Chapter Three

Kirstie leaned against the back of the door as she fought to control her pounding heart. Her hand touched her cheek where his had so tenderly caressed it.

Damn him.

He’d touched her arm, too. It still tingled where his bare skin had warmed hers.

Damn me for being such a fool. He never wanted me and never will.

Then why did his touch still affect her so?

Alan had called her kitten. No one had ever called her kitten. He had never called her anything but Kirstie or brat. She preferred brat; at least that wasn’t confusing.

Had she imagined the interest in his eyes?

She was going daft. All the time and distance between them had dulled her desire to be near him, but if he touched her again, she was afraid her silly, childish infatuation would return.

Why had she insisted on coming to Edinburgh? She hated crowded places, and this had to be one of the worst. And she should have known her brothers wouldn’t have left home without Alan. Now, despite her desire to be anywhere else, she had to be here.

But she knew well why she had insisted on accompanying Blair’s family. Her friend Isobel, a member of the Royalist Resistance, had warned her that the Royalist lairds in attendance at the upcoming meeting in Edinburgh were at risk and that the Resistance was working to quell a plot to murder them all. She’d expected Isobel to make an appearance this week, but so far, there was no sign of her.

Tamping down her besotted childish dreams to be with her brother’s closest friend, she shook her head. The soul-crushing fact was he saw her as nothing more than a little sister. It was the furthest thing from what she had felt, and if she wasn’t careful, those feelings she thought long ago gone might awaken. She was the worst kind of fool.

Alan was a complication she didn’t need or want. It would take all her strength to avoid him and the way her heart fluttered at the sight of his gray eyes. She had more pressing matters than a foolish infatuation. It was imperative she discover who was in on the plot to eliminate the lairds.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the door. The sound of Alan’s boots echoing down the hall had faded, and the air returned to her lungs.

The night had netted no evidence. Her attempt to get into Argyll’s room had been thwarted, and her dance with Niall Campbell had given no clues as to who wanted to murder her brother. She had put on the charm, too. He didn’t let anything slip, but he had become quite comfortable with her, even putting his hand dangerously high on her ribs, his fingers inching toward the underside of her breast. Twice, she’d had to physically pull his hand back to her waist. And he was unapologetic about it, the treacherous rogue, giving her a sly smile as if it were a game and he thought she was happily playing along. He would be dangerous.

Sweet, unsuspecting Hamish had a viper’s nest of friends. She’d be happy when this business was over and she could return to her peaceful life in the Highlands with her horses. Maybe if Alan remained here a while, she could go to Kentillie to see Maggie and the babe. And Mother. She desperately missed her mother and her own room and the comforts of home, but she’d built a comfortable life at the Macnab’s, and now they depended on her.

Pulling at the unfamiliar gown, she undressed as quickly as her fingers could fumble with the confining ribbons. The coolness of the night air was a balm that reminded her of home, and although the room was small, she felt as if she could finally take in a full breath. After removing her shift, she put on the thinner of the two night rails she had brought. As she sat on the bed, visions of Kentillie floated in her mind, just as they had a thousand times before.

Damn, I miss home. She thought of the river, the rolling hills, the snow-topped mountains, and the green and purple meadows as she waited on Blair to get to the room. Living the last couple years on the Macnab’s land had been bearable because she had a purpose and felt needed, but it wasn’t Kentillie.

A quiet but firm knock jolted her from her memories. She jumped up and padded toward the door, the chilled stones refreshing on her bare feet. The latch creaked as she lifted it. The door swung in, and in an attempt to get out of its way, she tripped, falling back flat on her ass.

A hulking silhouette stalked into the room, and Blair’s small shadow followed.

“Kirstie?” The smooth burr she’d recognize anywhere washed over her.

“Down here.”

“What?”

“Ye nearly pushed the door into me.”

“Are ye hurt?” Alan sounded concerned.

“’Tis only my pride that will be bruised.”

