Page 3 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

Connor nodded. “Ye have a good reputation, and I can respect the help that ye gave Theo when he needed it, despite yer feelings for Loch Moran, so I will support ye if ye wish to come to visit. I have many bonnie lasses in need of a husband.”

Clearing her throat, Moira elbowed him in the stomach, and Connor grumbled. “Sorry. What I meant to say is that ye are welcome to search for a lass to woo.”

That seemed to mollify his wife, and the other men grinned. Marriage, it seemed, had changed them. Graeme hadn’t known Hamish for long, but he’d kept an eye on the others, as he suspected they did him. Connor had been laird the longest, forced to take over as a young man when his parents died. He had the most experience, but it was Hamish who had surprised everyone, coming up out of nowhere to take over a people who had previously been hostile to everyone.

Then there was Alec and Creighton, both nudged or forced into leadership roles. And Theo, who’d created a coup right under his father’s nose.

Before their wives, most of them had been very different. Graeme clenched his teeth. They were all in love, and he feared that one day, the highlands would shudder when their current leaders were laid waste by the betrayals of their wives.

He would not be such easy prey. Yes, he would need to marry, but it would not be for love. There were plenty of women who would help manage the keep, be kind to his people, and bear and help raise his children. Love need never be a part of it.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Gemma joined him, her shorter legs struggling to keep up with his pace, but the English lass was a determined one. There was a time when Graeme had thought she might be for him.

“She’s doing fine,” Gemma said.

Jillian. He didn’t need to ask to know of whom Gemma was speaking. It had taken every ounce of control not to ask when she’d seen Jillian. Although she and Theo were married now, Gemma was fiercely loyal to her friends, and he knew that she would keep tabs on the MacSeaver who was hiding.

The last time he had seen Jillian, she’d been huddled in the corner of her cottage while Agnes applied more salve to her back. The moment she’d seen Graeme, tears had sprung to her eyes, and he knew he needed to leave and never lay eyes on the woman again.

As far as he was concerned, his cousin’s widow was better off at the loch.

“Elizabeth? That is good to hear. She seems like a strong lass,” Graeme said, causing Gemma to give him a furious look.

“You can lie to yourself, Graeme MacSeaver, but you cannot lie to me,” she muttered angrily. “And though you may not want to ask, I know that you are dying to know. The wounds have healed, but then I suspect it will be years before the nightmares fade.”

At that, she stomped away, and Graeme stumbled and pressed his lips together.

For him, the nightmare of seeing Jillian bruised and broken on the ground would no doubt last for years as well.

The MacSeaver elders were waiting for him at the keep’s door, so Graeme bid the lairds head to the great hall without him. Long ago, Fletcher had created a council of the elder and wise men in the clan. Now, only four of those men remained, and strangely, there had been no question from them about whether Graeme would seek their counsel. They probably thought there was no question in his mind, but the truth was that while Graeme respected his elders, he knew that they could hold back progression.

Also with them was his sister, Annella, and her husband, Alan. They had been married seven years ago, and Graeme had always hated his brother-in-law. Their father had forced her to marry him after catching them in a compromising position, and he always had reason to suspect that Alan had forced her into that position to marry into a family connected with the laird. Still, Annella never had a bad word to say about him even though Graeme could see how unhappy she was.

However, she did have two beautiful children, and he hoped it was enough to make her content.

“Graeme,” Alan interrupted before the council members had a chance to speak. “Now that the unfortunate business of burying yer uncle is finished, I wanted to ask how ye plan to proceed with the situation he let sit.”

“Situation?” Graeme eyed him warily. He hoped Alan didn’t mention a love child his uncle might have sired.

“The death of his son,” Alan hissed.

Bloody hell. He was talking about Fulton and Jillian. Graeme had forgotten that Alan and Fulton had been close. “Fulton MacSeaver was killed by several wild boars,” he said calmly even though he knew the gossip.

His witch of a wife had cast a spell that ended his life. After all, Fulton MacSeaver was the best hunter in the clan. No way he was brought down by his intended kill.

Privately, Graeme thought it was more probable that Fulton had been poisoned, and the boars had taken advantage of his weakened state or happened upon his corpse.

“‘Tis a lie and ye know it,” Alan growled. “The men and I have been speaking, and we think yer first act as laird should be to bring the bitch back to face punishment for her crimes. He was to be laird!”

Yes, and Alan had intended to be close to the laird.

“We dinnae execute our own based on gossip and hearsay.” Graeme tried to walk by, but Baldie, one of the elders, cleared his throat. Graeme froze. Alan was an irritant, but there was no way he had enough power to sway the elders.

“Do ye have something to say?”

“Aye,” Baldie said in his gravelly voice. “The council has spoken, and while we dinnae agree to execute the lass, yer uncle wouldnae even question her. We think she should be brought back to answer some questions. If nothing else, she is our burden, and we must keep an eye that she harms no one else.”

Lord save him, but the elders believed she might be a witch. Graeme had thought to be done with Jillian. “I will bring her back for questioning, but if she is innocent, I wilnae force her to stay.”