Page 17 of Darach

“Aye, my lord. ’Twould be naught for the MacRoss to grab the lassies if they strayed too near the boundary.” Dislike made the woman’s skin draw up around her beaky nose. “No matter what those bastarts claim, ’tis proof they killed Mistress Martin.”

It seemed his men were not the only ones who blamed the rival clan for everything that went wrong. “How do you reckon thus?”

“Gildie and Brida looked up to Mistress Martin,” the laundress said. “Ever they tag-tailed after her, so they ken all about her and Laird Callum. Mayhap Mistress Martin told them of her dallying with the MacRoss laird, too.”

“Did they ever speak of such to you?” Struan asked.

“No, but ever they whispered and schemed, the pair.” She hesitated before she said, “When Mistress Martin run off with his gold I reckon she paid them help her flee. ’Twould be how Gildie sudden had the coin to offer as dowry and pay for a wedding, and Brida her fine things.”

He knew gossip likely fueled the woman’s suspicions––hence his steward putting no weight to her claims––and yet it oddly fit with what the tanner had told him.

“’Tis something more you should ken, my lord,” the laundress said. “That trapper’s wench, Revna, she’s like a witless bairn. She doesnae ken to wear slippers and shifts, nor to cover her hair proper. If she keeps flitting about the men so brazen she’ll soon end on her back.” As if afraid she’d said too much, she quickly bobbed and hurried out.

As Struan mulled over everything his vassals had said, the steward returned and gave him a wary bow.

“You ken why I reckoned their claims unworthy of your time, my lord,” the man said. “How should such simple folk become entangled in secret schemes? ’Tis nonsense.”

“Aye.” Even as he agreed, Struan wondered if the disappearances were something else altogether: murders to silence unwitting accomplices in Athdara and Callum’s deaths. “Summon my patrol captains.”

* * *

Charlotte found Darach waiting outside in the passage when she emerged. As she walked up to him it occurred to her that they were exactly the same height, something she hadn’t realized last night. If she wanted to kiss him, she’d simply have to take a few steps and lean into him. She’d never thought that way about any man.

Why is it every time I look at him I want him?

“I’m sorry that I kept you waiting,” she said, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. Why was she behaving like an anxious teenager?

“’Twas worth the wait. You’re just as fetching dry as you were drenched,” he said, and then grimaced. “Forgive me. The laird’s wife says we shouldnae admire a female’s appearance, for ’tis benevolent sexism, or some such.”

“I won’t tell her,” Charlotte assured him.

From his chamber he led her through a labyrinth of halls and into an enormous room where dozens of men sat on benches at long tables. So much food had been crammed onto the tables she wondered if even a clan could consume it all. The hearths in this place appeared to be three times the size of the one in Darach’s room, and burned with so much heat it came through her coat as she passed one of them. On the wall above one hung a case made from what appeared to be iridescent glass, inside which were hooks like those on which the chieftain had hung the Fire sword in his room.

As soon as the clansmen saw her they stopped eating and talking to stare, which made her only too conscious of her height again. When Darach looked around and scowled at them they went back to their meals while stealing glances at her and murmuring to each other. The maids she saw were all petite to average height. It seemed as if she’d be towering over other women wherever she went in the fourteenth century.

“Pay them no heed,” Darach murmured to her. “’Tisnae often they see a woman willing stand so close to the ugliest man in the clan.”

That was why everyone was staring at her?

“Then they’d better get used to it.” Charlotte tucked her arm through his. “You’re my protector, remember?”

The chieftain grinned at her. “Aye, my lady.”

“Fair morning, Mistress Walsh.” Luthias rose from the table on a raised platform as they approached, and escorted the tiny woman with him over to Charlotte. “May I introduce my wife, Lady Emery?”

“It’s just Emery,” the petite brunette said, her pale green eyes lighting up with mischief as she added, “Welcome to the time-traveler’s club. You and I are the only members. No highlanders allowed.”

Charlotte clasped the little hand she offered, smiling politely in return. “It’s nice to meet you. You’re American?”

Emery nodded. “I’m from New Hampshire. We share about fifty-eight miles of the border with Canada, so that practically makes us next-door neighbors. Come and sit here by me, and I’ll tell you my Fire sword story. Or I could explain the stuff these guys eat for breakfast. They’re both pretty weird.”

Aware that she remained the center of attention, Charlotte gingerly took the seat beside the laird’s wife, who launched into a detailed explanation of the food on the table. At first Emery’s vivacious friendliness startled her, but it had been a while since she had been around any Americans. The laird’s wife had a gamine quality that reminded her of the fairies she often illustrated. Yet when she looked into her pretty eyes she got the sense that there was a lot more to Emery than what she let people see.

Not a fairy, Charlotte thought as Emery breezily described her own rather harrowing trip through time. You’re a fighter.

Darach, who had sat down on her right, filled a mug with a steaming, herbal-scented drink for her. Opting for some bread and fruit, she then listened as Emery described what it had been like for her when she’d arrived at Dun Lasair.

“Aside from the cool weapons they used, I thought Scottish men during the Middles Ages would have rotting teeth, body lice and boils from the lousy diet and zero personal hygiene,” Emery said, chuckling as Darach, Luthias and the other men at the table gave her appalled looks. “Fortunately the MacRoss are more like medieval male supermodels, quite clean, and very nice. Well, they’re a little overprotective, their tempers have short fuses, and they like to settle arguments with fist fights. But otherwise, they’re great.”