He reached forward with both arms, but she stared at them, not sure if she should take his hands. Feeling vulnerable on the floor, she took them and he hefted her to her feet.

“Ye should ask who’s at the door before ye open it.” His protective gaze met hers without letting her go.

“I was expecting Blair.” She yanked her hands free and took a step back. “And look, there she is.” Kirstie pointed at her friend. Blair remained silent but looked as if she was stifling a laugh.

“I told ye ’twas no’ safe here. Never unlatch that door without first being certain of who is on the other side.” Even though it sounded like a plea, he was acting like a brother again, and it brought back the rejection and anger he’d inspired in her youth.

“I will be sure to do that in the future, because I will ken ’tis ye, and I willnae give ye entry.” She balled her fists at her side.

He went still and audibly inhaled, staring at her as if he’d never seen her. Her grip slackened.

“What are ye looking at?”

Movement caught her eye. It was Blair, coming to stand beside him. She lifted her hands up to her shoulders and swept them down her body like she wanted Kirstie to see what she was wearing, then she pointed back to Kirstie.

Och, her back was to the candle, and she had put on the thinnest piece of clothing she owned. It was a garment that over time had worn down to become almost transparent. It dawned on her that she was near naked in front of him.

“Och, Alan, close yer eyes.” Rushing to the side of the bed, she grabbed a plaid, wrapping it around her before glancing back up to see him shift his gaze to the floor.

“’Tis time for ye to go.” Her face burned with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“Aye, I’ve had a nice view. Tempts me to walk Blair back tomorrow.” His gray, teasing gaze returned to hers, and flames erupted in her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked away.

“Ye shall no’ see it again,” she snapped back.

He shook his head as if trying to dislodge the memory. “Good. Ye shouldnae have any men up here.”

Why was she so calm and clear headed when other men flirted with her? She could match innuendos with them all, but something about Alan threw her completely off balance. Most likely it was because she was well aware he didn’t want her.

And that’s why it stung so badly.

“I think ’tis best if ye leave. Thank ye for the escort,” Blair said.

“Aye. ’Tis time I’m on my way.”

Kirstie turned toward the window, determined to not let those old feelings surface; they were both different people now. She couldn’t face him. If her gaze met his, he would see the tears stinging the back of her eyes. She had sworn to herself that he would never see her cry again, but she was dangerously close to letting that happen, so she said nothing.

“Bolt the door behind me.”

“Aye,” replied Blair.

His boots clacked on the floor as he moved to the door. They stopped.

“Kirstie.” The room was quiet until she looked his way. “Please be cautious and dinnae open this door again without knowing who is on the other side.”

He sounded every bit like the overprotective “brother” he claimed to be, and that shouldn’t still hurt, but it did.

Seconds ticked by, his gaze locked on hers, as he waited for a reply. She finally managed, “Aye, I will be certain ’tis bolted.” The words were soft, her throat aching at what felt like a concession, but he was correct to be worried about the people roaming these halls.

“Good night, ladies.” Alan’s regard broke from her and traveled to Blair. He smiled then pivoted and strode toward the exit. Stopping with his hand on the knob, his back to them, he paused as if he’d say something else but shook his head then pulled on the handle. A whoosh of air sent a hint of sandlewood floating her way as his broad back and shoulder-length dark blond hair disappeared.

Rushing over, she dropped the latch in place and fought to collect her calm.

“’Twould seem ye were wrong about him.” Blair’s words brought Kirstie back from her silent contemplation of the back of the door.

“What is it, then?”

“He does have strong feelings for ye.”

“I’ve told ye what he thinks of me. There is no reason to believe he has changed his mind.”

“He may have told ye that, but ’twas a lie. He looked at ye as if he were starving and ye were one of yer cousin’s famous tarts laid out on a platter before him.”

“Nae, he’s just playing some game with me. ’Tis best if I avoid him while we are here.” After moving to the bed, she eased down, not wanting to acknowledge that her knees had been trembling with his nearness. No, it was her anger; that was why her hands still shook.

