Chapter Thirteen

Furniture was pushed to the edges of the common room. Alan fidgeted in the cramped quarters of the house where the Covenanters had chosen to stage their attack. It wasn’t a small house, but it was hot and stuffy and almost filled to overflowing with men ready to shed blood for a religious idea. They were no better than the king they railed against.

“What are we waiting on?” a man whose face Alan couldn’t see yelled out. “They have been in there long enough.”

“Patience.” Niall held his hand up, palm out and answered. “We’re waiting on”—he was interrupted by a knock at the back door—“that.” He strode over to the door and asked, “Who’s there?”

A muted reply penetrated through the thick wooden door. “’Tis Neville.”

Niall lifted the latch and eased the door in. “Give us the news.”

“He sent me to tell ye he’s got the lass, and ye can attack as soon as they get started.”

Alan’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to Niall, who he had mistakenly thought was in charge of this operation. A prickle of unease assailed him as a drop of sweat trailed down the small of his back. “What’s he talking about?”

“Hamish. ’Tis the other part of the plan. We didnae tell ye last night because we thought ye still might have some kind of brotherly feelings toward her.”

Ice spread through his veins while he fought to remain impassive. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and chills raced down his spine.

Niall looked back to the boy. “Did she agree to marry him?”

“Nae. He wasnae pleased.” Neville, a boy of about fifteen years, shook his head with a despondent air. “’Tis no’ a good idea to displease him.”

Alan looked back to Niall, who watched him, gauging his reaction as if this was some sort of test. “Tell me about this other plan.” He was surprised at how coolly the words rolled from his lips, because he felt anything but calm.

“He’s going to wed the Cameron lass and take over the clan.” Niall shrugged as if to say, I tried to talk sense into him, but he wouldnae hear it.

“But what will he do when she doesnae agree? She willnae convert.” Alan could feel his voice rise as the words escaped from his constricted throat.

“Aye, she will.” Niall gave a resigned grimace. “Neville, show him what Hamish does when ye question him?”

The boy’s eyes drifted down, and his face turned a darker shade of red than his hair. He slowly lifted his shirt, and Alan’s heart stopped beating. The lad’s pale torso was covered with bruises and burn marks at varying shades of healing.

“’Tis a shame, too. I liked the lass myself.”

“Where are they?” Alan was able to manage only after he gulped. He remembered the light bruise on Kirstie’s side this morning and how the ones on this boy were magnified tenfold.

“He had it planned all along. Hamish and Argyll, they were both going to leave last night, but Hamish couldn’t get to the Cameron lass. She had a guard.”

Alan’s eyes shifted between Niall and Neville. “Yer certain he has her?” Neville nodded, and Alan’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach.

“He’s on his way to marry the lass then up to the Cameron lands. He cannae be here and risk looking as if he had a part in the death of the Cameron laird.” Niall continued as if uninterested. “Hamish thinks to comfort the people at their loss. Bring them to God his way and take the clan.”

Hamish had seemed so normal, boring even. All along, he’d been the one behind the plot. He and Argyll had both fled to deflect any blame if the events of the day didn’t turn out as they hoped. Hell, this must have been what he’d almost overheard that night in the kitchen.

Kirstie was in grave danger. She was stubborn and wouldn’t give in to his demands, even if it was in her own interests.

The Camerons would be able to handle this group of men. He needed to get to Kirstie before something bad happened. He clenched his fists. If Hamish hurt her, he was a dead man.

“’Tis time,” Niall said. Alan stood there looking toward the back door, wishing to escape. “Let’s go,” came a little more forceful, and Alan moved toward the front since several men had now gathered behind them and blocked his easy exit through the rear of the building.

The men who had been crowded in the house spilled from the door into the street and ran for The Red Grouse on the other side. It was eerily quiet, considering their number.

Up ahead, he could see the first men reach the inn and throw open the door. Several ran in. Alan had taken his time closing the distance. He was only halfway across the street when the procession of men stopped. He knew why. Shouts rang out from inside. “’Tis empty!”

The Red Grouse’s owner was a Royalist. That was why the Covenanters had chosen his establishment for the sure slaughter. But the Royalists knew of the plan, and the owner of the tavern had a hidden tunnel beneath the inn that led to his brother’s house next door.

All of the Royalist lairds had walked into that inn to make the Covenanters believe they were inside but had sneaked across to the house undetected and prepared to strike. The back door was barricaded and the windows had all been shuttered and locked so the only way in and out was through the front. It was what Argyll’s men had counted on, but the tables were turned. Now, a good number of the Covenanters were in the building surrounded by Royalist forces.

