Page 44 of Claimed Highland Brides

Daividh hesitated.

Should I say no?

“I-I thought we might speak more frankly in the brisk honest air of early morning.”

The laird threw back his head and laughed. Daividh relaxed his shoulders slightly in relief. At least the man had not taken an obvious offense. “Aye weel...” He wandered over to Daividh. “What is it ye wish tae say tae me?”

His voice was low, his eyes just as intent as when he’d been staring at his cows. Daividh made sure to look him straight in the eye. “I ken aboot Laird Hunter.”

McCormick stiffened, a dead giveaway. “What d’ye ken?”

“He wanted tae wed Lady Douglass’s mother, did he no?”

McCormick frowned. “How do ye ken aboot tha’?”

Daividh looked away. “’Tis nae important. People talk, and I listen.”

“People talk? What are ye on aboot? Who is talking aboot my niece?”

Daividh shook his head. “No one is speaking on yer niece. ’Tis the laird. And I heard it from his men. He doesnae mean well frae her. Ye need tae stop this wedding."

The laird glared at Daividh but then he suddenly dropped the mask of fury to reveal the fear beneath. "I cannae do tha'." The despair in his voice was clear.

Daividh stepped closer. "And why can ye no?"

The laird simply shook his head.

Daividh gave him an earnest look. "If'n ’tis the issue of yer withdrawal of the guards from her faither, she already kens it weel."

McCormick gave him a sharp glance. "And how would she ken tha'?"

Daividh looked away. "I dinnae ken. She dinnae tell me."

The glare came back, twice as furious. "Ye heard me speak o’ it? Are ye spying on me?"

"I wasnae spying…but I did owerhear yer talk wi' the Hunter aboot the blackmail."

“And ye decided tae make it yer business?”

In spite of the aggression that the laird was showing, Daividh didn’t back down but looked him dead in the eye. “Ye should ken tha’ I care very much for yer niece. On my honor, I havenae touched her, but I cannae watch her gang ahead wi’ this wedding. Not after this. Twill put her in danger and ye ken it as weel as I do.”

* * *

Daividh’s words stayed with McCormick all day. He was distracted and irritable and everyone noticed, even Laird Hunter, who was not one to care for other people’s moods. The other laird walked up to him as he was inspecting his guard—for the third time that day.

“Is there something ye have tae tell me, McCormick? Ye’ve been acting like a spooked horse all day. Ye’re nae changing yer mind are ye? Because ye ken what would happen if’n ye did.”

Donnchadh sighed. “I ken.”

Padraig gave him a look as if he was waiting for Donnchadh to confess all his sins at once. Donnchadh looked away, swallowing even as he tried to freeze his face into impassivity. He had had enough of death and killing. He had no wish to add another body to his count. No, it was clear to him what he must do. If Padraig was already on high alert, it would not take him long to uncover the real problem. He had his eyes everywhere, Donnchadh had no doubt. He was surprised at how patient the other laird had been, letting Fiona set the pace on this marriage, allowing for her sisters to arrive before he set off arrangements.

It was uncharacteristically generous.

At first, Donnchadh had hoped that he did these things out of his softness of feeling for Fiona. But he had not been able to deceive himself for too long. The way that Padraig watched Fiona, Donnchadh knew that she was little more than a possession to him. One he watched greedily and obsessively as she flitted about the castle. When the sisters had arrived at the castle, Padraig had smiled with satisfaction as if he had won at some game nobody but he knew was being played. It was very worrisome and he had no clue what to do about it all.

“Ye’re getting cold feet. I see it in yer eyes.” Padraig’s voice was cold and so quiet that Donnchadh could barely hear him. “Whatever ye’re planning, ye better renounce it the noo while ye have the chance. Next time I willnae ask ye.” He stepped closer, his eyes glittering like shards of ice in a dark cave. “And ye willnae like the consequences.”

Donnchadh deflated, with defeat.