“Ye should tell him and yer brother what Isobel told ye. They will help. ’Tis too dangerous for ye to be spying on those men.”

“Nae. If I tell them, they will tell Lachlan, and he will come to Edinburgh. His absence may be the only thing that keeps him and Malcolm safe.”

“Ye must tell someone.” Blair slid onto the bed just to her side, picked up her hair to separate it into three sections, then started to braid. The ritual was comforting, and although her confusion over the appearance of Alan and her reaction to seeing him was abating, worry for her family was taking root again.

“I will consider telling yer brother if things get dangerous. He will help,” Kirstie conceded with a noncommittal shrug.

“I dinnae ken that he would be able to do anything about it.” Blair peeked over Kirstie’s shoulder and raised a brow, reminding her that Blair wasn’t sure which side John would come down on, but she was certain that despite their father’s changing allegiance, he remained steadfast in his belief the Covenant shouldn’t be forced on those unwilling to change their religion.

“I dinnae want to tell anyone until I have proof.” She yawned.

“If I didnae like Edinburgh so much, I would beg ye to leave. ’Tis madness to get mixed up in this.” Blair finished the braid, tied it off with a band, and turned. Kirstie shifted and took Blair’s long golden tresses in her hands.

“What shall I wear tomorrow?”

“Doesnae matter what ye wear. Ye are the bonniest lass in all of Edinburgh.” Finishing her work, she yawned. “Now, I wish to go to bed. I need sleep.”

Blair climbed in next to her. And it wasn’t long until her world turned black, dreams of being caught spying on the Earl of Argyll and heart-wrenching screams and shouts tearing through the air.

…

“Wake up.” Blair’s voice pierced through the fog as hands shook her shoulder.

Stretching, Kirstie pulled back and was surprised to see daylight streaming through the window. “What time is it? I cannae believe ye are up before me.”

“Ye missed everything. Did ye no’ hear the commotion last night?” Blair sat cross-legged on the bed, holding her pillow to her chest, rocking and hugging it. Her friend looked like a small, frightened child clinging to a doll.

“Nae, ye ken how heavy I sleep.” Yawning, she rubbed at a little itch on her temple.

“There was a man murdered. Just at the base of our stairs.” Blair’s voice shook.

Bolting up to a sitting position, she felt her mouth fall open as she looked to Blair for more information. “Who?”

“’Twas one of the Marquess of Montrose’s cousins. He was stabbed.”

Och, nae, no’ the Royalist leader’s kin.

Blair seemed to gulp before biting her lip and continuing, “Several times.”

“Are ye certain? That would mean someone may already be attacking Royalists.”

“Aye, I saw him.” Her friend’s gaze misted.

“What were ye doing out there?”

“When I heard the shouts last night, I dressed and went to see what was going on.” Closing hazy blue eyes, Blair shook her head as if trying to dislodge the image. “There was so much blood. I froze, but yer brother’s friend Finlay calmed me down and brought me back. He told me to lock the door. I couldnae sleep after.”

She hadn’t seen Finlay yet; he must have come to Edinburgh with her brother.

Kirstie said, “We have to get down there to see what’s being said. Do ye think it has something to do with the plot?”

“I dinnae ken, but the dead man was a favorite of the Royalist leader. Do ye think the Earl of Argyll could have had him killed?”

It was likely, with the tensions between those loyal to the king or to the Covenanters, but she could only guess. Shaking her head, she said, “I dinnae ken.”

Only moments later, they were dressed and making their way down the stairs with Blair pointing out where the body had been and what the scene had looked like. Judging from the layout of the steps and the alcove just behind them, it appeared as if someone had been waiting for him or someone else to come along. She shuddered, and they moved toward the great hall.

Dreading the crush of faces and sweaty, smelly bodies as she and Blair made their way into the large room for breakfast, relief flooded her to see the crowds had dissipated, apparently choosing to sleep late or were aware of the murder and sticking to their rooms for safety. Tables sat at the places where dancing couples had brushed against her the evening before. As they strolled toward a sideboard filled with meats, eggs, summer fruit, and fresh baked rolls, she let go of the apprehension over meeting the same crowds again.

