Secrets Of A Highland Warrior. Nicole Locke
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his gaze was on her again. ‘The leeks look delicious,’ he said, stabbing one with his knife, ‘but are insufficient if I wanted to defend myself.’
What was happening here? ‘Why do you need to defend yourself?’
His mouth quirked as if she told something amusing. ‘We are enemies, are we not?’
Frustrated at her useless question and his fruitless answer, Ailsa searched the Hall for the truth.
She sat where she always sat with her father since Hamish no longer could sit at the same table, yet she didn’t feel as if she was in the same chair, the same Hall or in the same place she’d always been.
This wasn’t a battle and yet it felt as though it was. Deadly silence and watchful stares. Food was served, but no trenchers were shared. Every man had his own goblet. Where the extra spoons, food or goblets came from she didn’t know. She also didn’t know how her father arranged such elaborate plans without her knowing.
On a typical day, by now there would be banter, and arrangements made for tomorrow. Instead, a few of the McCrieffs farthest away from the Lochmores murmured heatedly, and one Lochmore closest to their table kept up a conversation no one engaged in.
This wasn’t a typical meal and, no matter how much she observed everyone here, she knew there was more division in the room than that between Lochmore and McCrieff. Only she couldn’t identify the ‘others’ her father had spoken of.
Only Rory and her father exchanged words and she’d never heard her father be so diplomatic or evasive before. They were enemies, but something else was amiss. She needed him to convey to her why.
‘Is Hamish here?’ Rory addressed her father.
‘Upstairs,’ Frederick said. ‘It will be necessary for you to see him after we break the fast.’
‘Necessary for what?’ Ailsa demanded.
Frederick was turned away from her and Ailsa couldn’t see her father’s face, but she saw Rory’s. Keen intelligence burned in his eyes and he must have seen her father’s hesitation. She saw it in the slight tenseness of Frederick’s shoulders before Rory answered.
‘Necessary to discuss the King’s granting McCrieff land to Lochmores.’
‘Land!’ Ailsa cried.
Rory glanced to Frederick before he pinned her with a dark gaze. ‘Why else did you think I was invited to eat leeks with you?’
Ailsa pushed away from the table. The sharp scrape echoed in the Hall and earned her glances.
‘Ailsa, please.’ Her father turned to her, his eyes darting to others in case their conversation was overheard.
This. This was what had been plaguing the clan. Not her father’s position or Hamish’s illness. An English King decreed McCrieff land to Lochmores and they were here to collect.
Aware of Rory’s eyes on her, she laid her hand on her father’s arm. ‘All of it?’
‘Some,’ her father whispered low. ‘Along the water.’
Reeling, Ailsa gripped her father’s arm. Her father had been acting strange for weeks. Nothing untoward for everything was kept to a routine that was sustained by the Chief before him. Hamish was still too cognisant to do otherwise. Months of her father attending council meetings, inspecting land, conversing with tenants. So much to do and more so since John Balliol was crowned King of Scots last November.
Many Highlanders believed he was nothing more than a vassal of the English King Edward. But some supported him more openly than others. The Lochmore clan was one of those...
It became clear to her. The Lochmore clan supported the English King and in doing so had been granted part of their lands.
Land that McCrieffs firmly maintained was theirs and which had been fought over time and time again. It was politically crucial land since it contained water and naturally separated the clans. For her, it was important because it fed McCrieffs and provided foliage she needed for remedies. She wanted to stand and wave her arms. To shout for them all to leave the land alone. To lose such an advantage was detrimental to her and the clan. Hamish, in his day, would never have agreed to such a granting.
Hamish would have called men to arms, he would have called for battle. He would never have let Lochmores on his land, let alone in the courtyard. But her father, whose loyalty she had never questioned before, practically invited them here and prepared a feast for them.
She couldn’t cause a scene, but she would say what she needed to. ‘You can’t.’
‘Ailsa,’ Frederick said.
‘Why can’t he?’ Rory said. ‘If he is Tanist, with the agreement he has authority to do so. Even if he didn’t, it is already done by King’s decree and by mine.’
‘That land is not yours,’ Ailsa said.
Rory’s eyes went to Fredericks. ‘She didn’t know. What is happening here, Tanist?’
She’d like to know as well. Since Balliol’s claim, many secrets were being kept. Her father held private meetings, but so did Hamish. Her father acted as though he didn’t notice these meetings and, though she asked, she wasn’t privy to her father’s secrets. But everything about their behaviours filled her with unease. She couldn’t be the only one who observed their leaders’ movements. The ‘others’ would have seen as well.
‘You have to have some ideas,’ Frederick said. At Rory’s shrug, he added, ‘You can’t be a Lochmore and not want more,’ Frederick continued, his voice low so that if people tried to listen, they would not hear. ‘Especially, since it’s about to be handed to you.’
The King hadn’t decreed that all McCrieff land should be handed to the Lochmores, just the land against the border, so that couldn’t be what his father was hinting at. Even confused, Ailsa felt relief. Until...
Until Rory’s eyes locked with hers and she knew he understood a fraction of a moment before she did how Lochmores could gain more without a fight.
‘All you need to do is marry my daughter.’
‘No!’ Ailsa cried.
Lochmore made some sound she couldn’t determine. Her father wasn’t looking at her even though she had never raised her voice in her life. That didn’t bode well especially when he stood to address the hall. His words were formal as he declared there were important matters to be discussed. No one stood to question or protest. It appeared that everyone had assumed as much. Fuming, wondering how she couldn’t have known, Ailsa followed her father when he retired to the room in the back. She felt rather than saw Rory follow behind her.
It was a small room with several doors and she saw with some consternation there were also provisions on a table and several chairs. It was all previously laid out for comfort and for private discussions. Her father expected and planned well.
For her to marry a Lochmore.
She wanted to do more than raise her voice, she wanted to brandish her shears. Secrets. Her father had been acting odd for months. Why had she not suspected this? Or at least demanded answers to his behaviour. But how could she have guessed what questions to ask him?
She’d been telling herself he’d been worried about Hamish, about the clan’s discontent. She never could have guessed this. But she should have suspected something because her father was never worried or alarmed.
She was the one who worried. Especially when her father ordered her to hide when the enemy clan arrived instead of providing her an escort as she tended her clan. She was the one who grew alarmed the moment her father brought her and Rory into this tiny room and gave her that wistful paternal look. The one that