Page 43 of Hunted By the Hard Highlander

“There isnae a missive attached?” Willy asked, standing at Hendry’s elbow.

“Nay,” Hendry said, letting his hand fall to his side. The bird lifted his wing, grooming himself as though he were unbothered by the conversation happening. “Someone intercepted it, either on the way to O’Kingsley or on its way back.”

“If the bird’s return was early, then I would assume that it was intercepted before it could reach its destination,” Willy mused, reaching forward to stroke the hawk’s head, jerking his hand back with the bird snapped its beak at him.

“That is what I was thinkin’ as well,” Hendry said, his free hand tightening into a fist at his side. “I cannae tell how close they are.”

Judging by the animal’s calm demeanor, the way he seemed content to stay on Hendry’s arm rather than flying back into the aviary, the hawk had not been flying for long today. Someone could be nearby, and they could have held the bird. He had to assume that he was confronting an enemy that was just as smart as he was.

“Would ye like me to gather the men to sweep the forest?” Willy asked, already looking out toward the woods. “If they are nearby, we will find them.”

“Nay, we daenae need to go searchin’ for them,” Hendry said, walking toward the aviary to put the hawk back on his perch. “I am a step ahead of them now.”

“Ye already had yer suspicions, then,” Willy said as he kept himself exactly two steps behind Hendry.

“I did,” Hendry confirmed, returning the bird to his rightful resting place. “I thought that if someone was interceptin’ our correspondence and usin’ the information, I should give them somethin’ a bit misleadin’.”

“Then we must take the victories in strategy as they come,” Willy said, standing in the doorway.

Though Hendry had anticipated this, seeing that he was correct sank into his chest like lead. He had laid the groundwork for a trap, but there was no guarantee that it would work. The only thing he knew for certain was that they were being watched and that their enemies were closer than they appeared.

“Call a meetin’ for this evenin’,” Hendry said, turning to face his right-hand-man. “I will be in me study for the remainder of the afternoon.”

* * *

“Ye will be a master at this in nay time at all,” Mrs. Duncan said, standing at Aurora’s side as she slowly wove another row onto the loom. “Look at how nicely it is workin’ up.”

“I appreciate yer belief in me,” Aurora said, her brow furrowed with concentration as she tried to maintain the same tension as the rows that had been placed before this one. “But I think that excellent work ye are seein’ is yers and nae mine.”

Mrs. Duncan made a noise in the back of her throat, leaning in close as she examined Aurora’s work. She had pulled Aurora away from her quarters shortly after breakfast, insisting that today would be an excellent day for staying indoors. Aurora did not believe her at first, but a steady rain fell just beyond the window, filling the air with the scent of damp earth.

“Nay, lean in,” Mrs. Duncan told her, plucking the shuttle from Aurora’s hands before sliding her finger along the work that had already been done. “The transition from me weavin’ to yers is nearly seamless. And as we get a wee bit further up, ye cannae tell there was a difference at all in the weavers.”

“I am still nae very good at the loom,” one of the older servants said, looking away from her knitting.

“Yer work is acceptable though, Cecilia,” Mrs. Duncan told her, giving her a supportive smile. “Nae a thing ye’ve woven has ever unraveled. In fact, the sheet that ye worked on last year is the one that Lady Aurora has been usin’ on her bed.”

“Ye made that?” Aurora asked, turning toward the servant and smiling. “It is one of the softest that I have ever felt.”

Cecilia blushed, ducking her head slightly. The smile on her face warmed Aurora to her core. It was the look of acceptance, of the things Aurora said mattering to her.

“Ye daenae have to flatter me, me Lady,” she said lightly, beginning her work once more in an attempt to hide her own pride. “But I am quite pleased to hear that ye are enjoyin’ them.”

“See, Cecilia,” Mrs. Duncan said, her tone warm and matronly. “There is nae use in speakin’ poorly of yer own work. There is always goin’ to be someone that enjoys it. And sometimes, that person is goin’ to be Lady Anderson.”

Aurora was not sure how to respond to that. Surely her opinions could not matter that much. She enjoyed the respect that she was being afforded, but for some reason it felt unearned.

Perhaps I will feel differently when I am officially Lady Anderson.

As Mrs. Duncan and Cecilia spoke, Aurora took the shuttle and carefully began her work on the next row. The stark difference between this tool and the one that she had tucked away on her body was a strange sensation. Though they were similar shapes, the shuttle was so much lighter. It was not a weapon.

But now, she had a weapon, one that she had been taught how to wield.

“That is a wee bit too tight,” Mrs. Duncan said as she leaned over. Softly, she took the tool from Aurora’s hand. “Let me.”

“See, I told ye that I’m nay a master yet,” Aurora said, a little embarrassed that she had made a mistake so quickly after being praised.

“Ach, but ye are a quick learner,” Mrs. Duncan told her, bringing the weft back through several warp threads. “And ye havenae made any mistakes that I cannae easily fix. That is quite impressive for someone just learnin’ how to weave.”