Page 35 of Desiring the Highland Laird (Highland Destiny #1)

A n erratic pounding on the chamber door startled them out of their happy love cocoon.

“Callum? Are ye in there, lad?”

It was Dougal calling through the door. Callum swore under his breath a vile oath he hoped Evie didn’t hear. She clutched him, trying to keep him from moving away from her.

“Ignore him. Maybe he’ll go away,” she whispered.

Another knock. “Callum, I ken yer there. Ye were no in yer own bedchamber.”

“God’s teeth.” He kissed her quickly. “I’ll see what he wants and shoo him away.”

Because he had a naked, bonnie lass in his bed—well, her bed—he intended to keep her there as long as possible.

He slid from the bed, leaving the warmth of her arms. As he strode to the door, he snatched up his plaid and wrapped it around his hips.

At the door, he cracked it open to shield her from Dougal’s eyesight.

“What do ye want?” he growled.

Dougal gave him a grin, humor and a knowing glint in his eyes. “Ah, sorry to interrupt, my lord. But there is news ye needed to hear. Best to come from me than yer brother.”

He stiffened, his hand tightening on the door. “What has Jamie done this time?”

“It was no Jamie.” Dougal shifted from one foot to the other as discomfort flickered through him. “’Twas Malcolm.”

Alarm sounded through Callum as he stood there staring in disbelief at his steward. “Malcolm?”

Dougal, looking ashen, continued. “Aye. The village under MacDonald’s care was set ablaze.”

Hot, wild anger shot through him.

“By God’s blood, how do ye ken this?” he demanded, unable to stifle the fury in his voice.

“He went during the night since he thought ye were gone with the lass to see the chieftain. We had word early this morning about what happened. When I questioned the stable hand, he admitted he saw Malcolm riding out under the cover of darkness.”

“And Jamie?” For Callum knew he looked up to his other brother and was often an accomplice to his misdeeds.

“As far as I can tell, the lad is innocent.”

“Hell’s bells.” He pressed his lips together in a thin line as the anger pounded his temples. “Where is Malcolm now?”

“Confined to his room,” he said.

“Bring him to the great hall. And Dougal…” He paused, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Bring my claymore.”

The steward’s face paled but he nodded. “Aye, my lord.”

Callum closed the door and turned to face Evie who sat up in the bed clutching the blankets to her chest, showing off her pale, slim shoulders. Fear sparkled in her eyes.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

“Malcolm took it upon himself to attack one of the MacDonald villages. He burned it.”

She swallowed hard. “Were there…people killed?”

“I dinnae ken, but I intend to find out.” He gathered his clothes and started to dress. “Dougal is bringing him to the great hall.”

“Why would Malcolm do such a thing?”

Callum paused in his frantic dressing to look at her. For the first time, he saw her for who she was—a woman who didn’t understand their ways.

“Retribution for killing Da,” he said.

Evie slid to the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Callum.”

“Aye, so am I. For now, as laird, I have to punish him.”

When he finished dressing, he turned to her. She still sat in the bed, holding the blankets to her chest.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“What I have to.” He leaned in for a kiss. “Stay here, lass. I’ll be back when I can.”

He didn’t want to leave her, nor did he want for her to stay behind, but he knew it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want her to see him punish his brother—nor did he want to do that—but if he didn’t, then it would send the wrong message that Callum condoned his actions, which he didn’t.

As the door closed, he heaved a sigh and headed for the great hall.

*

Evie watched him close the door behind him. She hated seeing the anger coupled with disappointment on his face. The moment he was gone, she slid out of the bed and did a frantic search for her undergarments. By the time she tugged her shift over her head, there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” she called.

Roslyn poked her head in, her brow creased with worry. Evie waved her inside.

“Help me dress,” Evie said. “I’m going to—”

“Nay, lass. The laird sent me to look after ye.”

Evie shook her head. “No, I need to be there. I need to—”

“There’s no arguing with me,” she said, her tone stern. For a moment, the woman reminded Evie of her own mother. “I cannae disobey him. Neither can ye.”

She wanted to object with some tart reply that he wasn’t the boss of her, but that didn’t seem like the adult thing to do. It sounded childish. Instead, she sagged against the mattress with her hands in her lap. A tight knot of fear was in the pit of her stomach.

“What’s he going to do? I heard him tell Dougal to bring his claymore.”

“Aye,” was all Roslyn said with no elaboration.

She busied herself at the hearth, rebuilding the fire to get it started once again.

Evie clutched her elbows as gooseflesh tickled over her arms and legs.