Before the men could figure out what had happened, the Royalists came from their hiding places and had the men surrounded. Lachlan came into view and gave a small almost imperceptible nod to Alan. Niall caught it and turned to him with ice in his eyes.

“Ye did this.” Drawing a sword, the man held it up between them.

“Aye, I did.” Alan unsheathed his own sword but left it at his side.

“Why?”

“I am no Mackenzie.” Alan shook his head. “They turned my family out. The Camerons raised me, and I believe everyone should be able to worship the way they want.”

Clangs of metal on metal and shouts of angry men filled the air as they circled each other. Lachlan fought a man several feet away, and Niall’s gaze shifted briefly to take in the scene. He started to laugh.

The unexpected mirth caught Alan by surprise, and chills ran down his back.

“Hamish willnae get his way after all. Once he learns the Camerons live, he will kill the wench.” Those words knocked the breath from Alan’s lungs.

Niall pulled back and swung at Alan. He had been so lost in worry that he almost didn’t dodge the blow in time. Pulling up his claymore, he waited for the next strike.

“Hamish said we could trust ye, but I was right. Ye do care for the lass.”

“Aye, and if she is harmed, hell will reign down on all of ye.” It would not just be him but all the Camerons who would avenge her.

He swung from the side, but Niall deflected the strike and metal clanged, eliciting an ear-piercing screech as the weapons scraped together.

“Ye ken when he tortures and kills her, it will be on ye. He’ll have no use for her if her brothers live.” Niall swung this time. Metal clanged again.

“I will find them, and if he’s touched her, he’ll die.”

“Ye dinnae even ken where they are,” Niall sneered. “How will ye save the bonny lass? Especially when he discovers she’s no good to him. She’ll be dead before ye get to her.”

Alan lunged and missed as Niall swerved to the side. Alan almost lost his footing. Get it together, he told himself. If he died, he wouldn’t be able to save her.

“Unless he keeps her locked away until his next attempt is successful.” Niall smirked at him. “’Tis probably what he will do. He prefers torture to murder.”

This time, Alan didn’t rush. He pulled the sword flush in front of him and swung down. Clang. He withdrew and struck again. Clang. Niall took a step back as Alan continued his assault. Clang.

“He willnae touch her.” Alan’s sword came down on Niall’s, and the man’s weapon went flying. The force of the jolt knocked Alan’s from his grasp, and it slipped to the ground.

They stood face-to-face, evenly matched, Niall close to his size and weight. The Campbell man pulled back and threw the first punch. Alan ducked to the side and missed the impact. He jabbed Niall in the ribs as he came up. The man grunted and winced but wasted no time in throwing the next fist. It landed on his cheek, and he had to shake it off.

Niall lunged at his chest with such force that they both tumbled backward with Niall landing on top. Struggling, Niall got in another punch.

Alan pulled back and then pushed with as much force as he could from his position. It was enough to knock Niall to the side, so he rolled away and jumped up. Niall recovered quickly and withdrew a knife from somewhere.

Niall swiped at him, but he was nimble enough to slide out of the way. Holding his fists in front of him, Niall stabbed at him and missed again. Kicking his foot out, he was able to connect with the man’s ankle. Niall roared an indistinguishable sound as he staggered back and struggled to keep his footing.

Behind the haze of pain, anger flashed in Niall’s eyes. “I think when I’m done with ye, I’ll take a turn at her.”

A damn of pent-up fury burst and spilled over as Niall’s intent hit him. Some primitive, protective instinct took over. He lunged and knocked the man flat on his back and followed the arse down. He felt a slight twinge in his side but didn’t have time to analyze it. After they hit the hard, horse-packed earth of the road, he grabbed Niall’s forearm with the knife and drove it over and over into the ground until he dropped the dirk.

“Ye willnae put yer filthy hands on her.” Alan’s fist connected with the man’s face. Niall squirmed beneath him, and the man’s other fist connected with his abdomen, but he ignored the pain.

Alan hit again, and Niall’s head turned to the side, but his arm came up to Alan’s midsection. This time he caught it and noticed Niall had retrieved his knife. They struggled with it, Niall trying to stab Alan, and Alan just trying to aim it away from his body.

Pulling the blade between them, Niall lunged forward with it as Alan fought to twist it down. He pushed as hard as he could away from his own body, and the knife sunk into Niall’s belly. It slid in easily, and the man’s struggles stopped.