Now, it was fear that Isobel had been correct about the true purpose of this gathering that held her in its grip. Before they had a chance to enter the short line, she and Blair found themselves surrounded by Malcolm, Finlay, and another old friend from Kentillie. Dougal nearly knocked her over when he slung his arms around her in greeting, then Finlay embraced her fondly, but his eyes peeked through his lashes, seeming more interested in her friend. Another wave of relief claimed her as she realized Alan wasn’t with them.

Finlay released his grip, and her gaze lit on her brother. “Ye didnae tell me Finlay and Dougal were here.” She tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, because it seemed focused on an entryway. She followed his stare but only caught sight of two men’s backs as they disappeared.

“I barely saw ye last night. And ’twas so loud in here I coulnae tell ye anything.” He pushed back at her gently.

Finlay’s head was tilted down as he covertly watched her oblivious friend. Always so serious and secretive, she’d never seen him take interest in anyone. Blair was always unaware of the effect she had on men, and a stab of pity for Finlay pinched her as she thought of Blair’s interest in another man. She would have to warn him that the blonde beauty’s affections were already claimed.

“What happened last night?” She pierced Finlay with the question.

Finlay’s gaze met Malcolm’s, and the two exchanged a pensive look before her brother turned to her. “Nothing. Seems the man had been drinking and angered someone.”

She wanted to ask if it could have something to do with the threat Isobel had told her of, but if she revealed what she knew, Malcolm might send her away. Especially if he found out she’d been doing some investigating on her own.

“Do they have the person who did it?”

“Nae, so dinnae go about on yer own. Ye two should have either Finlay or Dougal with ye at all times.”

Well, that was going to make her plan more difficult. It was already hard to find the evidence she was looking for; now she would have to find a way to dodge guards placed on her. Glancing toward Dougal and Finlay, she wondered how hard it was going to be to disappear; at least the crowds would work to her advantage in the evenings.

Changing the subject, Kirstie turned her attention to Malcolm. “I want to go for a ride today, see more of Edinburgh. We’ll be trapped here in the castle again tonight. Will ye come with me?”

“Aye. We shall all go.”

As they made their way to the table and sat, she found herself thankful for Malcolm’s appearance, a chance to get out of the stifling castle, and the absence of the man who somehow still made her heart race faster.

…

Alan’s head pounded as he sat next to Hamish Menzies and listened to Robert Baillie’s oration on the virtues of Presbyterianism as rays of sun burst through the window and heated the church to a sickening level; maybe it wasn’t that hot, but he felt stifled all the same. Baillie was the newly made Professor of Divinity and had come to Edinburgh for the special meeting that had been called here with many clan leaders in an attempt to come to some peaceable conclusion regarding the dissent among the Catholics and Presbyterians.

Overall, he respected the Presbyterian religion. His problem was with the overzealous and power-hungry leaders, the ones who would stop at nothing to prove their way was the only one.

Wanting to jump in a loch and bathe, he’d felt cheap and sick after the evening spent with them, needing to cleanse himself of the venom spewed around the table as the men boasted of their superiority. Just to play the part, he’d choked out some of the foul words himself.

The evening had been a success. Not only was he still alive, but he’d been able to get through the night without having to drink one ounce of that putrid brew. An involuntary shudder ran through him.

When the sermon was over and they got up to walk out of Greyfriars Kirk, the conversation turned to a subject he didn’t want to discuss.

“How long have you known Kirstie?” Hamish asked.

“Since she was a wee thing.”

“I attempted to talk her into coming to the service today. I have made it my mission to see to it that she finds the proper place in heaven.”

Alan nodded.

“Do you think she will listen to reason and convert when it is time?”

“Aye, she is a sensible lass.” But, he was thinking, ’tis no way on God’s bountiful earth ye will ever get that stubborn lass to change her beliefs.