She had a horrible idea of what Callum intended to do with that claymore and perhaps it was right that she stayed in the bedchamber with Roslyn.

She didn’t want to see a man murdered in the great hall—a man that was the laird’s own brother.

She spied her stockings on the floor where Callum had left them—a heated flush pulsed to her cheeks—and snatched them up. There had to be some way to convince the woman to let her out of this bedchamber.

As she tugged on the first stocking, she paused there as the thought crossed her mind.

What did she think to do? She had no power here.

Callum was in charge as laird and Malcolm was his younger brother.

Still, though, the thought of him wielding the claymore against his brother made a cold shiver of fear run through her.

When Roslyn got the fire going, she pushed up from the floor, brushing the dirt from her hands.

“Was what Dougal said true?” Evie asked. When Roslyn gave her a questioning look, she added, “About what he did.”

Worry followed by sorrow crossed her aged face as she sank into the chair by the fire. She clasped her hands in front of her and held them still in her lap, as if she were determined not to fidget.

“Aye,” she said, her voice low.

“Did people die?” Evie asked.

Roslyn cut her a glance. There was pain in her eyes which gave Evie her answer. A sickening feeling crept through her as her hands shook. It was hard for her to believe that Malcolm would attack innocent people and burn down their village. All in the name of vengeance. It seemed barbaric.

“So…what do we do now?” Evie asked.

“Stay here until the laird comes for us.” Her voice was low and wobbled with a bit of emotion as she spoke.

Evie understood then there was nothing for her to do but wait. But she was never good at sitting around and waiting. She got to her feet and turned her attention to the tapestries along the wall. They hadn’t changed much in the last twenty-four hours but something did catch her eye.

The one next to Chloe began to show a new image.

The outline of Dundale Castle was clearly there.

In front of it, the outline of a mob heading right for the keep.

The leader held aloft a great axe. She sucked in a breath and looked back at the one with Moira on the hill and the army approaching.

The same great axe was wielded in that tapestry. The light glinted off the blade.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, pressing her cold, shaking fingers against her lips.

She glanced back at the hanging with the newly formed image of the castle and knew without a shadow of a doubt who was leading that army.

MacDonald.

“Roslyn, I need to see Callum immediately.” She spun to face the woman as she spoke.

Her head snapped up as if she was sleeping with her chin on her chest. “Och, lassie, I cannae take ye to him.”

In a fit of frustration, she jerked the tapestry from the wall. It fell in a heap to the floor. She knelt and quickly rolled it up, scooping it off the floor in a bundle. The material was heavier than it looked hanging on the wall.

“I need to show him this.”

Roslyn’s brows drew together in confusion as she peered at the material in Evie’s hands. “A tapestry? Why?”

Evie shook it at her. “Because of what’s on it!”

“There is naught on there but a weaving of flowers, lass.”

She stared at her as her mouth went dry. Then she glanced down at the material in her hands. “What?” The word came out on a breath.

“Aye, lass. ’Tis nothing but a decorative wall hanging.”

But the image was clearly there for her to see. “No…it’s…”

Realization dawned. Perhaps Roslyn could not see the images on the wall hangings. She was not of MacLeod or Sinclair blood. Evie needed to test her theory.

“What about those on the wall there?” she asked, nodding toward them.

“Och, lass, more of the same. Nothing more than wall hangings that have been here for years. They’re dusty. I should take them out and beat the dust—”

“No!”

When she gave her a look of confused surprise, Evie cleared her throat.

“I mean, that’s not necessary. They’re not that dusty.” She clutched the material tighter in her hands, her mind racing to form some way to get the woman out of her bedchamber so she could find Callum.

Her theory was right. Roslyn couldn’t see the morphing images on the wall hangings. But she could see them and so could Callum. It stood to reason Malcolm and Jamie would be able to as well, since they were MacLeod blood.

She tossed the tapestry aside as if it were nothing more than discarded material. She tried her best to act natural because she needed the woman gone.

“Do you think I could have something to eat? I’m famished.” Evie plastered on her best endearing smile in the hopes the woman would buy her act and take pity on her.

“There are oat cakes in the kitchen.” She pushed up from the chair. “I’ll fetch them.” Then turned back to her with a stern expression. “Ye stay here, lass.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, too brightly.

The woman slipped out the door and closed it behind her. The moment she was gone, she pulled on her overdress and her stockings and slipped on her shoes. Then she snatched the tapestry from the bed and headed for the door.

She pulled it open. The hallway was empty. She had to hurry if she was going to make it to the great hall before Roslyn returned. She dashed out of the bedchamber.