Page 88 of Desiring the Highland Laird
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.
Chapter Thirty-One
Dougal handed Callumhis claymore with reluctance. A frown of disapproval creased the man’s face.
“Ye cannae mean to—”
“I cannae allow him to go unpunished,” Callum interrupted, his voice hard and unforgiving.
Duty and honor dictated that he do the right thing and punish Malcolm for his heinous act, but it was difficult for Callum. Even as he stood there with the sword in his hand waiting for his men to bring his brother from his bedchamber.
Jamie arrived first, his face creased with concern as he glanced from the weapon in Callum’s hand up to his face.
“What do you intend to do, brother? Run him through?” Jamie demanded.
“What would ye have me do, Jamie? Allow him to go unpunished? When ye ken as well as I do this was an act of war.”
“Devil take ye, ye cannae kill yer own blood!”
“Stand down, little brother,” Malcolm said as he entered the great hall with two of their men. “I dinnae need ye to fight for me.”
The anger flashed across the younger man’s face as he stepped aside. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Malcolm paused in front of Callum.
