Page 53 of Desiring the Highland Laird
“The MacLeods and the MacDonalds.” She said it matter-of-factly.
The blood whooshed out of her head, making her see black pinpricks dotting her vision. Her knees gave out. She faltered but leaned against one of the large wooden barrels as she pressed a hand to her head.
“The MacDonalds,” she repeated.
An image of Bruce MacDonald chasing her up the stairs exploded in her mind. Were they Bruce’s ancestors come to fight Callum and his brother and father? And if so, why?
“Are ye all right, lass? Let me fetch you something to drink.” She started for the door.
But Evie stopped her, fear skipping through her. If they were hiding in the larder, it was for a good reason.
“No, I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting to hear the name MacDonald.” She rubbed her forehead, getting her emotions in check, and lifted her head to look at the woman standing across from her. Candlelight flickered over the other woman’s face. “Why are they feuding?”
“Well, ’tis a long story, that,” she said. She found her own barrel to lean against. She expelled a sigh. “Ye’ve no met the younger lad, Jamie MacLeod, have ye?”
She shook her head.
“The boy is a rogue at best.” She harumphed as if she were disappointed in the younger MacLeod.
He must have done something to earn the older woman’s ire, but Evie couldn’t imagine what. She waited while Roslyn collected her thoughts. She heaved another sigh.
“It started over a year ago when wee Jamie was offered the hand of Margaret MacDonald in an attempt to make peace between the two clans,” she said. “They were to be handfasted. Do ye ken what that is?”
When Evie shook her head, she continued.
“They were to live together for a year and a day. And if she produced a child from the arrangement, then they would be married forever. But no child was born within the year and a day and Jamie cast her out. He returned her to her kin. Well, that dinnae bode well for the MacLeod boy. It did nothing but fuel the fight between the two clans. It was an insult, ye ken.”
“I see,” she said, slowly, as dawning came. This must be the scandal Roslyn mentioned her first day here.
“When Margaret was returned, the MacDonald took no kindly to it. It was why wee Jamie was sent away to visit his uncle and travel with him.”
“So, you think they’ve come to continue the fight?” Evie asked.
“I ken they do,” she said. “And we are to stay here out of sight until it’s all over.”
“Here,” Evie said. “In the larder.”
“Aye.”
They lapsed into silence. There was no sense in asking any more questions. Even though she wanted to ask what happened if all the MacLeod men were killed, she didn’t think she would like that answer so she kept her mouth shut and clasped her hands together in her lap. Worry for Callum, his brother and father, gnawed at her. If they didn’t win this fight, then what would happen to her? Terrible things came to mind and she wasn’t interested in any of them happening to her.
But she also had a difficult time believing that the fight continued over a woman.
Things were different in the fourteenth century. She had to remember that. This was not modern America. This was practically the dark ages.
How much time passed as they waited in near darkness for Dougal to return?
There was a swift knock at the door followed by its opening. Roslyn got to her feet and reached for Evie, taking her hands in hers once again and squeezing. Every muscle in the woman’s body was tense. She clung to the woman, too, as fear gripped her. Moments later, Dougal pushed the door wide.
His face was streaked with mud and blood. His hair was a tangled mess. His clothes were soiled with more blood and dirt. Roslyn gasped. Evie gaped.
“There ye are, wife. Bring clean cloth and boil some water. The laird is hurt.”
“Hamish?” Evie asked, his name slipping out in a whisper.
Roslyn didn’t respond as she sprang into action. Dougal disappeared back up the stairs in a hurry. They followed.
“Is he going to be all right?” It was a silly question. Roslyn would have no idea if he was or not.
