Well, ye’re here, laddie…
Cora shifted. Faolan adjusted his hold and tucked the bedding up to her chin.
Aye. He was indeed the laird.
God help any man who thought to remove him.
*
Munro Land…
“Staring at that map will nae reveal Cora’s fate.”
Rolfe Munro muttered as he placed a measure of whiskey next to Buchanan.
Buchanan looked up at Rolfe. “I’m grateful for the welcome ye’ve given us.”
Rolfe shrugged. “When this storm breaks, I’ll ride out with ye.”
Buchanan nodded and returned to looking at the map. Each clan kept records of their own territory. Sharing those maps wasn’t common. Rolfe was trusting Buchanan with the details of the land the Munros called theirs. Information on where creeks flowed. Most importantly, ones that were not year-round.
“I would no’ have allowed her to depart if I’d suspected there might be such a severe storm,” Rolfe added as he came to lean over the map.
“I believe ye, Rolfe.” Buchanan looked his fellow laird in the eyes. “Cora has always had a fickle fate.”
“Five of yer Retainers are dead, Buchanan.”
Buchanan looked back at the map. He could feel Rolfe watching him.
“I won’t believe it until I find her.” Buchanan closed his eyes against the little voice inside him that told him how grizzly a scene it might be when he, at last, discovered where Cora was.
Buchanan looked back at Rolfe. “If this map is correct, she might well have been carried to McKay land.” He tapped a place on the map. “Here. They were building a tower there. If she made it that far, she might have found shelter.”
Rolfe drew in a stiff breath. “There are two towers now. But Malcolm McKay is no’ a good sort. Best to hope yer sister is not in his keeping. He’s the sort of man who would make the most of that situation.”
Buchanan curled his fingers into fists. “I’ve not done as well by her as I should have. She should have been settled, but I just kept thinking she wasn’t ready.”
“She wasn’t,” Rolfe agreed. “I saw it sure enough when she was here.”
Buchanan grinned. “And yet ye allowed her to leave. Now that is an insult, man.”
Rolfe shrugged. “If I wanted a dutiful, contracted bride, I’d have locked her abovestairs until she softened toward me.” He sent Buchanan a knowing look. “Ye understand that there can be more between a husband and wife.”
Buchanan reached out and cupped Rolfe’s shoulder. “I hope ye find it.”
“Just as I hope ye find yer sister.”
Buchanan nodded. “If any female could survive that storm, it would be Cora.”
“But the McKay have sent no word,” Rolfe added. “Still, knowing what I do about Malcolm McKay, it is nae beyond possible Cora is there. He’d consider her a prize worth keeping.”
“I’ll cut his balls off if he’s ruined her,” Buchanan promised.
But he knew he’d have to get Cora out of the McKay stronghold first. “I’d best send for Cormac Grant,” he muttered. “We might need assistance.”
The sound of a bell ringing drew both their attention. It was coming from one of the gatehouses at the top of the wall. Rolfe headed toward the stairs, climbing them quickly as Buchanan followed. There was a steady stream of Retainers joining them. The storm was fierce, but whoever was looking for shelter would not be allowed in unless Rolfe deemed them safe. A miscalculation could translate into a disaster for the entire clan.
“Grants, Laird!” Sholto, Rolfe’s senior captain, reported. “Seeking shelter. Claims to be Cormac Grant riding at the head.”
“Cormac is off his land?” Buchanan questioned.
Rolfe lifted his arm and signaled to the gate for them to raise the bar. In the rain, it was a difficult task. Buchanan watched the Munro Retainers straining to get it done as their boots sank into the mud.
He followed Rolfe down to the great hall. The long tables were pushed back against the walls with the benches stored on top of them to clear space for sleeping. With the storm raging overhead, every dry spot was needed to shelter the clan. The Retainers had rolled themselves into their plaids to sleep. Now they were awake as they waited to see why a party of Grants was knocking on their gate.
“I’ll be,” Rolfe declared as Cormac entered the hall. “I haven’t seen ye in years, man.”
Cormac grinned. He clasped wrists with Rolfe. “I’m grateful ye let me in.”
Cormac turned to Buchanan. “Yer wife sent me word about Cora. Is there any news?”
“It’s possible she’s on McKay land.”
Rolfe extended his hand toward his study. A few sleepy-looking maids were beginning to appear with food for the Grant Retainers. The men were soaked to the skin and grateful.
Buchanan was grateful, too. His wife had taken up the duties of sending out the necessary letters. He scanned the number of Grant Retainers and felt his confidence grow. If Cora was on McKay land, Malcolm would think twice about holding her if all three clans were united in the effort to recover her. Beyond that, Buchanan wouldn’t think about what might have happened to his sister. Whatever her circumstances, he had to bear some of the responsibility for allowing her to depart from his own stronghold. A man had to safeguard his own.
Buchanan contemplated Cormac.
“Aye, I know well we have unfinished business,” Cormac responded. “Me father takes a great deal of me time, but that is my duty as a son. I should have sent for Cora two years ago. But the truth is, me father might have harmed her. He’s taken to seeing ghosts and thinks to run them through. His mind has gone soft, but his body still has strength.”
Cormac drew in a stiff breath and shared a look with Rolfe. “I know ye understand that it’s not something I wish to be common knowledge.”
Rolfe’s own father had been ill for many years. Somewhere in the stronghold, he was clinging to life in stubborn defiance.
“Let’s find her first,” Buchanan said firmly.
Rolfe and Cormac shared a look behind Buchanan’s back. It was one full of the knowledge of the dark possibilities Buchanan might have to face. But blood was blood. So, they’d ride with him and hope they never had to call on him to be at their backs in a similar situation.
Chapter Nine
Someone pounded on the chamber door just after daybreak.
Faolan groaned. Cora shifted and squeaked when the door was opened before Faolan bid anyone enter.
“Gainor…” Faolan growled. “What are ye doing here so bloody early?” He tossed the covers over Cora’s head as Yestin and Lonn followed Gainor into the room.
“What are ye doing?” Faolan demanded once more as he climbed out of bed.
“There’s a matter needing yer attention, Laird,” Yestin answered.
His voice was grave. Cora felt something tingle on her nape as she peeked over the edge of the bedding.
“Here, now,” Brynna spoke as she came into the room.
Faolan had barely pulled a shirt on as Brynna and the Head-of-House bustled into the chamber with three maids in tow. Brynna propped her hands on her hips.