Page 172 of Claimed Highland Brides

Delwyn nodded. “I shall send a messenger.”

“What if the man means to attack them there as well?” Diego’s brow furrowed with worry.

Delwyn shook his head. “From what I know of this witch, Aifric, she would not allow such a thing.”

“You are sure of this?”

Delwyn nodded. “Absolutely. I think they are as safe as they can possibly be.”

“Send the messenger then.”

* * *

Aileen came awake, bathed in momentary confusion as to where she was. Then she remembered that they were in Drumacree for a meeting. She sat up, her eyes on Barclay, who lay fast asleep beside her, his chest gleaming with sweat. It was quite warm in the chamber, with the closed window and the merrily burning fire in the grate. He had thrown off the blankets and so lay sprawled before her in all his naked splendor.

The sheer immediacy of his presence was something she still had to get used to. He changed the atmosphere of her sleeping space with his earthier musk, the rhythm of his breathing, his sheer presence, difficult to ignore as he seemed to dominate every single sense she had. Tentatively, she reached out and ran a finger down the deep line of his spine.

His muscles were so defined, his skin darker than her own—probably because he spent a lot more time in the sun than she did. His skin was both softer and tougher than it looked. She traced patterns into his skin, learning the feel of him, reveling in his nearness.

He grunted in his sleep, twitching as if he was a horse trying to dislodge a fly. She grinned at the analogy but withdrew her hand and gingerly slipped her foot out of the security of the blankets. Aifric had urged them to take advantage of her hospitality rather than return to the inn where Gilroy was staying.

Aileen had thought it altogether wise to do as she asked.

A cauldron of water was boiling in the fireplace, making her wonder if someone had brought it in while they slept. With a shrug, she picked up the jug and scooped out some hot water for her morning ablutions.

A tentative knock on the door had her straightening up, wondering who might be looking for them so early. The sun was barely lightening the sky. She did not hear Barclay stir, so she put down the jug and went to answer the door herself.

She eased the door open and stared out in surprise, not having expected to see Daividh standing there, fully dressed. “Where is yer husband?” he asked sotto voce.

She widened the opening to allow him to enter and turned to find Barclay sitting up in bed, blinking blearily at them.

“I’ve had word from th’ keep,” Daividh began without preamble, speaking to them both, “Gilroy sent men to attack us. They almost abducted Ùna, but yer cousin got in the way.” He gestured to Barclay with a slight smile.

Barclay let out a breath and shook his head. “So what now? Shall we confront him?”

Daividh shook his head. “I cannae speak for ye, but I feel that we should go home.”

Barclay nodded. “I ken. But he wilnae just go awa’ unless I give up my claim. So why do ye no’ take the women home and I shall confront him.”

Aileen stepped between them with an exclamation. “No! I’m yer wife, Barclay Macfarland. I shall stay wi’ ye.”

Both men eyed her as if trying to gauge her seriousness.

“Aile—” Daividh began to say.

“No!” She turned to glare at him. “I’m staying wi’ Barclay.”

Daividh sighed, shaking his head as he cast Barclay a look as if to say, Talk to yer wife. Barclay smiled. “Vera weel. We shall go and talk to him.”

Daividh’s shoulders slumped as if in defeat. “We cannae let ye do this on yer own. Fee and I will stay too.”

Barclay got out of bed and nodded to Daividh. “We thank ‘e.”

He grabbed his tunic and pulled it on even as Daividh opened the door to leave. He paused with his hand on the knob. “We mun’ be prepared for anything, ye ken.”

“Aye.” Barclay straightened his tunic and reached for his breeches. Aileen sighed and went to the wardrobe to fetch her gown.

* * *

“Ye shalnae go to the inn when I can summon Gilroy here,” Aifric protested. “’Tis no’ safe for ye. He has nay honor, that man.”

“Then why are we negotiating wi’ him?” Barclay asked, incredulous.

Aifric eyed him for a while. “Because ye have some honor.”

Barclay sighed, turning away from her in disgust. “Fine. Please summon him.”

Aifric smiled. “I already have.”

They did not have long to wait before Gilroy burst into the parlor, looking rather annoyed. “Why have ye summoned me so early? I havenae yet received word from my faither.”

“That isnae what we wish to speak aboot.” Barclay glared at him. “Have a seat.”