Alan shivered at the blank eyes that seared up at him then he exhaled. He stood but continued to watch the man. The clanks and shouts around him broke in and reminded him that he had other enemies to worry about.

Taking in the carnage around him, he glanced to his left just in time to see Henry’s eyes widen as a man ran at him. Blair’s betrothed ducked behind Finlay, who faced the oncoming threat with a deft blow low to the man’s gut. Finlay peeked around to see Henry cowering behind him and shook his head with disgust.

Three other men took up positions to flank them. Henry pushed Finlay toward two of the men and ran. The bastard.

Alan’s fists tightened on his sword, and he started toward his friend to help, but Finlay caught his balance and deflected a blow before it crashed down on his skull.

Finlay twirled in a motion that almost looked like a dance, and his sword sliced through the attacker’s midsection. Holding out a shaking sword, the second man stepped forward. Finlay eyed the threat and smiled. His friend would have no problem with this one.

Henry, who had turned to run, was met by the third man. Blair’s betrothed tried to lift his sword but wasn’t in time as one blow from his opponent struck his neck, nearly severing his head. Henry’s body collapsed to the ground.

Malcolm appeared to challenge the one who had taken Henry down. Alan relaxed knowing Finlay had a reliable warrior next to him now. Alan glanced at the man at his own feet. Niall hadn’t moved. Icy waves of fear assailed him.

How was he going to find Kirstie? He’d just killed the only man who knew where she’d be.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alan spotted Neville cowering behind the corner of a house a little farther down the street. The boy would know where Kirstie was, but he was too far away. He’d have to sneak around and approach him from the back, because he couldn’t afford to lose his only connection to Hamish.

After tracking him down, giving him coin for some food, and ensuring the lad’s safety if he joined them on Cameron lands, the boy was willing to tell him where Hamish would be staying tonight. Alan gave him extra compensation to wait for Lachlan and Malcolm so that he could guide them to where Alan would be.

Taking off for Kirstie, he prayed he wasn’t too late.

…

Fighting sleep as it threatened to claim her, Kirstie pushed back the fog as she was rocked along to wherever it was she was being taken. Hamish had put a sack over her head, and men with voices she didn’t recognize carried her and put her in the back of some sort of cart in such a way that it was impossible to reach the knife she had hidden under her skirts.

She could hardly breathe, and her hands and arms tingled with a stinging numbness from being bound behind her back. Although she struggled with the bindings for what felt like hours, the only thing her efforts had produced were sensitive wrists where the material had cut into her skin.

The coolness in the air and the darkness in confines of the scratchy material signaled it was getting late. Earlier, she had been able to make a warm glow through the loosely woven fabric, but now it was more like a tunnel with the light barely reaching her eyes. Her stomach roiled and protested, similar to what she felt when she was in a crowd of people, but she had to fight that, too, because her mouth was still gagged.

Focusing on breathing in and out slowly, she repeated, My brothers and Alan will find me. They wouldn’t let anything happen to her as long as they were still alive. Her eyes stung with unshed tears at the thought, but her faith in them didn’t waver.

The wagon stopped.

“Bring her, but be careful. I do not want her damaged if not necessary.” Hamish’s voice.

That’s a good sign. Mayhap he willnae hit me again.

Arms closed in around her middle. She was hefted up and then folded in half over someone’s shoulder. The nausea returned full force as the man’s bones pushed into her stomach, and the sack tightened and clung to her head.

Her head was spinning by the time she was right sided then tossed on a lumpy platform. Her wrists were jostled and rubbed on the bindings. She stiffened.

Damn, that hurt.

“Pull it off her,” Hamish ordered, and rough hands forced her to her feet then yanked the sack up and over her body. A whoosh of air cooled her sweating skin, and she rushed to take a large gulp of fresh air in through her nose.

Hamish took a step toward her and reached out to move the stray curls from her face. She stood still, determined not to show him how his touch curdled her blood. He wore the placid face that had fooled her into believing he was a decent man.

“Turn around.” He motioned with his finger.

She obeyed, because what other option did she have? She’d had a lot of time to consider what to do whenever they got to where they were going. Top of her list was earn his confidence, so she didn’t budge when he said, “Stay still.”

His hands fumbled at her hair for a moment, and she felt a tightening at the material tied around her mouth. She was rewarded with a slackening in the pressure, but she didn’t dare move. Something tugged at her bindings. Her hands were free and immediately fell to her sides, limp and numb.

