Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

B y early afternoon, the skies had cleared over Castle Ruthven and the sun shone through the gaps in the dark clouds, the dappled light bathing the grass and the trees in gold as Graeme Ruthven looked out of the window. In the courtyard, the servants and the guards scrabbled to complete their chores for the day after being unable to step foot outside all morning, reminding him of a colony of ants as they rushed around the grounds.

And there, among them, were Bonnie and Evan. They walked leisurely side by side, just the two of them, discussing something Graeme would never know.

He was so close to getting what he wanted. He was so close to getting Bonnie and the power and influence that came with a bride like her. The MacLaren Clan was more powerful than ever, after all, ever since her sister Cathleen married Macauley Sinclair, and thus solidified the MacLaren ties with the Drummonds, the Hays, the Murrays, and the Menzies—all just as powerful clans, connected through the ties of marriage.

Graeme wanted to be part of that alliance. Nothing could prove more useful in his quest for influence. Not only would his own clan have important allies, but he could also get the resources he needed in order to suppress any opposition against the English and Balliol.

I could be the one who wins this war fer him. I could be the one who keeps him in power.

And if he kept him in power, then Balliol, and even King Edward I, would owe him plenty.

The knock on the door pulled Graeme away from the window and he sat once again behind his desk, instantly reaching for his cup of wine.

"Enter," he called, and the door opened to reveal his advisor, Ranald, as he walked into the room. Ranald was older than him by a decade and his dark hair had begun to grey at the temples, lines adorning the corners of his dark eyes, and yet he was still one of the best warriors the clan had seen. "Ranald . . . come, sit."

Ranald bowed before taking his seat across from Graeme, his expression turning even more somber than usual. He wasn't the kind of person to smile often. In fact, Graeme couldn't remember if he had ever seen a genuine smile from him.

"It is just as we suspected," Ranald said with a weary sigh. "Miss MacLaren an' Laird MacGregor are nae cousins, as they claim tae be."

Graeme echoed that sigh, a hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head as he drained the rest of his wine. With the last drop, he slammed the cup on the desk, his rage getting the better of him.

"Are ye certain?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Ranald nodded. "Perfectly certain, me laird. We made sure."

"I see."

It was nothing Graeme hadn't already expected to hear. For one, he didn't think he had ever heard of a connection between Clan MacGregor and Clan MacLaren, at least not one recent enough to render Bonnie and Evan cousins. Then, he had thought that perhaps they were distant cousins and simply happened to have a closer bond, but Ranald's research had disproved that. From the way they were acting, he could only assume they were lovers, but he couldn't imagine what their scheme was.

Perhaps they wish tae stop this weddin'.

But then why wouldn't Evan simply ask for Bonnie's hand in marriage? Why would he go to such lengths when he, too, was a good match for her?

Does it matter? All that matters is that I wed Bonnie.

"What shall we dae about him, then?" Graeme asked, mostly talking to himself. There really was only one thing he could do; Evan had left him no other choice. "I suppose we must dispose o' him as soon as possible."

"Dispose o' him, me laird?" Ranald asked with the sort of timidity Graeme wasn't used to hearing from him. "Dae ye think that is wise?"

"Why wouldnae it be?" Graeme asked with a shrug. "We shall make it seem accidental."

"Even so . . . he is the laird o' Clan MacGregor," Ranald reminded him, rather unhelpfully. Graeme knew as much, of course, and it didn't matter to him at all. "An' there is also the issue o' his brother."

"His brother?"

"Aye," said Ranald. "He is here, too. What if he doesnae believe it was an accident? What if he suspects?"

Much could point to Graeme as Evan's killer, especially after their brawl in the training grounds. It had been a mistake, fighting him like that in front of everyone. Now not only his people, but Bonnie and Alaric, too, had seen the murderous rage Graeme carried for Evan and it was likely that they would question his death, no matter how accidental it would seem.

Graeme couldn't deny that it could cause a problem, though if Alaric had no proof, then there was little he could do.

"We will be discreet," Graeme said. "Or . . . perhaps we could dispose o' them both."

What was one more body in the line of bodies he had left behind him in his efforts to gather more power and wealth? Alaric wouldn't be the first to become collateral damage nor the last.

"There may be a better way tae deal with this," Ranald said. For a man who was such a skilled fighter, he certainly did his best to avoid a bloody conflict. Then again, that was why he was his advisor, Graeme thought. He didn't allow Graeme to make any rash decisions. "Bloodshed may yet prove tae be unnecessary."

"If ye have a better plan, then by all means, tell me," Graeme said, though he had already made up his mind. There was no better plan. Some things were unavoidable. "But it must happen soon. I'm sure ye have seen Laird MacGregor's interest in Bonnie. I cannae allow him tae ruin this alliance afore it even begins."