“I would be so pleased to be able to save her. She has such a sweet soul.” Hamish’s eyes projected the sincerity and conviction born of not truly knowing Kirstie. The Covenanter actually believed she would forsake her religion in favor of his.

Were they talking about the same lass?

A vision of her sparring with him last night popped into his head. It was followed by the image of her curves and the near transparent shift she’d worn, the one that had let him see how truly shapely she had become.

His lips parted and words spilled out. “If only we could save them all.” A good response for someone pretending to be a zealot; he’d pat himself on the back if he could.

“How was it you were able to keep your religious beliefs all these years while you lived with the Camerons?”

“I did a lot a praying.”

He had, but only that he wouldn’t turn out to be like his father, and thanked God every day that the Father had put the Camerons in his life. He would never be able to repay all the kindness they had shown him through the years. These Covenanters were fools to think he would betray the Camerons just because his given name was Mackenzie.

They were almost back to the castle when a familiar figure with dark ringlets and flowing skirts riding through the city caught his eye. Hamish missed the glimpse of Kirstie as the man prattled on about the importance of Jenny Geddes’s actions in St. Giles Cathedral when she’d thrown a stool at the priest in objection to the use of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.

“Thank ye for allowing me to join ye for the service,” Alan said, cutting him short.

Hamish beamed at him, and he continued before the man could start up again. “I need to check on my horse and see it is cared for.”

“Yes, of course, you must care for all of God’s creatures.” Hamish ran his tongue back and forth over his teeth.

“’Twill see ye tonight at the pub?” Alan tilted his head in the direction of the tavern.

“Nae, I shall not be there this evening, but you can meet Niall there. I will tell him to save you a place at the table.” Niall, the Campbell who couldn’t keep his hands off of Kirstie. It would be a chore to drink with that Covenanter and not be tempted to drive a fist into the man’s face.

“And why can ye no’ join us?” He made it sound as if he’d really miss Hamish’s company, although the man had bored him almost to tears.

“I plan to spend the evening wooing Ms. Cameron.”

His chest felt heavy, as if a cow had just trampled him. He missed a step, but Hamish didn’t notice.

“Ye will have to watch out for her brothers. They are a protective lot.” Maybe he could find a way to scare the Covenanter from her without giving away his true feelings.

Alan was walking a thin line. He had to prove he wasn’t loyal to the Camerons and the Royalists, but at the same time, he had to look out for Kirstie.

Besides, this man was too English for her, too boring, too stiff. Hamish wouldn’t go for rides with her, or walks in the hills, or lay her down and make love to her in the heather in the shadow of Ben Nevis. The man would preach to her and make her miserable.

Hamish peered at him and did that thing with his teeth and tongue again.

Watching to see how I’ll react.

The man’s tongue stilled. His features remained eerily unreadable except for a small, almost unperceivable smirk that slowly curved up one side of his lip.

Hamish said, “Let me worry about that.”

Alan fought to hide the chill that ran through his body as he caught a hint of something that almost felt evil beneath the calmly spoken words. This man was either the naive zealot he appeared to be or the devil incarnate. Either way, he would have to keep Kirstie far away from Hamish Menzies.

Managing a smile, he slanted his head as if to say do what ye wish. Hamish’s grin widened. Relaxing in the knowledge that he’d just garnered a point in the game of treachery, he rounded and walked toward the stables while he wrestled with the unease that swelled in his gut.

Cursing to himself as he strode away, he grappled with the fact the zealot was fully intent on wooing Lachlan’s sister. How would he keep an eye on her and rendezvous with the Covenanters tonight?

Malcolm, Finlay, and Dougal were the only people he could trust with her, but his laird’s brother and friends might be in danger as well, and under the guise of their estrangement, he couldn’t risk being seen with them.

After hearing of the murder early this morning of the trusted cousin of the Marquess of Montrose, leader of the Royalist cause, Alan had decided that even though the threat was supposed to come after the meeting, someone was getting a head start on attacking those loyal to King Charles. If these men were daring enough to attack the leader’s kin in a crowded castle, there was no telling how low they would stoop.

