Chapter Five

Early the next morn, Anna ate a bowl of porridge in the kitchen while Mistress Pottenger and servants prepared the meal for the rest of the clan. She could not help the anticipation that quickened her pulse and hurried her motions. 'Haps she liked the chief a bit more than was wise, but she could not seem to help herself. After breaking her fast, she proceeded up the steps to meet him. She didn't know how she could point out the traitors to Neacal in the great hall without everyone watching her do it.

When she arrived at the top of the steps in his corridor, Neacal stood waiting, tall and dark, leaning against the stone wall. His great wolfhound sat by his leg, wagging his tail in greeting.

Neacal's long, midnight hair was combed smooth and still damp. His blue eyes glinted with a bit of morose wickedness. Good heavens, he was breathtakingly handsome in the light of early morn. Surely he must have been a devastating rogue before his capture, one who stole the hearts of all the lasses from many miles around. He had a profound seductive air about him, though now 'twas overshadowed by a cloud of dark intensity. This made him even more appealing to her.

"A good morn to you, Anna," Neacal murmured in a husky, intimate voice, for her ears only, making her imagine things she should not. Things like… waking up beside him.

"Good morn, Neacal." She curtsied.

His expression lightened and she thought he might smile—hoped he would. Instead, he turned and proceeded down a short narrow corridor, an offshoot of the main one, then opened a small, almost hidden door. "Stay, Dunn," he told his dog, before squeezing his broad shoulders through the doorway. Once inside, he held out his hand to her.

She took it, the heat of his roughened palm making her tingle, and stepped inside the confined dark space. "Heavens. Is this a closet?"

"Shh," he hissed softly against her ear, his warm breath teasing her skin and giving her delightful shivers. Goodness! He really shouldn't do that, for it inspired all sorts of unladylike urges. Finding herself suddenly short of breath, she inhaled his luscious, clean male scent combined with that of a spicy soap. Her thoughts took flight and she no longer cared why they were in this small room. She only wanted to press her nose against his throat and breathe him in.

He drew her toward a square opening where light and the murmur of several conversations filtered up. What was this? Where were they?

Holding her breath, she eased forward and found herself staring down at the tables of the great hall, filled with many people eating their first meal of the day.

Of course, this was a laird's lug, or laird's ear. She had heard of these little eavesdropping chambers but had never been into one. Neither of the castles she'd lived in had them. How unnerving to imagine someone spying on her below, without her knowledge, but 'twas also true that lairds had to be extra careful about conspiracies and clan politics.

Neacal stood just behind her, not quite touching, but the presence and heat of him were palpable. His delicious scent surrounded her, sending her woman's instincts into overload.

"Do you see them?" he whispered, his warm breath fanning the hair by her ear again.

She shivered as a more intense heat and awareness washed over her. It took all of her strength not to turn and melt into him. More than anything, she craved looking into his eyes… or pressing herself against him, but she had more important things to do. She forced her attention downward, into the great hall. She scanned the many clansmen and finally found the co-conspirators sitting at the far end of a table near the entry, their heads bent together once again.

She pointed at them. "There," she breathed.

Neacal moved his head forward, beside hers, to peer through the opening. With his tall height, he loomed over her in the cramped space.

"The ones sitting at the end of that table," she whispered. "It appears they are plotting even now. The chubby, ginger-haired one has on a green doublet and the slim, brown-headed man is wearing a blue doublet." She glanced aside at him.

Neacal narrowed his eyes, observing the men with a sharp glare. "Roy and Parlan."

She was so close to Neacal she heard his teeth grate together. Of a certainty, she would never want to make an enemy of Neacal MacDonald. He would be a deadly foe. But with more than one—perhaps several—in his clan against him, his life could be in danger.

***

Neacal could not believe it. His own distant cousins plotting against him. He should've expected it. Though they had pledged their fealty along with every other clansman, they had always remained aloof and often observed him warily. Although anger at their betrayal twisted his gut into a black knot, something else demanded his attention—Anna stood so close in front of him his skin tingled. The spellbinding scent of woman and lavender had filled his senses since she'd entered this room with him. Her hip barely brushed against him but it set his body on fire with powerful yearnings he had not felt in years.

