Moira’s eyes rounded in response, a slight shiver emanating off her body.
Errol pointed to a corner. “I will be right there. Eat yer stew. I willnae be long.”
She nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on Lachlan.
Errol glanced around the small pub. No one was paying them any attention. He felt it was safe to step away from the table a few feet, and did so, Lachlan following on his heels.
Once they were out of earshot, Errol spun. “Did my father send ye here? To follow us?” His whispered words were harsh, his intention to show Lachlan that he wasn’t happy with what he was doing.
“My laird doesnae ken I am here. I come of my own accord.”
“For what?” Errol ground out.
“To question yer loyalty to the MacLeod. ’Tis obvious ’tis lacking if ye are working with a Hart. Does family loyalty mean naught to yeanymore?”
Errol growled. Closing the space between them. The urge to grab the man’s tunic in his hands and shake him senseless was strong. He clenched his fists but remained calm.
“I would choose yer words carefully afore ye accuse me of going against my family. A family that I’ve shed blood for.”
“And yet, here ye are with her.” He nodded toward Moira, who was completely focused on their conversation. “What would yer father think if he kenned what ye are doing?”
“Are ye threatening me?”
Lachlan laughed. “Am I? God above, nay. But I fear the clan would find ye most untrustworthy if they found out ye were wandering the countryside with a Hart. What are ye doing with the wench anyway?”
Errol didn’t appreciate Lachlan calling Moira a wench. He was well aware that he didn’t have to answer any of Lachlan’s questions. His position in Errol’s father’s guard did not give him any authority when it came to Errol.
“Ne’er once have I given any reason for the clan to doubt me. I willnae start now.”
“Again,” Lachlan waved his hand toward Moira. “I must remind ye of where ye are and with whom.”
“Ye neednae remind me of aught. Return to MacLeod Keep at once,” Errol demanded.
“I dinnae take orders from a traitor. Have ye forgotten what the Hart have done to us? To our clan? To our families? Toyerfamily?”
Errol took a step back and pushed his hands through his short hair, dragging his nails across his scalp, allowing the pain to remind him of his duties.
“This is strictly an escort trip.”
“If ye believe that, then ye are even more naive than yer sister. Ye need to take heed as to who ye let get under yer skin. Naught good can come from a Hart. She will as likely stab ye in the back when ye’veturned away from her then be someone true in her actions.” The man paused, his gaze falling on Moira once again, before returning to his. “She is a Hart. She cannae be trusted in aught that she does. Whate’er this mission is that ye are doing, for whate’er unkenned reason, never let yer guard down around her. If ye do, it may verra well be the last thing ye e’er do.” With that, Lachlan spun on his heel and exited the pub.
Errol watched his retreat and stared at the empty doorway for a long time, thinking about what Lachlan had said. Tried to find fault in his words. But there was none. He wanted to kick himself. He’d allowed himself to get comfortable around Moira. Not completely, but moreso than afore. She’d drawn him into her impish spell, and he now realized he’d lost his way. Dragging his hands across his scalp again, he took a deep breath afore returning to the table where Moira sat watching him warily.
“Is something amiss?” She asked when he sank into the chair across from her.
“Eat. We need to be back on the road as soon as possible,” he said gruffly, ignoring her question.
She must have sensed his mood shift. For once she didn’t fight him and instead did as he asked. Something he hadn’t seen her do yet.
He needed to keep her at arm’s length. He’d promised Anna he would escort Moira around the highlands so she could find the treasure the map had alluded to. And he had his share of it that was owed to him as well. But that was all he would do. They didn’t need to talk. To hold conversations, though he’d yet to find aught that they had in common to discuss anyway. Nay, this was a mission. Naught more.
Later, when he and Moira were back on their horses traveling to Loch Nunch, she’d attempted to start a conversation, filling the empty space with chatter, but he’d refused to answer. Refused to engage in anyway. Lachlan was right.
He was betraying his clan.
Moira Hart was naught but trouble. No good could come of aught betwixt them.
“What do ye think we will find in the cave?” Moira asked again, trying to fill the silence stretched thick between them.