He might just have to shove Kirstie and Malcolm in a wagon and ship them back to Kentillie. That was the only place they were safe.

The smell of dried grass and grain floated in the air as he entered through the main stable door. Malcolm and Blair stood guard at the entrance, waiting on Kirstie to join them, but he skirted around, making no eye contact with his adopted brother.

Where is she?

Hurrying to find her, he looked into each stall crowded with the horses of all the visiting clan chiefs. Dozens more belonged to curious Scots who had come to Edinburgh to see what would come from the meeting.

He saw her just ahead. Stilling, he slid into the shadows. She brushed the horse he’d seen her riding moments earlier. As she stroked, she whispered in its ear as if telling the beast her most intimate secrets. The steed nickered and nudged in to listen. He tilted his head but couldn’t make out the words.

She’d always had a way with horses. It was like they understood each other on some fundamental level no one else could see. They had a secret language.

There had always been something soothing about watching her with the horses. Maybe it was the calm, nurturing way she cared for the animals or the quiet, lilting tone she saved for them alone.

She’d always had bonny eyes, but now he saw that with one heated gaze, she could send a man down to his knees begging for her touch. But it was more than that. She was more confident and knew how to wield her feminine charms. She had become dangerous.

Hell, what was he thinking? She’d always been dangerous.

He shouldn’t have followed her here. Something hidden down deep drew him closer to her, pulling him toward the peaceful ritual he’d lost when she left.

“The animals at Kentillie have missed ye,” he said as he rested his arm on the beam at the entrance to the stall. Leaning against it, he took her in and hoped to give off an air of nonchalance.

“I am sure Wallace has taken good care of them.” She stopped brushing and looked up at him. He liked that she was tall and didn’t have to crane her neck to meet his eyes.

“Aye, but he’s no’ ye.”

“I’m fair certain that he has treated them well.”

“Why did ye go?” He stepped into the stall and shut the door, cutting off her escape.

She angled her chin up and stiffened, but her tone remained calm. It was as if they were discussing someone else, not her, not him. “Ye ken why I left.”

“But ye didnae have to be gone so long.” He reached out and fingered a ringlet of her hair. She didn’t retreat, but she didn’t encourage him to move closer.

“Aye. I did. I was not going to follow Brodie down that path.”

How could she compare herself to Brodie? The man had nearly gone mad when Skye had left him. Kirstie had just been a girl. There was no way she could have had those types of feelings for Alan. He’d done the right thing by telling her there would never be anything between them.

She backed and reached to hang the brush on a hook. It seemed a natural movement, but it was her attempt at putting distance between them. Once, he’d been the one to push her away, so why did it bother him now that she retreated from his touch?

“Skye is back, and they are happy,” he said.

“Aye, that may be true. But ye of all people ken that ’twould no’ be the same outcome for me. ’Tis better that I found my own way.”

No one had ever told him she had left because of him. As far as he knew, her departure had been planned for weeks. He just woke up one day and she was gone to Blair’s for a visit with a story that the Macnabs were in need of her assistance with their stables. He had never imagined that trip would last for years and she wouldn’t even come home to visit.

Time went by and life had gone on, but had it for her? Even if it hadn’t, circumstances would never change. Even if he had had feelings for her, she was Lachlan’s sister. The one man on earth he would never betray.

Kirstie shrugged past him in the small space, her skirts swishing across his legs; he had to fight the urge to coil his arm around her waist and draw her to him. The proximity felt intimate, or maybe it was the conversation.

She opened the door, went through, and waited for him to follow. He did, and she continued down the corridor to the main door with him trailing behind like she had followed him as a youth.

“Yer family has missed ye.”

They came out into the fresh air, and he had to squint from the brightness of the midday sun. Thankfully, Malcolm had already retreated with Blair.

“I see them.” Her hands were fisted in her skirts.