Ignoring the traitors, he dropped his gaze to her and was surprised to find her staring up at him. The intense expression in her green eyes snatched his breath away and captivated him. His own longings were reflected there.

Unable to stop himself, he lifted a hand and stroked his fingers along her perfect, satiny cheek and smoothed a stray flaxen curl behind her ear.

She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes flew wide. Aye, he'd shocked her but 'twas not enough to deter him in his pursuit of a wee glimpse of paradise. He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. She gasped, but at the same time, latched her small hand onto the plaid crossing his chest to pull him closer.

Aye, he was right. Paradise. He flicked out his tongue for a taste of her, sweet as honey. Damnation, it had been so long. Forever. He gathered her close, kissing her harder, more ardently. He could not get enough of her. Saints, he near drowned in the delicious female taste of her.

He relished her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. She accepted each of his lustful kisses and returned them. She was exceptionally skilled at kissing. Aye, experienced, for she was a widow.

But who was she, really? At the moment, he didn't care. Damned if he could stop kissing her even if she was the worst of the traitors.

Loud laughter echoed up from the great hall.

She jerked back from him, gasped and covered her mouth. Her wide eyes said she was horrified. At him, or herself?

She stared down through the hole into the great hall again as if she thought they were laughing at her. Nay, the people below did not know the two of them were in here.

Neacal sucked in a sharp breath. "Pray pardon," he whispered. "I forgot myself." He turned to the door, hoping she didn't know of his raging arousal. Had he pressed himself against her? Had she felt how much he wanted her?

If so, he couldn't blame her for drawing away. He was naught but a bad-mannered rogue. Exiting the room, he helped her into the corridor, then quietly closed the door.

Facing her, he said, "I hope you can forgive me."

She swallowed hard, her face still flushed. "There is naught to forgive, m'laird."

M'laird? She had already reverted back to his title. She must indeed be vexed at him, although not admitting to it. He gave a brief, caustic laugh. "I beg to differ. You're helping me and I'm…" He shook his head, unable to voice how loathsome he felt.

Her wide curious eyes searched his and he wondered what she truly thought of him. Clearly she did not fear him, or she would've run from him as if he were the devil himself.

Had she liked the kiss as much as he'd thought she did? As for himself, he had enjoyed it more than anything in the past several years. Mayhap more than anything in his life. A new burst of arousal struck him and it took all his strength not to pull her to him and claim her sweet mouth again.

He forced his gaze aside. "I thank you for telling me of the traitors," he whispered.

She nodded. "You're welcome. I'm glad to help." She turned and walked away slowly.

He could not believe it. She didn't fear him as most women did… even though he'd kissed her like a man bent on ravishing her. Saints, how he craved feeling her bare skin and curves brushing along the length of his body.

He ached for it.

Shaking off the yearning, he descended the stairs in search of his most trusted men. He had to discover how many traitors lived within these walls. He hoped his friend Colin Cameron showed up soon with an army of several dozen. 'Twas sad he trusted another clan more than his own.

***

Anna rushed toward her small bedchamber on the servants' floor. Good heavens! What had she just done? Kissed Neacal! She pressed a hand to her burning, sensitized lips.

Surely, she'd lost her mind.

Well, he'd kissed her first, and how could she possibly resist? She closed her eyes, remembering what a stunning, dreamy kiss it had been… and unbelievably seductive, but she'd also felt his loneliness pulling at her soul. The kiss had been as dark, tormented and sinful as the man.

He was dangerous temptation itself. Although some women might fear his glares, or find his scars unappealing, she could easily look beyond his forbidding surface to the agony beneath. The angst in his blue eyes drew her in. She felt his isolation, for she lived the same sort of existence—surrounded by dozens of people but not truly a part of the group. 'Twas the pain and secrets of the past that made it so.

If he followed her to her room now, in pursuit of another kiss, she would be hard-pressed to resist him. But she must! No matter how much she'd enjoyed the kiss, she was daft to have allowed it to happen.

