Highland Chieftain by Hannah Howell

Author:Hannah Howell [Howell, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-08-12T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The laird of Dunburn bowed his head and slowly shook it. They had laid out the whole nasty plan and who was involved. His eldest son and heir stood behind him, his hand gripping the man’s shoulder. He too looked stunned but even as Callum watched, the look turned to one of belief, then resignation, and finally anger. It was a blow to the heart they had delivered and nothing could be said to soften it but they were not being openly argued with and the son’s face told him it all came as little surprise.

Laurel finally moved to pour the man an ale and hand it to him. “Here, m’laird, drink.”

“Ye were one of them, aye?” he asked as he studied her.

“I was, aye. My husband was killed and I was accused of his murder.”

“I am so sorry, lass. So verra sorry.”

“Nay, if ye mean for the loss of my husband, dinnae trouble yourself. He was a brute and nay a great loss. He didnae deserve what he got, mayhap, but I willnae miss him. And none of this was your doing. ’Tis I who am sorry for what ye must do now.”

“Laurel,” Bethoc hissed softly, “ye shouldnae speak of your husband that way.”

“Why? ’Tis naught but the truth. I dinnae miss him.”

“’Tis disrespectful.”

“Weel, if he comes back and does something worthy of respect, I will give him some. For now? Huh.” When Bethoc looked up, Laurel asked, “What are ye looking for?”

“God to strike ye down for speaking ill of the dead.”

“Hah! It isnae God who is welcoming that mon.” She turned back to the laird who was watching them and smiling faintly. “Oh, ’tis good to see your spirits are better. The ale helped?”

“Aye, the ale helped.”

Callum leaned closer to Sir Simon. “They did that on purpose, aye?”

“Aye.” Sir Simon grinned. “And they have a fine rhythm to it. The laird was buried under his grief but he is out of it enough now that we can tell our tale.”

Sir Simon began to speak to the laird. Bethoc listened for a while then turned to Laurel. The rags she wore were no longer needed to hide in and she suspected Laurel would like to put something else on. She could do with a change as well, as four dunkings into the water, the dress left to dry on her body, had left it shapeless and itchy. They would both feel better after a change. Perhaps Lorraine would as well, she thought.

“We need to wash up and change,” Bethoc said.

Laurel looked down at herself and grimaced. “Och, aye. It was useful, I think, even when it went to rags but now I want it gone. Didnae save me though. Nay, it needs to go. It and the smell of the prison. And those men,” she whispered, and smiled faintly when both Bethoc and Lorraine grasped her hands. “How do we get away?”

“Ask,” Bethoc said, and stood up. “We are going to Laurel’s to clean up, if ye would be so kind as to excuse us,” she said to the laird.

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