Page 31 of Treachery in the Highlands
"It's a carver chair," Rachel supplies from behind her father, leaning around his massive arm to see me.Her lips twitch with amusement."Reserved for honored guests."
"Oh."I clear my throat."I feel...very honored."And oddly turned on, but I hope Kieran doesn't notice that.
The laird snorts."Come.We have decided your fate."
"Great," I mutter under my breath as I follow the MacTaggart clan back into the solar."Nothing ominous about that at all."
The women file in behind me, and I can't help but notice how Rachel's great-aunts watch me with those eerily knowing eyes.Lachina, the one with silver-streaked hair, aims her inquisitive gaze at me like I'm a fascinating insect pinned to a board.Not hostile, just...intensely curious.It makes my skin crawl more than Kieran's outright suspicion.
"Sit," Kieran commands, gesturing to the same medieval torture device---carver chair, whatever---that I'd just escaped.
I eye the spiky monstrosity with disdain."I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you."
"It is not all the same to me," Kieran growls, his eyes narrowing."Sit.Now."
I clench my jaw but lower myself back onto the damn chair.The wooden edges dig into my thighs as I perch on it like a bird on a thorn bush.Rachel catches my eye and gives me an encouraging nod, which doesn't help with the discomfort but does strange things to my chest.
"We have discussed your situation," Kieran announces, standing before me with his arms crossed over his chest.The animal pelt draped across his shoulders makes him look even more massive.I bet he threw that over his shoulder just to intimidate me."And while I still harbor deep suspicions about your arrival, we have agreed that you are not to be...disposed of.Yet."
"Thanks.I feel all warm and fuzzy inside now.Maybe we should hug it out."
"Do not embrace me unless you wish to die a gruesome death."
Yeah, I don't think Kieran's going to be my buddy anytime soon.I expect frequent cold glares, the occasional threats of death and or dismemberment, and multiple dunks into the moat.
Oh, yeah, my life totally sucks.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel
I enjoy a good night's rest with dreams that leave me wishing I were sharing a bed with Joey instead of my Great-Aunt Morna.We do not have enough beds for all of us.When I wake in the morning, I hope to slink away before Morna awakens, but I have no such luck.She is already awake and insists upon leading me downstairs.She remains by my side as we enter the great hall.
Shortly after our discussion in the solar last night, the laird of Dùndubhan had pronounced that Joey would be confined in the tower bedroom until further notice.He also decreed that only he or Mother will enter the tower bedroom to deliver food and beverages to Joey.Aye, Father is extremely overprotective.The door to that room remains locked all night.I know this because I might have sneaked up to the door in the dead of night to try the knob.
It wouldn't budge.
Fortunately, the situation has changed this morn.The laird of Dùndubhan has commanded everyone to gather in the great hall for a grand breakfast feast.Naturally, my father sits at the head of the table.Yet I am pleasantly surprised to find Joey seated across from me.I would prefer to have by my side, but I understand that my father still doesn't trust Joey.He will change his mind, I believe that.
I assumed the meal would be delicious but simple, as usual.
But I was wrong.The long table holds various dishes, more than I've seen at breakfast since the last time the laird of Clan Grant arrived one morn for a surprise visit.As we pass the bowls around, taking whatever we like, Joey seems rather confused.
"What fashes ye?"I ask him."Ye haven't put anything on your plate."
"Not sure what these things are."
I point to an item on my plate."Surely you recognize barley bread."
"Okay, yeah.That I do know."He reaches for a slice, his movements cautious as if he fears my father might reach across the table to stab him with a dirk.
"And this?"I indicate the dark pudding at the center of my plate.
"Looks like...chocolate cake?"His hopeful tone makes me laugh softly.
"No, 'tis black pudding, ye daft man.Made of oats and blood."
The color drains from his face."Blood?As in, actual blood?"