Although she had not willingly married Blackburn MacCromar, she feared she was wed in the eyes of the law. The priest had heard her say nay many times during the ceremony, but in the end, when Blackburn had his man press the tip of the sharp blade against her sister's throat, she'd been forced to say aye to save her sister's life.

Of a certainty, she did not feel married to Blackburn, nor claim him as a husband. Still, if he ever found her, he would force her back to the MacCromar castle, lock her inside, then beat and punish her. Since he was a man and now a chief, the law would be on his side. The only way to escape him would be to kill him, but she was not a murderess. Nor did she possess his strength, fighting skill or manpower to best him.

Regardless, she must stay away from Neacal. Aye, she'd loved slipping about and eavesdropping on the clan with him in the wee laird's lug, but that was folly. She could not get too close to anyone, especially Neacal, and risk exposing her secrets.

***

Neacal found Matthew in the great hall, rising from the table after breaking his fast.

"Have you a minute?" Neacal asked, forcing himself not to glance in the traitors' direction. He did not want them to suspect he knew.

"Aye, of course, chief."

Neacal headed toward the library, which he knew to be secure with no places to eavesdrop. Not enough time had passed for Lawler and Roth to return with Colin Cameron and his men… if his friend decided to help him with manpower. Besides, Neacal had to discover the traitors among his clansmen for himself. Hopefully before Colin arrived.

Once they were inside the library, he closed the door.

He had known Matthew since they were lads. They had always been friends back then, in addition to cousins. He didn't believe Matthew would be a turncoat.

"There are traitors among us," Neacal said, keeping his voice low.

Matthew's dark eyes widened. "Indeed? Who?"

"Roy and Parlan. There could be more."

"Saints! I never suspected."

"Nor did I."

"How did you find out?"

"Someone overheard them talking and reported it to me." Neacal did not want to bring Anna's name into this, for that might put her in danger.

"Do you want me to lock them in the dungeon?" Matthew asked.

Neacal shook his head. "I want you to act as if you're disgruntled with me in front of Roy and Parlan. Pretend to be on their side and find out how many clan members are in with them. See if you can discover their plans. It has something to do with Sleat."

"Damnation, man. They plan to overthrow you and bring in Sleat as chief, do they not?"

"I think so. Have you heard anything?"

"I just remembered—after your brother was killed, a couple of the men suggested asking Sleat for his help."

"Do you remember who?"

"Gegrim was one."

"Aha." Could it be possible that all his guards were against him? How on earth would he find so many replacements? He would worry about that later. First, he had to weed out all the dishonorable men. "Pretend I have relieved you of your position as war leader." Neacal gave a wry grin. "That will convince them you have truly turned against me. I'll run the sham of searching for a replacement."

"'Tis brilliant… although I hate to imagine or pretend such a thing. I am truly honored and grateful you chose me for such an esteemed position."

"And I'm honored and grateful you agreed to do it. You're one of my most trusted clansmen and friends. As you pretend to be angry with me, also observe and report back to me those men who seem loyal to me. I need to know if there are any I can rely on."

He prayed he could trust at least a few of them.

***

Late that night, after Vardon finished piping, Constance awaited him at the edge of the great hall. She had been secretly talking with him at every opportunity and sending him flirtatious glances, which she knew he couldn't resist. No man she set her sights on could resist her.

'Twas not his person she wanted but what information he carried. Surely, he or the other musicians knew something about Anna Douglas that Constance could use to remove her from Bearach Castle.

She had observed Neacal watching the harlot and 'twas clear he was enamored with her. If they were in the same room, he could scarce keep his eyes off her. If Constance was not allowed to keep her love, then neither would Neacal be. He'd destroyed her life and any chance she had at happiness.

When Vardon's eyes met hers, she winked and forced a playful smile. After covertly glancing around to see who might be watching, he headed toward her. She retreated through the doorway, took two steps up the stairwell and looked back. When he appeared, she motioned for him to follow her. Upstairs, she waited inside her bedchamber doorway. 'Twas mostly dark, the only light coming from the low-burning hearth fire and a few candles in her room.