He wished for the days when she wasn’t afraid to talk to him, the days when her thoughts and emotions were laid bare on her face for him to see. Now, he realized how he’d enjoyed her fixation on him. He missed her affections. Why? Maybe because he felt undeserving.

“But do ye miss Kentillie?”

He read the longing in her eyes. It seemed the more they talked, the more their old familiar ways were returning. It was comfortable and easy. He felt the urge to take one of her hands in his. When they had been children, they had held hands frequently, but as they grew, he’d pulled back. Being several years older than her, he’d come to the conclusion sooner than she that a relationship between them was impossible.

“Aye, I do. With all my heart.” She released her skirts and clasped her hands together behind her back as they continued to edge their way toward the castle.

“Then ye should come back.” His thumbs slid in circles over his forefingers.

“Nae, ’tis better this way. I am needed where I am now.” A resigned sadness appeared in the depths of her eyes.

She’d moved on. Strangely, it felt as if the air had been knocked out of him.

“’Tis time I marry soon. I am sure my husband would take me away from Kentillie anyway.”

His steps faltered, but she was focused on something ahead and didn’t notice. Recovering, he caved to the temptation and reached for her hand, urging her to a stop. Her long, delicate fingers were warm as they lay motionless in his grasp. Freezing at his touch, she shifted her gaze slowly back to him. Her cheeks reddened to the hue of a mountain bearberry bush as their leaves burst into a crimson shade with the coming of cooler weather.

“Ye should come home and find a Cameron.”

“Nae, I have plenty of options. I just have to choose.” She pulled her hand free and clasped it to the other in front of her skirts.

“Who are they?” He heard the edge in his voice and despised the traitorous tone that reverberated in his chest. Lachlan needed to keep a closer eye on her.

“Why should I tell ye?” Her tone taunted him.

“Because I want to ken ye will be well cared for.”

“I willnae let ye choose my husband for me.” She laughed.

“Then ye should let Lachlan.”

She indulged him with a smile but turned and kept walking.

“’Tis Blair and John.” She picked up her stride.

“Are ye considering John, then?”

“For what?”

“Yer husband?” He growled.

“Oh, aye.” She shrugged. She was almost at a run now, but he kept pace.

“Ye dinnae sound enthusiastic. Do ye love him?”

She stopped, turning back to face him, her brow crinkled. She had to think about it, then.

“He will do.”

What did that mean? She deserved someone she would be happy with. But some part of him was happy she didn’t love John Macnab. He would be just as bad for her as Hamish. No one knew for sure where the Macnab loyalties lay.

Her tone took on a tinge of annoyance. “Stop this talk of husbands. ’Tis the last thing I want to think of on such a beautiful day.”

Did she just roll her eyes at me? She pivoted and started walking again.

He couldn’t let it go. “Hamish. Are ye considering that peacock?” his voice rumbled.

“I thought he was yer friend. I saw ye with him today.”

Wanting to deny the claim, he clamped his teeth shut to prevent the truth from spilling out, because he had to pretend to like that stuffy, poor excuse of a Highlander.

Reaching the Macnabs, he opened his mouth to ask for her answer, but Blair grabbed Kirstie’s arm, guiding her toward the hall as she broke into excited chatter. “What took ye so long? I’m famished.”

Without another word to him, Kirstie followed, leaving him to trail in their wake with John in tow.

John’s gaze lit on him as speculation and accusation swirled in the distrustful depths of his eyes. “Ye have been seen with Hamish Menzies at Greyfriars. Ye should watch what company ye keep.” His brows rose disapprovingly, and the lines around his lips tightened.

“Ye should keep Blair and Kirstie away from him,” Alan countered, hoping the man held some sway with the lasses.

“I will look out for my sister, but shouldnae Kirstie’s welfare be the job of a Cameron?” Dark eyes peered at him. “Mackenzie?”

As Lachlan and Malcolm trusted John to keep an eye on Kirstie, which meant he was likely a Royalist despite his father’s political vacillation, Alan took his use of the Mackenzie name as a direct challenge. Everyone knew the Mackenzies were Covenanters.

