Let foe come on foe, as wave comes on wave,
We'll give them a welcome, we'll give them a grave
Beneath the red heather and thistle so green.
“The Thistle of Scotland,” Jacobite Reliques
“Why don’t you tell me what really happened at that inn, my dear.” The chieftain had ushered them into what she assumed was his study, located in a corner tower staircase one floor above the main hall. She was gawking at the swords and pikes mounted on the dark-paneled walls, when his question and suspicious tone caused her heart to hitch for a beat.
She whirled around. “What do you mean?”
He eyed her warily as he strolled by her to his desk. He was shorter than her, but his shoulders were massive. “You’re holding back. I wish for the truth, please. I’m sure I need not impress upon you that the clan’s welfare rests on my shoulders.” He darted an odd glance at Iain.
How the heck did she have anything to do with the welfare of his clan?
“What we told you is true.” She’d purposely added the we to bring Iain into the narrative and give him partial responsibility. Probably not fair, but what did it matter at this point? “We handfasted and spent the night together. When I woke up, I couldn’t find Iain or my sister.”
The chieftain’s penetrating gaze snapped to Iain’s. “And where were you?”
Iain coughed. “I was visiting the privy and got caught up talking to Ross and the other men in our party on the way.”
The chieftain turned to her. “Why were you there with this supposed sister?”
What the hell? “She’s not a supposed anything. She is my sister.”
“And what were two obviously highborn ladies, sporting the name o’ Campbell, doing at a lowly drover’s inn wearing clothes that belied your status?”
Her heart beat a bit faster at that, as the only explanation she had was one she couldn’t reveal. “We’re, uh, new to the area and thought we were dressing appropriately.”
He crossed his arms. Damn. He wasn’t taller than her, but right now it felt as if he somehow stared down at her. “So you admit to dressing in an attempt to blend in with the locals?”
“Er. Yes?” Why did she feel as if that were the wrong answer?
“Where are you from?”
Since she doubted they’d believe she’d taken the perilous journey from America, alone with her sister, she’d opted for Cornwall. It was as distant as she could be from here and still be on this island, and she doubted they had ventured there.
“Truro, Cornwall.”
“Then why did your sister explain your presence by saying you were looking for a cattle-herding brother?”
Alarm constricted her chest—she vaguely remembered Fiona giving that excuse. Dammit. “Er… That was just…”
“An excuse?” He folded his hands. “You can see why I’m having trouble with your tale—you have missing siblings everywhere.” He tapped his thumb over his other. “Now you’re not even from the region. I’ll play along. What brings you to Scotland?”
“Vacation.” She’d better stick as close to the truth as she could before she tripped herself up even more.
His thumb stopped tapping. “Vacation? I am unfamiliar with this English word.”
“We were visiting here for fun.” How would they phrase it? “During our leisure time.”
His eyes narrowed. “Interesting. And was this at the behest of kin? A family member perhaps. Like the Earl of Argyll?”
It was clear he was trying to catch her at something, but she had no clue what. She did remember from her family’s obsession about all things Clan Campbell that the Earl—later Duke—of Argyll was the head of the main branch of the clan.
“No…I don’t even know the Earl.”
“You’re not related to him then, are you?”
“Distantly, maybe.” And boy, was that distant.
His eyes narrowed again, and she glanced at Iain for support. Why, she didn’t know. Though his brows pinched together, he didn’t stick up for her. And why would he anyway? He had no clue about her or what had happened. His loyalty was to his clan and his chieftain.
All they’d done was flirt and have sex. And get handfasted.
But Iain pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning, his face transforming into an uncharacteristic scowl. She’d known him for only a day, and already she knew that wasn’t a normal look for him. “Why don’t we stop speaking in riddles? It’s giving me a headache. Aye, it looks suspicious that two Campbell lasses appear in our lands out of nowhere, but I just can’t see them as spies.” He waved his hand at her.
She reared back and stared at them both. Spies? That’s what the chieftain suspected?
The chieftain watched her closely, seeming to note her surprise. “Hmm,” was all he said though. He faced Iain. “That’s why I’m chieftain, and you’re not, boy.”
Iain flinched but held his ground. “All the same. What could she be spying about?”
A new light of respect glinted in the chieftain’s eyes, and he flattened his hands on the table. “What you say is true. It would be a fruitless endeavor even if they were spies.” He smiled wide at her. “For we have nothing to hide.” He spread his hands. “You must understand—as chieftain, I must be extra cautious.”