He emerged from the darkness of the stairs, still carrying his bagpipes under his arm, then he drew to an abrupt halt. "What are you about, my mysterious lady?"

"Come inside and find out," she whispered and pushed the door further open.

He glanced behind himself, eyed her for a moment as if trying to decide, then hastened inside.

Smiling, she closed the door. "I've been wanting to see you in private," she said, keeping her voice low and seductive.

"Aye, well. I've been craving the same thing."

She approached him slowly, so as to appear impassioned but not too forward. After laying his pipes on the foot of the bed, he hesitantly placed his hands at her waist. Although he was a nice-looking man, he was not the kind she was drawn to. He was too tame for her. Only daring, devilish and exciting men got her blood to pumping. But she could tolerate him long enough to gain the knowledge she wanted.

"Why am I so drawn to you?" she breathed, sliding her hands up to his shoulders.

Appearing entranced, he shook his head.

Lifting to her tiptoes, she tilted her face toward his. Taking the hint she was hoping for, he leaned down and kissed her. He was not a bad kisser but he was not Farquar. She drew away like a shy lass and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "I'm sorry. You must think me scandalous," she whispered.

"Nay. I think you are a lovely and sweet lady," he murmured.

"And you are a gentleman. I don't wish to give you the wrong idea. I simply… wanted to spend some time with you, getting to know you better. 'Tis too difficult in the great hall with so many people around."

"I agree."

"Let's sit." Taking his hand, she led him toward the settle by the fire where they sat side by side. She was not desperate enough to sleep with him… yet. Mayhap she could draw the information from him before extreme measures were called for. "Would you like some wine?" she asked, pouring a goblet.

"Oh, aye, that would be nice."

She handed him the first goblet, then filled her own. "Tell me what it was like growing up in your village," she said.

He droned on and on about his childhood and youth, his main focus on studying piping. He stopped now and then to drink the wine. A half hour later, she could hardly keep her eyes open, but forced herself to while she sipped her wine, smiled and nodded at the appropriate times.

She refilled their goblets. "And when did you meet up with the other musicians?"

After guzzling the wine, he spoke of Eli, Harriet and Jules and how happy he was to join them, for they were like family.

Finally, the opening Constance had been waiting for appeared. "And when did Anna Douglas join your group?"

"In Edinburgh, probably two years ago. She approached us in a coaching inn where we'd been playing. She said she could sing and wondered if she might travel with us. Once we heard her, we could hardly believe it."

"Aye, she does have a lovely voice."

Vardon nodded. "Indeed, the best I've ever heard. Naturally, we all wanted her to join our group for we thought we could ask for better pay."

Constance ground her teeth, well and truly sick of hearing how amazing Anna's voice was. "Where was she from and why did she simply appear out of nowhere? She doesn't seem like a peasant."

"Oh, nay, indeed." Vardon smiled, then lowered his voice. "I'll tell you a secret if you promise to tell no one."

Her heartbeat accelerating and excitement buzzing along her nerve endings, she scooted closer to him. "Of course I won't tell anyone. I'll keep everything you say a complete secret."

"Well… you're right. She's no peasant, but a lady, in truth. A week or two after we met her, and we were still in Edinburgh, a man approached me—the henchman for a Highland chief. He showed me a small portrait, a very fine painting of a beautiful woman. 'Twas Anna. But the man called her Susanna. He said she was the wife of the MacCromar chief from near Inverness."

"Is he dead now? Everyone says she is a widow."

"She told us she was a widow when first we met her, a week or two before they were searching for her. I didn't let on like I'd seen her. I talked to Eli about it and we figured if she'd run away from her husband, she had good reason. Mayhap he was abusive. She is a kind woman and I would hate to see anyone mistreat her."

"I see what you mean. I would feel the same way," Constance said in a compassionate tone, that she hoped fooled Vardon. "Poor lady, giving up life in a castle. She must've had a terrible life back there." And Constance wanted to be sure Anna returned to her terrible life, far from Neacal. She would have one of her own guards deliver a missive to the MacCromar chief.

