Conall didn’t even have to think over that too hard. His father would have torn Scotland apart to find the one responsible, and make them pay. Aye, he would have been bitter and angry. Sighing, he pushed the thought away and asked, “What were yer ma and da like?”
Claray considered the question briefly, and then said, “Da is a good man. A good father too. He’s always fair with us, as well as with the clan members, and he cares about everyone’s wellbein’. Like yer da and you, he works long hours to be sure everyone has what they need.”
Conall nodded, not at all surprised to hear this. While they’d often been at loggerheads over the years—her father trying to convince him to claim Claray earlier than he was ready to, and he fighting it—he’d never disliked Laird MacFarlane. He’d actually respected him, and was glad he had the care of Claray until he could claim her. He’d liked her mother too the few times they’d met. Claray actually resembled her a great deal, and he knew she would be as beautiful as she aged as her mother had been.
That thought made him ask, “And yer mother? What was she like?”
Claray considered the matter briefly, and smiled. “Actually, I think me mother was a lot like yers, just perhaps not to the same degree. While she was often smilin’ and happy, she did no’ play chase games and such, but then she had eight children to look after rather than just the one, and was with child quite a lot when we were younger.”
“Ye’ve six brothers and sisters, do ye no’?” he asked.
“Seven,” she corrected, and then listed off her siblings and their ages. “Allissaid is nineteen, Annis is seventeen, Arabella is sixteen, Cairstane is fifteen, Cristane is fourteen, Islay is thirteen and Eachann is eleven.”
Conall’s eyebrows rose slightly, amusement curving his lips. “Aye, yer mother was most like too weary to play chase between havin’ all those children.”
From that accounting, Claray’s mother had been with child every year for five years in a row having Claray’s siblings, and only two years between the one before that grouping and the youngest. The three years between Claray and her next oldest sister was the longest rest the woman had got. Although he suspected that rather than a rest, she’d had a miscarriage or stillbirth or two. It was not uncommon.
Conall couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have so many siblings running about the keep. It must have been chaos at times, he thought, but loving chaos. It made him ask, “How many bairns would ye hope to have?”
Claray had gone back to sorting out rushes again, but paused now and looked thoughtful. Finally, she shook her head. “I am no’ sure. I would no’ mind havin’ a lot o’ children, but it did seem to wear me mother down havin’ them so close together as she did with Annis, Arabella, Cairstane, Cristane and Islay. I think I’d hope fer two or three years between each child.” She shrugged. “But I guess I shall just have to be happy with whatever God sees fit to give us.”
“Aye,” Conall murmured, but he was trying to imagine Claray heavy with child as she carried their bairn, and the idea pleased him. A little girl who looked like her would be nice, or a little boy he could teach to be a good man. Mayhap two of each would even be good, but he didn’t want Claray to be heavy with child every year. He’d heard that could wear a woman down and kill her.
Claray’s suddenly sliding off the back of the wagon caught his attention, and he raised his eyebrows in question.
“I’m just going to step into the woods for a minute,” she muttered. If the words hadn’t given him an idea of why, the way she blushed as she said it did, and Conall merely nodded and didn’t say anything . . . until Roderick, Hamish, Hendrie and Colban all moved away from the wagon where they’d been standing guard and started to follow her.
“Halt,” he said at once, and strode into their midst, his own four-man guard following now. “Ye can no’ go with her. She’s goin’ to tend to personal matters.”
“Aye, but do ye think it’s wise fer her to be alone?” Roderick asked, and then pointed out, “She’s already been injured once.”
Conall frowned, his gaze moving to the trees where Claray had disappeared. He really didn’t think the attacks had been meant to harm her. On the other hand, MacNaughton could try to kidnap her away from him, he thought suddenly. Mouth tightening, he nodded and strode toward the trees. “Fine. I’ll go keep a look out meself. The rest o’ ye stay here though.”
“That will no’ stop an arrow,” Hamish pointed out quietly. “She was alone with ye when she took the arrow last time.”
Conall paused again, and then cursed, before saying, “All right, we’ll follow and spread out and surround her. But do it quietly and do no’ let her see ye. Drop to the ground if ye ha’e to if she looks yer way. I’ll no’ ha’e her embarrassed.”
Chapter 23
Claray walked further into the woods than she’d hoped to have to, to find some privacy. While the area outside the curtain wall was forested with trees, most were only ten or fifteen years old this close to the wall. They hadn’t suddenly sprouted up the very moment Deagh Fhortan was abandoned. The surrounding woods had just slowly crept closer to the castle, spreading out a little further each year.
With the trees being so young, there weren’t any nice wide ones she could step around and squat behind, so she walked until she couldn’t see the men anymore when she glanced back. Claray thought she’d caught a glimpse of movement close to the ground when she looked back this last time, but it was so quick she wasn’t sure what she’d seen. She was fretting over what it might be when she heard bleating. Turning back the way she’d been heading, she scanned the surrounding area, her gaze halting on a sweet little baby deer moving toward her on wobbly legs.
“Ohhh,” she almost moaned, enchanted at the sight. It was obviously very young, and not yet used to walking, or perhaps not strong enough. Rather than his legs being directly under him, they were spread out somewhat and he was staggering like a drunken fool.
“Oh, ye sweet thing,” Claray cooed when it made its way directly to her and into her skirts. Lifting them several inches to get them out of his way, she watched with amazement as he began to lick and then suckle at her ankle, moving around it as he did, obviously in search of a teat.
“Oh, ye poor dear! Ye’re hungry,” she said, bending to scoop him up into her arms. The moment she did, he started rooting around on her upper arms and chest, taking material into his mouth and trying to suck milk out of it.
“Where’s yer mother?” Claray murmured, giving him a soothing pet as she examined him. He didn’t look to be more than a day or two old, but his eyes were dull, and his ears were curling at the tip, a sure indication that he was dehydrated.
Biting her lip, Claray glanced around for any sign of his mother, but suspected the poor doe might have been dinner last night or the night before. Conall had brought her fish for sup last night, but he’d eaten venison and had mentioned the men had returned from the hunt with three bucks and a doe that morning.
Her need to relieve herself forgotten, Claray cuddled the still bleating fawn to her chest and turned to head back the way she’d come. She needed to get it some milk, and quickly. Dehydration was dangerous for one so young.