Hamish grabbed her forearm and moved to her front. Holding her wrist up to her face, he said, “Look what you have done.” His tongue ran back and forth over his teeth. She was coming to fear that habit of his.

His other hand removed the gag from her mouth and pulled out the cloth that had been stuffed inside. Her tongue felt thick and dry.

Her hands shook, and she cursed herself for not appearing as calm as she thought she might have been able to. He surely noticed as he inspected the burns from her efforts to escape. He frowned at the red, raw skin.

“Ye didnae have to tie me up.” She held her shoulders up and met his eyes.

“You did not appear to want to come without force. If you had just been the good girl you should have been…”

He let go of her arm and traced her cheek with the top of his hand. She pulled back but wished she had remained still, because his eyes took on a feral quality as he pursed his lips. “You will marry me, and one day you will beg for me to touch you.”

“I willnae marry ye.”

“You will.” A sick, satisfied smile slid across his lips. “Your brothers will be dead by now, and no one will come to stop the wedding.”

Her heart flipped over at the words as pain assailed her. He could be wrong. He had to be wrong. “Alan will come for me.”

Hamish laughed, and chills ran down her spine. “He knew we were to wed. He practically gave me his blessing, and he’s one of the men who was going to kill your brothers today. He even led us to them.”

Her eyes stung, and she shook her head. “Ye are wrong. He wouldnae do that.”

“True. He said you were a sister to him, but he didn’t voice any objections to our union.” His hand released her arm, and she pulled it into her chest as she held the other gripped in her skirts over the area where the knife was strapped to her thigh. She looked down and bit her lower lip. The only thing that stopped the tears from overflowing was the fear of what Hamish was going to do to her.

“You will convert before we wed tomorrow.”

Tamping down her fear, she took in a full breath as rage filled her. “Ye may take everything else from me, but ye willnae take my religion.”

Hamish’s fist connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over. “You will.” As she struggled to catch her breath, she wondered what had happened to her plan to try to appease him.

“We will see the minister in the morning. You will be baptized and take communion.” His eyes peered at her. “I don’t want to hit my wife, but if you are not obedient, you will be punished.”

Managing to stand up straight again, she held her tongue and glanced around. As she did, she noticed three other men in the room with them. They had lingered on the edges and said nothing when he had hit her, so they would be no help.

Her gaze skittered around to see what the best avenue for escape was, but the room had only two doors. The one that must lead outside was guarded by one of Hamish’s friends, and the other door was slightly ajar and opened into another room similar to the one they were in. The only window offered a view of high tree branches and a darkening, stormy sky.

“Don’t forget that when we get to Cameron lands, I will have access to your mother. If you do not listen, I may have to punish her for not training you to be obedient to your husband.”

Fear stabbed at her, and then an even worse thought took shape. Hamish must not know about Lachlan’s babe. Was he crazy enough to harm a child? She met his eyes and saw for the first time he was devoid of empathy. He was a religious zealot who cared for no one except himself.

The Camerons would never pledge loyalty to him when they learned what he’d done. He was delusional to the point that reason would not be possible. No matter what happened to her, she would have to keep him away from her people and the baby.

She nodded as if she agreed, because she now understood that nothing but complete control would pacify him. As she appeared to acquiesce, the wheels had started turning in her head. There would be a way out of here, even if it meant denying him in the church tomorrow. He could beat her to death before she let that monster near anyone else in her family or clan.

Three short loud knocks sounded from the door. Hamish started rubbing his tongue across his teeth. “Hold on,” he called toward the door but didn’t take his eyes off her.

He leaned down, and when he rose, he had the gag in his hand. She started to protest, but his hand was over her mouth before she could make a sound. He quickly reinserted the cloth and wrapped it around her head. She started to fight, but the other men in the room came in front of her, and one man’s gaze met hers with worry as he shook his head in warning. It was the first time one had acknowledged her.

Her tormentor held her arms up in front of her with hands together and wrists at her eye level. Hamish looked at the man who had warned her. “Tie her here.” He indicated just above her elbows. “I do not want any more marks on her. Take her in the other room and keep her quiet.”

The man ushered her through the door that had been left ajar. There was no use in fighting. There were too many of them. The door clicked behind them.

This room was like the one she’d just been in. Faint sounds came from the other room.

“’Twas glad to find ye.” Her heart pounded when she recognized Alan’s voice. Relief spread through her. He was alive.

