“Well, we seem to ha’e collected a new animal for every day o’ travel,” he said, and then counted off, “The bunny, the stoat kit and the fox pup she found this morn.” He raised his eyebrows, and pointed out, “That’s three animals in three days.”
Conall’s mouth flattened out with displeasure at the accounting and he glanced down at the baby fox cradled in a sleeping Claray’s arms. He was definitely regretting asking her if she’d needed to relieve herself again that morning before they’d left the glade where they’d rested. He had been ever since she’d returned from her trip to the woods carrying the new beastie—an abandoned fox pup whose mother, or some other creature, had chewed off both of its ears for some reason.
Conall had groaned aloud the moment he saw her step out of the woods carrying the furry little animal. One look at her charmed face as she’d cooed and cuddled the creature had told him he’d have a fight on his hands if he tried to make her leave it behind. Not wanting to upset her by making even an attempt to convince her, he’d simply mounted and waited silently as Hamish had supplied the salve and linens she’d needed to treat and bandage the injured pup’s ears, as well as a strip of plaid that she’d wanted to swaddle it in.
Once satisfied that she’d done all she could for now, Claray had made her way to his side, smiling at him widely. Conall had silently lifted her up before him—bunny, stoat, fox and all—and set out without a word. Now he scowled at Roderick for reminding him that he was traveling with a growing menagerie of animals and growled, “So?”
“So, I was just wondering how many more animals we’ll have with us ere the end o’ this journey,” he drawled, making Payton and Hamish chuckle.
Conall ignored them until the laughter faded away and Payton said, “I’d guess she’ll add at least one more animal ere we arrive.” He paused briefly and then said, “What I’m wondering is what it’ll be.”
It was Hamish who suggested, “I’m thinking mayhap a dormouse or a wounded pine marten.”
“Nay,” Payton said at once. “She went bunny, stoat, fox. Each one is more predatory than the last. I’m thinking the next’ll be a wildcat.”
“I’m betting on a wolf,” Roderick announced.
Conall closed his eyes briefly, not liking any of the options. He didn’t want another damned animal on his horse. He really needed to talk to Claray about this tendency she had to rescue every lame beastie she encountered. He—
His thoughts broke off as Squeak crawled out from the top of Claray’s dress, climbed up her body to his and made his way to his shoulder where he sat down to chitter squeakily at him in demand.
Sighing, Conall shifted his reins to his teeth and dug out the linen-wrapped raw meat he’d tucked in his bag for this purpose. Retrieving a good-sized strip of meat, he set it on his shoulder next to Squeak and then rewrapped the linen.
Conall wasn’t surprised that the kit had gobbled up the food before he’d finished packing the linen-wrapped meat away and retrieved the reins. He was surprised that Squeak didn’t immediately return to his little safe spot inside Claray’s dress though. Instead, the kit remained where he was on Conall’s shoulder, his little head turning this way and that as he surveyed everything around them. For some reason it reminded him of Claray when she’d woken up the first night of this journey and that thought made him smile faintly.
“Ye’re going to leave her at MacFarlane.”
Conall glanced to Roderick with surprise at that comment. It was not a question, but he responded as if it were. “Aye. ’Tis where she belongs.”
“Is it?” Roderick asked quietly.
Conall narrowed his eyes at what sounded almost like a reprimand to his ears. But all he said was, “It is until we marry.”
“And when will that be?” Roderick asked with interest. When Conall didn’t respond right away, he added, “I only ask because I’m quite sure that’s why her da chased to Buchanan to see ye when he got wind Aulay had ye there discussing business. Ye ken the man is growing impatient to see the contract fulfilled and his daughter wed.”
When Conall merely scowled at the possibility, he said, “She’s two and twenty now, Bryson. Most lassies her age ha’e been married fer six or even eight years and ha’e half a dozen bairns hanging off their skirts.”
Conall’s mouth tightened. Not just at the mention of Claray’s age and the bairns she should have had by now, but at Roderick’s use of his true name. He never did that, and the fact that he had now made him glance around to see that Hamish had dropped back to talk to one of the soldiers. It didn’t ease his tension any. Because while Campbell Sinclair, their friend, Roderick’s cousin and a man who was like a brother to Conall himself, often forgot and used his birth name, Roderick never did. Which made Conall suspect he’d used it deliberately to emphasize his point. It didn’t please him any more than the rest of what he’d said did.
Conall was very aware that had his life gone as it had been meant to, Claray too would be married already and have that handful of bairns Roderick mentioned. His bairns. For a moment he allowed himself to picture that in his mind. A smiling Claray with a babe in her arms, a toddler at her knee and three or four more playing on the floor around her as he walked into MacDonald keep and strode forward to greet her with a kiss and . . . tripped over the floor stones buckled from the tree trunks growing under them, then grabbed at one of the vines covering the walls to keep from falling.
He ground his teeth together as the true image of MacDonald imposed itself over the cozy scene he’d originally imagined. His childhood home was a shambles, uninhabitable. It had been bad when he’d first seen it at sixteen after ten years away, and would only be more so now. It was why he hadn’t gone to claim Claray, his betrothed, and why he’d been working as a mercenary these last twelve years. To earn the coin needed to bring it back to its former glory.
“One more year and I’ll ha’e made enough coin to make MacDonald habitable again,” he said stiffly.
“Ye ha’e more than enough fer that now,” Roderick said solemnly. “We both ken that.”
“Aye,” Conall admitted through gritted teeth, and then added defensively, “But I also need enough to hire the people to work it, and to feed and clothe everyone fer a year or two until the crops can support us.”
“Lady Claray comes with a fine dower that should take care o’ that,” Roderick pointed out, not backing down.
“I’ll no’ use that,” Conall said stubbornly. “MacDonald was healthy and well when the contract was drawn up. She was no’ meant to have to use her dower to make a life.”
“She was no’ meant to still be unmarried this late in life either,” Roderick responded sharply.
When Conall merely scowled and raised his chin belligerently, Roderick sighed and shook his head. After a moment, he asked, “Will ye at least tell her who ye are, then? So she kens her betrothed yet lives and will someday claim her and give her the children all lassies yearn for?”
Conall glowered at the suggestion. Claray hadn’t said that she yearned for any of that. But she had sounded sad when she’d said she didn’t think her father would ever replace her betrothed. She thought it was because Gannon MacFarlane couldn’t admit his friends were dead, but the truth was that her father couldn’t make a new betrothal because they were all still bound by the first. The betrothal between him and her.