Page 62 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
“Goodnight, Malcolm,” she whispered, her heart aching with love for him.
“Goodnight, lass. Sweet dreams, eh?” He leaned down and whispered, “Of me, I hope.”
“Likewise,” she replied, unable to help smiling.
With a huge effort, she forced herself to turn from him and walk back the way she had come, burningly aware of his gaze following her the entire way.
And though she did not look back, her smile lingered long after she reached the end of the corridor and turned towards the stairs.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
During the night, the weather had worsened, thick clouds rolling low over Gordon lands like a warning from God Himself.
A warnin’ of the Devil approachin’,Malcolm thought, glancing at the rain hammering against the windows of his study as he stood at the head of the long oak table, both hands braced against its polished surface.
A fire was blazing in the hearth, and the faint, familiar smells of damp wool, peat smoke, and wet leather filled the air as he looked around the table at his gathered advisors.
Ewan was lounging against the wall beside the window overlooking the courtyard, arms folded across his chest. He appeared to be keeping an eye on the movements outside, though his attention never strayed far from his brother.
A scout, soaked from head to toe after what appeared to have been an arduous ride, was standing, dripping near the hearth, in the act of tossing a dram of whisky down his throat. He swallowed, shuddered as the fiery liquid went down, then went on with his broken report.
“We tracked them tae a spot near the eastern ridge at dawn, me laird,” he reported grimly. “Five riders. One of them was Sinclair himself.”
The atmosphere in the room thickened with unease as each man ruminated over the implications.
Malcolm was unsurprised by the news. It was what he both expected and dreaded. Things were inevitably coming to a head. Though his cold, unreadable expression did not betray it, the rogue laird’s blatant disrespect had him seething with silent anger.
So, he dares trespass on me land himsel’, daes he?
His fingers curling tightly around the table edge as his hatred for Sinclair crystallized into a diamond-hard intention
If he dares come tae me gates, I’ll command him tae take his men and leave. And if he refuses, then I’ll have the lawful right tae fight him... and kill him.
“Aye,” he said evenly. “I thought as much.”
Rory frowned. “Ye think he means tae attack?”
“Nay, nae yet,” Malcolm straightened up slowly. “Sinclair’s testin’ us. Watchin’ and lookin’ fer weakness.”
“Aye, right enough. But if he attacks, will he find any?” Quentin, the former warrior, asked. The others nodded and looked questioningly to Malcolm.
“Nay,” Malcolm replied coldly. “The castle’s tight as a drum, the men well drilled.” He looked at the scout. “Thanks for the intelligence, man. Now go and get yersel’ a change of clothes and a hot meal in the kitchens,” he told him with a jerk of his chin at the door.
The scout bowed his head and withdrew, leaving the chamber tense and quiet.
Ewan pushed away from the wall. “The men are uneasy. Word’s spread through the castle already that Sinclair himsel’s been seen.”
“Let it spread,” Malcolm said. “I want them alert.”
Ewan nodded. “They’re alert all right.”
Malcolm’s let his gaze pass slowly around the table, over each of his councilmen in turn.
“There’s something else ye all need tae ken.” His expression darkened slightly. “A few days ago Sinclair nearly got his hands on Lady Catriona.”
The council men sat up in their chairs, cursing under their breaths as they stared at him in obvious shock.
Malcolm briefly explained what had happened. Catriona riding ahead on their return to the castle after a disagreement and the Sinclair rider attempting to seize her before Malcolm intervened.