"Surely, Miss MacLaren kens what her duty is," said Ranald. "The MacLaren council has already arranged yer marriage."

"I dinnae think it matters tae her." For all her reassurances that all she wanted was to get to know him better, Graeme couldn't believe her until they were both saying their vows in front of the priest. She had already stalled long enough and still claimed the time they had spent together was not enough, so Graeme could only assume she was trying to find a way out of this marriage.

And Evan would be more than willing to help her.

Graeme fell silent, surely considering the best course of action. In the end, there was only one way forward, and that was to kill Evan. With him gone, Bonnie would have no reason to reject his offer of marriage.

"Very well," said Randal. "I will arrange it."

"Good," said Graeme. He wanted to be done with Evan as soon as possible. "An' find out why he came here with her if they are nae cousins. How dae they ken each other? What does he want?"

"It is certainly suspicious." As he spoke, Ranald's brows furrowed in that way they did whenever he was trying to puzzle something out, whenever he was close to a revelation. "As far as we ken, they had nae connection afore the Hamilton weddin'."

"Are ye sayin' that they met there fer the first time?"

That was perhaps the oddest thing out of this entire situation, Graeme thought. How could it be that they had only met each other? Surely, they must have had some history if Evan and Alaric decided to accompany her all the way to Graeme's castle and stay by her side this entire time.

Unless they have a reason o' their own tae be here.

Judging by the concern in Ranald's face, in the tense line of his jaw and the eyes that shifted around as though he expected an attack to jump out of nowhere at any moment, Graeme was certain he was thinking the same thing.

"We cannae say fer certain," he said. "It is possible they are friendly an' have been fer a long time."

"But there is nae evidence o' it?"

"Nay, me laird."

Odd, indeed.

"Find out why they are here," Graeme said in the end, reaching for the wine pitcher to pour himself another drink. He would need as many as he could get if he was going to survive that day without marching over to Evan and Alaric and demanding an explanation.

They would deny it all, of course. This time, Graeme had to keep him rage in check and wait for the right moment to strike. Too soon and he could ruin all his chances to rid himself of Evan, and perhaps even his chances of marrying Bonnie.

"O' course," said Randal, smoothing his tunic with his hands as he stood. He bowed and then turned on his heel, leaving Graeme alone with his cup of wine.

Graeme stood as well, wine in hand, to look out of the window. His gaze instantly found Bonnie and Evan as the two of them strolled around the gardens, walking closer to each other than ever.

Graeme's mouth twisted into a snarl around the rim of his cup. He finished the wine in a few gulps and tossed the cup on the floor in his rage, relishing in the clatter of the metal against the stone floor.

They think they can fool me. They think I willnae discover the truth about them.

They were the ones who were fools. They had made the mistake of coming to his castle under false pretenses, thinking they would not be discovered, but nothing could happen within those walls without Graeme's knowledge. He had eyes and ears everywhere.

Pushing himself away from the window, Graeme left the study and headed to the room where he kept all his important documents, wondering if perhaps there was something there that could help him. Perhaps there was something he had missed in the reports his men brought him. Perhaps there was something which could reveal the relationship between Evan and Bonnie, or give him some idea of the reason behind his and Alaric's visit.

When he got to the room, though, he reached into the pocket where he always kept the key only to find it empty.

It cannae be. Where is it? Where has it gone?

That key was like an extension of himself. He only rarely removed it from his pocket and yet now it was nowhere to be found.

Alarmed, Graeme dug into the pocket, thinking that perhaps he had missed it the first time he looked for it. Still, the pocket was empty, offering no clue as to the key's whereabouts. His heartbeat quickened as he searched his other pockets, thinking that maybe he had accidentally slipped it in one of them, but they were all just as empty as the first.

Doubt crept into his mind. The only one who could have taken the key from him was someone who was close, but there was no one in the castle he kept that close. Could it be a maid, he wondered? Could one of them had taken it while tidying his clothes?

But what could their goal be? Those wenches cannae even read.

Blood rushed to Graeme's head as he stalked the corridors of the castle. He had to find that key before it could fall into the wrong hands—assuming it hadn't done so already. The papers he kept there were too precious, too incriminating to leave them unprotected.

As he stomped through the hallways, he couldn't help but think that Evan had somehow found a way to take it, impossible as it sounded. Had he managed to creep into his quarters in the middle of the night? Had he somehow managed to convince one of the maids to grab it for him?

"Guards!" Graeme called and instantly, half a dozen pairs of footsteps approached him, his men rushing to his aid.

He was going to find that key one way or another.