Page 435 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Good,” he said, when the room quieted. “Bran, perhaps it is best to question your cousin concerning this.” Iain faced Glen. “What have you to say?”

Glen snorted. “Jesu, man, what should I say?” He looked from Iain to Bran, his expression incredulous.

“Surely you do not believe the witch?” “I see no reason for her to lie,” Iain said.

“There was something.” The unexpected sound of Jillian’s soft voice silenced the room.

Iain faced her. “Something?”

Jillian nodded. “Jonathan tried to tell me something when I found him. At the time I thought it nothing, the mutterings of a man who knew—” She sat straighter, her face drawn. “It sounded as though he were trying to say something about our marriage.

But I remember…” She paused for a long silence.

Liam’s “Lass,” came too late to stop Victoria as she stepped forward, but Iain caught her arm and pulled her back while shaking his head.

“It sounded strange,” Jillian went on.

“‘Remember marry,’” he said. She swiped at a tear on her cheek. “I thought he was telling me to remember that we were to wed.” A tremulous smile shook the corners of her mouth. “Only, he didna’ say the word quite right. I thought he could not say it, what with…he slurred the first part of the word and drew the last of it out. Not quite marry, but—”

“What babble is this?” Glen nearly shouted. “First this one,” he pointed to Aurari, “tries to cast a spell on us, and now your own sister. For Christ’s sake, Bran.” His voice had taken on an ugly tone. “How

long must we—”

“Silence!” Bran shot Glen a dangerous look, then to Iain, “If he speaks so much as another word, you have my leave to stop him any way you please.” Bran exchanged a glance with Iain before seeming satisfied his meaning was understood. “Out with it, Jillian.”

It was obvious the girl was unperturbed by her brother’s outburst when she forged on without hesitation. “It came out more like murae. Remember muurae.”

“Think carefully,” Bran said, his voice reflecting caution, “could it have been—Murray? As in a name,

love. Remember Murray?”

Jillian frowned. “Aye,” she answered slowly. “That is the word. It sounded just so.”

“Sweet mother of God,” Bran whispered. “’Tis not possible.”

“What is it?” Iain demanded.

Bran waved his hand in a small arc as if to brush away a feather that had floated into his line of sight. “Murray Stewart, we met him in battle not four months ago—or I should say, we were waylaid by him.”

“They lay in ambush for you?”

“Aye,” Bran replied. “We learned the Stewarts were planning an attack on one of our villages to the north. We went there to wait for them, but they never came. I was down south at the time. Odd, but, on the trip home our men were attacked by a company half again in number. Many good men were lost.” Bran paused. “The survivors returned home to find that while waiting in the north, Troquin House had been raided.”

“I remember,” Iain said. “They tried to raze the castle.”

Bran nodded. “Damaged near a quarter of it. We thought it very bad luck so many of our men had been away. Bad luck,” he repeated. “Nothing more.” His gaze moved to Glen.

The astonished look on Glen’s face was replaced by a shrewd light that told Iain betrayal had, indeed, been deep in the heart of Bran’s own bosom.

“Why?” Bran asked. “Your own clan.”

Glen shook his head. “Do you believe I could betray you, my own kin?”

“I would not have thought so,” Bran replied.

“Then why now?”

“Because, Cousin,” Bran’s resigned expression fixed on Glen, “I see it in your eyes.”