“Where’s Niall?”

“He didnae survive Lachlan’s blade. It was a pleasure to bring the Cameron laird down.”

What did he say? Alan wouldnae… Her world imploded as everything around her blurred, her chest caving in and the air spilling from her lungs. Nae. Alan loved her family. Loved her. But he’d not said so and hadn’t met her gaze when he’d left her this morning. Had he truly had a part in this?

“Well, that is a pity. Were we successful?”

“Aye, we were able to take out each laird who came to the meeting. No one made it out alive.”

She broke then. Everything inside her collapsed. She had held out hope that Hamish was wrong, but now, her brothers were dead and Alan had turned into a traitor.

She didn’t hear anything after that. She didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to believe what she’d heard. Sinking into the nearest chair, tears spilled down her face while she planned how she was going to save her people and Lachlan’s babe.

…

“I didn’t have dinner. Let’s go down to the parlor and you can tell me everything.”

Hamish clasped a cold, clammy hand on Alan’s shoulder. He fought the urge to grab the man’s arm, twist it behind his back, and demand to see Kirstie.

When he had entered the room, the first thing he had noticed was she wasn’t there. The second was there were too many men in the room to attack.

“Aye, I’m famished.” It was the first truth he’d told Hamish since he’d walked into the room.

Hamish motioned to the door, and Alan started toward it, aware he was exposing his back, but if he didn’t, it would show he had something to hide and didn’t trust the bastard. So, he led them down the stairs, praying they believed his story. Only after they were seated and mugs of ale had been brought to the table did he dare speak again. “What will ye do now that the mission was a success?”

“Kirstie is here. She has agreed to marry me at a kirk in the morning.” The confident smile that turned up the corner of Hamish’s lips looked real. Gripping his plaid in one hand while he attempted to keep a calm facade, he barely held it together.

Was the boy wrong? If she thought her brothers and he dead, would she have agreed? A serving lass came in and started placing items on the table in front of him, but he didn’t pay her any heed. He reached for the mug and took a long gulp, not even noticing what it was until the retched taste of fermented grains filled his mouth and slid down his throat.

He must have been silent for too long, because something sparked in Hamish’s eyes, and he continued, “She was in quite the hurry to leave Edinburgh and start a new life.”

She loved and trusted him, and he’d not managed to keep her safe.

What had happened to Dougal? Now, she was held captive by a madman. His heart pounded a rhythm of fear and despair that was so loud his ears throbbed. He would even consider drinking whiskey if it were placed in front of him.

“Did she no’ want her mother to attend the service?”

He’d been so focused on the threat to Lachlan and Malcolm that the thought of losing her had never occurred to him. A pain in his chest threatened to suffocate him, so he picked up the ale to take another swallow to wash it away. After the vile liquid ran down his throat, he set the cup back on the table.

“No. She said she couldn’t wait until we got back to the Cameron lands.”

“Did Kirstie not want to come down for a meal after your journey?” Not wanting to seem overanxious, he leaned back in his seat and let his shoulders relax. He’d looked all about the room upstairs, and there was no indication she’d been there.

“She had a bit of a headache, so I had food sent to her room just before ye arrived.”

“How did ye convince her to wed at a kirk? Surely, she would have insisted on a priest.” He spooned a helping of vegetable stew into his mouth and pretended it was delicious, but in actuality, he didn’t even taste it.

“She has decided to convert and take communion before we wed. Will you join us at the ceremony?”

Alan’s spoon paused midair in its descent back to the bowl, a momentary clue he’d picked up, on what Hamish had unknowingly told him. Taking his cup, he raised it in salute, “Aye,” he said before pretending to take swig. Hamish was lying. Kirstie had not agreed to marry him, because she would never convert. “What will ye tell her of her brothers?”

“I will wait to tell her until we reach Kentillie. Why bring that sorrow to her on a happy day?”

Alan’s mind was racing. Where was she? Hamish must have the rest of his men guarding her.

Standing at the edge of the room was the sturdily built young innkeeper he’d met upon his arrival who watched possessively as the comely serving lass carried in a tray of meats and cheeses then returned with a pitcher to refill their ale. Carefully analyzing the place before entering and having seen no one else about, he came to the assumption that the lass must be the owner’s wife.

“Let us pray and thank the Lord for defeating our enemies today.” Hamish bowed his head. Alan lowered his but knew better than to take his eyes off the traitorous bastard across from him.