“My family was exiled by the Mackenzies. The Camerons raised me.” It was evasive but would give the man an idea of where his loyalties lay without having to admit them.

John clasped him on the shoulder. “I’m happy to hear that.”

A group of unattended little boys ran into the hall tossing a potato around. One threw too hard and missed his target. Landing on a table, the vegetable knocked over a cup of ale, causing it to splash onto a man seated on the bench.

Despite the man’s large girth, he had an elongated neck, big beady eyes, and rounded ears that reminded Alan of a weasel. The ale-soaked man stood and wobbled around the table, starting toward the lad who had thrown it. Rushing, Alan got to the child just before the other man’s palm connected with the boy’s cheek, catching and holding his wrist midair.

“What the hell?” Face reddening, the weasel jerked free from his grasp and backed, taking in the size of the threat that stood between the man’s rage and the small child.

“’Twas an accident. There is no need to harm the lad,” he managed to say with calm even though every muscle in his body twitched and urged him to escort the man outside and take him to task for raising a hand to a defenseless child.

“’Twill teach him to no’ do it again.” Spittle flew from his mouth.

“Touch him and I will take ye outside and show ye what it looks like when someone bigger than ye picks a fight with someone weaker.”

The man’s gaze roamed over his solid frame to assess the situation, then eyes darting down in defeat, the weasel let out a frustrated growl. Backing off slightly, but returning cold fury to his gaze, the man huffed, “Ye do him no’ favors by protecting him.”

“Aye, I believe I do,” Alan said.

The man pinned him with a defiant stare then turned on his heels and stalked away.

Alan watched to make sure the man wasn’t a threat before looking to the boy and pointing, indicating a spot where he wished to talk to the lad. He stopped to retrieve the potato along the way. The other boys joined them, appreciation showing in their faces as he knelt down to their level.

“’Tis probably a good idea to save this”—he nodded toward the potato he held in his hand—“for outside play.”

The youngest of the three stared at him wide eyed, while the middle child nodded and the oldest studiously avoided his gaze. “There are a lot of men and women in here who have forgotten what ’tis like to be a child.” Alan tossed the makeshift toy from hand to hand.

“Will ye be giving us that back?” The oldest, who stood with feet braced shoulder width apart, crossed his arms.

“Aye, but ye must ken since yer are the biggest, ’tis yer responsibility to look out for these two.”

The child pouted but nodded.

“Can I rely on ye to keep them safe and out of trouble? Ye look verra capable.” The boy straightened his shoulders but also seemed less tense, obviously realizing Alan was not a threat to the younger boys.

“Aye,” the leader said.

He tossed the potato back to the oldest and winked. The boy finally gave him a smile.

“Now, make sure ye avoid that man. He willnae be happy I didnae let him strike yer friend.”

“’Twill no’ let him hurt Artair. He’s me brother.”

“Good. Take care of them both. Now run along and stay out of trouble.”

The trio brushed by him and headed straight for the open door.

When he turned his attention back to the room, the first thing he noticed was that John Macnab was no longer by his side; the second was that Kirstie’s gaze was fixed on him. She looked away, but a small part of him rejoiced until he noticed she had gone straight to the table where the Campbell she’d been dancing with the night before sat. The one whose arms had been all over her as they’d danced.

Hell, she cannae be considering him.

Kirstie gave the rogue a smile and dipped low enough to entice him with a peek at the round globes of the top of her breasts. The corner of the man’s mouth went up, and even from this distance, he could see the arse’s eyes spark with interest. He was a dangerous man. What was she doing?

Sitting just on the other side of him was The Earl of Argyll. Did she know the vipers she was getting mixed up with?

As soon as the midday meal was over, despite the plan to keep his distance, he would find a way to get a message to Malcolm. Someone had to tighten the reins on the man’s sister.

If Malcolm didn’t put an end to it, he would.