She nodded, as he seemed to expect some kind of response. But, really, what the hell was going on? A strange vibe permeated the dark interior.
She drew her back straighter. “Now that we have that out of the way”—she hoped—“Iain said you’d help me search for my sister? I don’t know the area and could use whatever help you can spare.”
The chieftain darted a quick glance at Iain. “Of course, my dear. You’re family now, and by extension, so is your sister. We shall organize a party at once and send them out at first light. Provide us with a description of her.”
She shook her head. “I’d like to go with them.”
“I dinnae think that’s wise.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
The chieftain seemed taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “Our clan does not underestimate the abilities of our women. You will learn that soon enough. Nay. ’Tis only that the men will move faster and less conspicuously without you as a member of the party. There will be places they may be forced to go that would not suit you.”
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t mind. This is my sister.”
Iain stepped close and placed a hand on her shoulder. Heat radiated from the point of contact, and Traci hardened her resolve, itching to shrug off his too-comforting hand. “But I mind, my wife. Trust me. Trust our chieftain. If your sister is out there and in trouble, our clan will find her and bring her to you.”
Not going after her sister herself went against every instinct she had, but as she stared into Iain’s eyes, which were momentarily serious, she sensed his sincerity. She glanced at the chieftain, who nodded.
She stepped away from Iain, letting his hand drop, and wandered over to the lone window in the dark-paneled room, its surface made of the diamond-paned sections of glass she always associated with Shakespeare’s time. She peered through the wavy surface to the loch beyond, bent and warped from the imperfections of the glass. She shifted slightly to the side, and the blue waters of the loch rippled with the movement. The impression of Iain’s hand on her shoulder—its weight and heat—remained, competing for space in her thoughts.
What to do? She trailed a finger along the mottled surface of the window pane, its cool, textured surface helping to center her. What would Katy do? For sure, she’d think everything through, five gazillion times.
Traci doubted she’d last that long but, dammit, she did need to think it through more than she normally would. Traci’s quick assessments and decisions were what made her good at her job, and—ha—good at her role-playing games, but as she well knew, this was no RPG. She had no do-overs. She couldn’t muck things up like yesterday, reacting too quickly and assuming she could zap back to earlier and fix everything.
Her sister depended on her, but was she the most qualified to find her? Traci had no skills and certainly was no horsewoman—she would slow them down. They’d also have to accommodate her with simple things, such as going to the bathroom.
She blew out a breath. They’d move faster on their own. Feminine pride wanted to be stubborn and insist on going with them, but her throat choked at what was at stake: Fiona. And her sister didn’t need her to be all Female Power. She just needed her to make the decision that would find her by the quickest and safest route.
Guilt and worry threaded through her, but she pivoted and swallowed her pride. “Fine. I agree.” She took a deep breath. “And thank you for your help. I’m extremely grateful.”
The chieftain bowed. “I’m glad you agree.” Was that bow made and his words said with a note of irony? Who cared if it was? They were going to find Fiona and bring her back. And then she could skedaddle back to the modern era with her baby sister.
She stepped toward the desk. “Give me a moment to write a letter, so she knows it’s safe to go with them.”
Behind her, the door burst open, and Traci jumped. A towering Highlander pushed aside the guard who’d opened the door. Grime smeared his face, and his chest was still heaving from exertion.
The newcomer spared her no notice and strode into the room. He spoke urgent words in Gaelic and tossed an object onto the chieftain’s desk, landing with a heavy thud.
Traci stepped closer, while Iain cursed.
On the table lay a burnt piece of wood covered in blood.
Iain stared at the Crann Tara—the summoning stick, or fiery cross as the Sasannaich called it—its message clear to any Highlander: join us, or else.
His uncle held up a hand, stopping the messenger from saying anything further. He speared Iain with a harsh glare and barked in Gaelic, “Get her out of here. This is not for her ears.”
“What’s going on?” Traci’s worried voice cut through the room’s tension as everyone’s focus landed on her.
He grinned widely. “Nothing, my wife. Clan business only. We’re done here.” He held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”
Her brow furrowed, but she stepped across the room and took his arm.
As they crossed the threshold into the hallway, the import of the messenger’s delivery was like a physical pressure on his back. He had no need to hear the messenger’s report to know what purpose the cross fulfilled: Dundee demanded the clans to rally support for the rightful king. Talk and speculation were over. It was time for action.