed at his chest, separating them. “He knew they were just tales. No one truly knows anything of the Picts. They are long gone.”
MacCurran released her and rolled from the pallet. “Barbarians do not build stone fortresses like this one,” he said, pointing to the walls. “Skilled craftsmen do.”
She looked around. “Surely the walls of this fort were built by Scots.”
“Nay,” he said. “The walls, like the rest of this broch, have stood here for hundreds of years, slowly crumbling away. The MacCurrans have occupied this glen for three hundred years, and it was here when we arrived.”
She frowned. “The walls are sturdy still. Why did you not claim it as your own, then? Why build a new keep?”
“Because for a very long time, a druid lived here,” he said, “and swore it was a hallowed ground deserving of respect.”
“He knew of the tomb,” she guessed.
MacCurran nodded. “In his own way, he guarded it.”
“Yet you now trample that hallowed ground without care,” she pointed out. “Why allow the palace to crumble and overgrow with weeds when you do not follow the druid’s beliefs?”
“Did I say we did not honor the druid’s beliefs?”
“You occupy the fort.”
“We begged sanctuary, and it was granted.”
Isabail sat up. Her boots had been removed and placed neatly beside the mattress. She slid her feet into them and pushed to her feet. “Begged sanctuary? From whom? I thought the druid was dead.”
“Did I say that?”
She could not be certain if he was serious or making a jest. “The druid yet lives?”
“Enough. I must ask you never to speak of what you found in the tunnels,” he said. “Let us get some food. You’ve not eaten for nearly a day.”
Judging by the closed expression on his face, she would not be getting any further information. And he was right about the food—the ache in her belly was a persistent sign that she was hungry. Still, one question yet nagged her. As she tied the laces of her boots, she asked, “Can you not tell me the name of the tomb’s inhabitant? We very nearly shared the same final resting place.”
He turned to her, his eyes dark and serious. “If I told you, you would never again be permitted to leave the glen.”
It was such a preposterous statement that Isabail started to laugh, but MacCurran’s frank and completely humorless delivery froze the chuckle in her throat. Dear Lord. What kind of secret could this clan be hiding that prompted such coldhearted threats?
* * *
“You found her inside the tomb?” Niall repeated, eyes wide.
“Aye.”
“She saw the crown and the sword?”
Aiden sighed. Had he not already explained this? “Aye.”
“By the gods. You were right to fear her return to Lochurkie. She’ll reveal the location of the tomb.”
The risk was very real. Only one thing worked in their favor. “She does not realize the importance of what she found.”
“That might be worse,” Niall said with a groan. “She might casually change the future of Scotland as she tells an amusing tale to her admiring beaus.”
The image of Isabail surrounding by admiring beaus proved surprisingly annoying. “I’ll make certain she tells no one of what she’s seen.”
“How? Once she’s returned to Lochurkie, she’ll be beyond your control.”
“Leave Isabail to me,” Aiden said firmly.