After finishing his prayer, Hamish’s eyes gave no hint that anything was amiss, but his tongue darted back and forth over his top teeth as he reached to fill his plate. “How did you know where to find me?”

“The boy, Neville, pointed me in the direction.” He didn’t add that he’d easily won the boy over and sent him to retrieve Lachlan and the rest of the Cameron men.

“He was only to tell Niall.”

“With his last breath, Niall told me to get to ye so ye would ken the outcome.”

Hamish took a gulp of his ale.

He didn’t touch his cup this time, instead leaning back to give the bastard the false impression that he was at ease with the slimy arse.

“Where did the rest of our men go?”

“They scattered.”

“Why?”

“I dinnae ken their reasons. They werenae loyal to me and didnae tell me.” He shrugged.

“Did ye no’ trust me?”

Hamish chewed slowly, and Alan took another bite while he waited for a reply. Fighting had always made him hungry, and he’d skipped the noon meal. “I had to be certain. You did live with the Camerons for years.”

The lump in his throat made it hard to reply, so he took a big gulp of the vile ale to wash down whatever was preventing his reply. “We had no choice. My father was exiled.”

“Which made it difficult to believe you would still feel any loyalties to the Mackenzies.”

Alan cursed inside. His tongue had become a little too loose.

Hamish was dangerous, more so than the other Covenanters had been. The man also still had several men with him, two of whom sat just a table away with intent gazes. It was obvious they had been trained to watch everything that went on around them, although they didn’t know how to hide what they were doing. He was uncertain how many were still above stairs guarding Kirstie.

“My uncle and grandfather hold me no ill will,” he lied smoothly.

“I am glad to hear that. It will be good to have allies to the north and the Campbells to the south.”

“Ye will go to Kentillie, then?”

“Yes, I will accompany my bride, and when news comes of her brother’s misfortunes, I will soothe the clan.”

Alan nodded and popped another piece of meat in his mouth. The innkeeper rushed around the table clearing plates, but he paid the man no heed.

“Will you join me? You would be a great asset since you know the people.”

“Aye, I shall return to Kentillie.”

Stretching, Hamish said, “You will have to forgive me. I must retire for the evening. I wish to be well rested for the wedding and the journey to the Cameron lands.” The conniving bastard spoke with the confidence of a man believing to already own those lands.

“Aye.”

“Meet me down here at dawn, and you can accompany us to the kirk.” Hamish stood. The minions rose and followed the Covenanter.

Alan stared at the doorway that led to the only staircase and listened intently as the stairs groaned beneath their steps, but they said nothing as they made their way up.

When he finally stood, the room swayed, and he had to throw his arms out to catch himself. The whole place was fuzzy and his emotions had dulled. He blinked. What was wrong with him?

The ale. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. Thoughts of Kirstie with that bastard had been spinning in his head for the last hour as he had sat and drank with the enemy.

He looked down at his calloused hands. He was going to kill the bastard right now. Hamish wouldn’t have a chance to put those soft, manicured hands on her curves. She was his. He stalked toward the stairs with murderous intent and stopped suddenly.

Was this what his father felt?

He wanted to beat Hamish until there was nothing left of him. Gulping, he walked back to the table and eased into the chair he’d vacated.

He had been able to stop the rage and sit to clearly think things out. He’d had no desire to take his anger out on Kirstie, only to get her to safety. It was a relief, because doubts had lingered even after their discussion. Now he knew for sure he could handle himself when he’d had too much to drink.

The innkeeper’s wife scurried in and started to clear the remainder of the table.

“Do ye have any fresh water?” he asked her.

“Aye.” She scooped up the dishes, and for the first time, he noticed the rounding of her belly. He’d been so focused on Hamish and the other men that he’d missed it.

“I need lots of water and a room. Do ye still have one?”

“Nae. Yer friend and his men have all three. We have a clean stall with fresh blankets in the stable if ye want.” She waddled through the door to the kitchens.

Upon first arriving, he’d gone up the stairs and found doors signed with the numbers one, two, and three, and one labeled private. He’d only known to rap on door number two because he’d heard Hamish’s voice coming from within.

The woman returned and set a cup on the table in front of him.

“Can ye tell me, lass, how many of my friends are here?”

“Five more came in with the man ye supped with.”

Och, so the odds weren’t good unless he could separate them. “And was there a woman?”

“Nae. No’ that I saw.”

“Did my friend have food sent up tonight?”

“Nae, they all came down at different times. Not a friendly lot except for ye.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Was Kirstie even here?