“Thank ye, Mavis,” Claray murmured as the maid set the pitcher on the table and quickly passed out the drinks.
“Me pleasure,” Mavis assured her, picking up the empty tray. She started to turn toward the kitchens, but then paused and turned back to ask, “Do ye think the men’ll be long?”
Claray hesitated, and then grimaced and admitted, “I’m no’ sure, Mavis. There were a fair number o’ men wanting me husband’s attention when we left them.”
She nodded thoughtfully, and then smiled and shrugged. “Well, the longer they take, the more time we ha’e to prepare. Sit down and rest a bit, then. I’ll let ye ken when the water is ready fer yer bath.”
“Thank ye,” Claray murmured, and watched the woman go before settling at the table with Lady MacKay and her daughter.
“So,” Kenna said once Mavis had disappeared back into the kitchens, “ye really did no’ ken that Conall was me cousin Bryson?”
“Nay,” Claray assured her.
“When did ye find out who he was?” she asked now. “Surely they told ye ere the wedding at least?”
“Aye. Conall told me on the journey here from me uncle’s,” she admitted. “Ere that though, I thought me betrothed had died and I would ne’er marry.”
“Oh,” Kenna breathed. “That was terribly unkind.” She turned to scowl at her mother as she said that, obviously holding her partially responsible.
Lady MacKay sighed at the accusation in her expression and said, “We did what we thought was best to keep Bryson safe.”
“And is he?” Kenna asked at once.
Claray glanced at her sharply at the question. It was one she should have thought of herself. The man had been in hiding his entire life to keep him safe from whoever had murdered his parents, and that murderer still had not been caught. Was it safe for him to reveal the fact that he lived?
“We are not sure,” Lady MacKay said quietly. “We never sorted out a reason for the murders or even got close to finding a suspect. But a lot of years have passed and a lot has happened. The surviving clan members were scattered about after the deaths and had it very hard. A lot died. If one of them was the murderer, it’s possible they are dead now, or perhaps just old enough that they are no longer a threat.”
“But as ye said, ye’re no’ sure,” Kenna pointed out with a concerned glance toward Claray. “Would it no’ ha’e been better had he revealed himself to be Bryson MacDonald, laird o’ the MacDonald clan, and then spent a year or so rebuildin’ the keep and such before claimin’ Claray? That way, were the murderer still around and like to try to kill him again, at least she would no’ be at risk.”
“Except that it would leave her vulnerable to the MacNaughton’s machinations,” Lady Annabel pointed out. “He is the reason we are all here right now.” Turning to Claray, she explained, “Your father and your cousin Aulay sent us news of what had happened and that Bryson had ridden out to rescue you. He suggested that if he succeeded, the best plan might be for him to wed you to prevent MacNaughton trying again, and he asked Ross to come help him convince Bryson to finally do that.” She smiled faintly, and added, “But as it turned out, there was no convincing needed. Instead, we were just in time for the wedding.”
“So me cousin Aulay kenned Conall was Bryson MacDonald?” Claray asked with a small frown. It was starting to seem like everyone else had known but her. And Kenna, of course.
“He did not know until the messenger reached Buchanan with your letter,” she assured her. “I gather your father said a few things that let the cat out of the bag, so to speak. The moment Bryson rode off to Kerr, Aulay and your father sat down and wrote a message for us, then sent it with a courier to us at MacKay.”
“Will their bein’ married keep Claray safe from MacNaughton now?” Kenna asked with concern.
Lady Annabel hesitated, and then apparently deciding enough lies had been told over the years, admitted honestly, “Perhaps not completely, but it will help. The wedding has at least added a layer of protection against his forcing her to marry him. He’d have to kill Bryson to be able to do that now.”
“Or kill both o’ us and force me sister Allissaid to marry him,” Claray pointed out with a grimace.
“Good Lord,” Kenna muttered. “So the marriage has doubled their troubles for both o’ them. Claray now has MacNaughton and Aunt Giorsal and Uncle Bean’s murderer to worry about, and so does Bryson.”
“I am afraid so,” Lady MacKay said solemnly.
They were all silent for a minute, and then Kenna stood and moved around behind Claray and bent to wrap her arms around her shoulders in a hug. “Welcome to the family, Claray. I’m happy to have another cousin.”
“Thank ye,” Claray murmured, clasping the young woman’s arms where they crossed over her collarbone.
Lady MacKay watched them with a small smile, and then stood to embrace her too when Kenna released her. “Welcome to the family, dear. I truly hope you and my nephew will be very happy.”
“Thank ye, Lady MacKay,” Claray said quietly, touched at how welcoming the women were being.
“You cannot call me Lady MacKay!” the woman protested with a laugh as she released her. “We’re family now. And I would be most pleased if you called me Aunt Annabel.”
“Aunt Annabel, it is, then,” Claray said with a smile.
“Oh!” Kenna said, suddenly straightening. “Annella should know.”
“Ye remember Annella,” Aunt Annabel said now. “My eldest daughter. She used to come with us when we visited before she married the Gunn.”
Claray nodded. The MacKays hadn’t visited since her mother’s death, but she did recall Annella. She’d always like her. She’d liked both of the MacKay daughters.
“Married,” Kenna snorted. “Ye can hardly call what poor Annella has a proper marriage.”
“Kenna,” Annabel said in warning.
“Well, ’tis true,” Kenna said with irritation, and told Claray, “After weddin’ her six years ago when she turned eighteen, her ‘husband’ just dumped Annella at Gunn and went off on a pilgrimage leaving her there with his mother and father . . . and they do no’ treat her well at all.”
Claray noted Lady MacKay’s pained expression, but couldn’t resist asking, “Surely he is no’ still on pilgrimage?” The longest pilgrimage she’d heard of was to Palestine. The trip could take two or even three years. She’d never heard of one that took six years though.
“Aye. Though I suspect he’s dead. Killed by bandits on the trail else he’d surely be back by now,” Kenna pointed out. “Laird Gunn has been sendin’ men out to look fer him the last three years, but there is no word back yet. I hope he’s dead.”
“Kenna!” Lady MacKay gasped.
“Well, ’tis true,” Kenna said defiantly. “Annella is four and twenty now. Married six years without a single bairn, and a husband who basically abandoned her. She deserves better.”
“Aye. She does,” Lady MacKay admitted on a sigh. “Still, ’tis unkind to wish anyone dead.”