***

During the next week, Neacal and Matthew made two lists of names—one for the possible traitors and one for those who appeared loyal to Neacal. During that time, he forced himself to stay away from Anna, but he did think of her near every minute. What was she doing? Did she remember the kiss with fondness? Of a certainty, he did. At night when he was alone, he could think of little else.

Once each day, he asked Tavia for an update on Anna's burn and bruises. With a knowing smile, the healer told him Anna was much better. He didn't mind if Tavia knew he cared more than he should about the lass.

During supper that evening, Neacal was again distracted by Anna as she ate at one of the lower tables. How he wished he could pull her aside, into the library or some private room and have a simple conversation with her or… 'haps even steal a kiss.

Nay, that would be madness. Even so, he could think of little else.

One of the guards named Forbes hastened across the great hall toward him, drawing his attention. He stopped in front of the high table. "The MacRurys have arrived by galley, m'laird."

"Indeed?" Neacal asked. What the devil were they doing here? Did the chief have some business to discuss? Chief MacRury was the age of Neacal's father, and they had met several years before. He arose from his seat and proceeded across the great hall.

"Several ladies are with the chief," Forbes said.

"Ladies?" Sudden realization struck Neacal and he halted, glaring back at Uncle Bhatar and Sir Hugh, sitting at the high table. Bhatar pretended to focus on eating, while Hugh gave a smug grin. Fury struck Neacal like lightning.

He'd told them he wanted no wife now. Why the bloody hell wouldn't they listen to him? The hoary-haired bastards!

Although rage clawed its way through his vitals, he could not send the MacRurys away now. 'Twould be the height of rudeness to deny them hospitality after they'd traveled so far.

Neacal turned and strode outside. In the bailey, he headed toward the newcomers. Although he was angry with the elders, he couldn't blame the MacRurys and would endeavor to make them feel at home.

Shoving away his ire, he offered his hand to the middle-aged man with the brownish-gray beard and collar-length thinning hair. "Welcome, Chief MacRury," Neacal said, noticing the man was dressed in a bright new plaid and his Highland finery. "'Tis nice to see you again."

"And you too, Neacal… I mean, Chief MacDonald. I was sorry to hear of your brother's passing. And your father, too, of course. Your da was a good man and I always considered him a friend."

"He thought very highly of you."

"I'm glad to see you're well-recovered from your injuries."

"I thank you."

Behind MacRury stood four women.

"This is my wife, Lady MacRury, and my daughter, Lady Ophelia," Chief MacRury said, motioning to the two well-dressed females, both dark-haired. Saints! Surely the petite lass could not be old enough to marry. She looked as if she was barely out of the nursery.

Staring at Neacal's face, she blanched and curtsied, her dark eyes wide. 'Twas his scarred face which frightened her. He ground his teeth, though she couldn't be blamed. She was practically a child, after all.

What nonsense!

Ignoring her reaction, Neacal bowed. "A pleasure, ladies."

The MacRury then introduced a few of his prominent clansmen and Neacal shook their hands.

"Supper has started. Please, join us." Walking beside the other chief, Neacal led the way into the great hall. Since the girl appeared terrified of him, surely she would tell her parents she wished for a less damaged husband. Hopefully, he would think of some fathomable excuse to let her father know he wasn't interested… without angering him.

At the high table, servants rushed to bring the newcomers food and ale.

During the commotion, Neacal slipped in behind Bhatar's chair. "I need to speak to you, uncle."

The older man pretended not to hear, blast him. He was not deaf. In fact, his hearing was almost as good as Neacal's.

He tapped his shoulder. When Bhatar glanced around, Neacal motioned with his head toward the library.

The man reddened and dropped his gaze.

"Now," Neacal growled low, then strode to the library to wait. He'd had it with the meddling elders.

Once Bhatar joined him, he closed the library door. "You sent for that young lady?"

"Not just me, all of us. Did you see how bonny she is?" His blue eyes twinkled like a mischievous elf.

"Damnation," Neacal growled low. "I told you I am not yet ready to be saddled with a wife."

"But sometimes a pretty face can help you be ready." Bhatar winked.

" Cha toir á bhòidhchead goil air áphoit. Beauty won't boil the pot. Is that not what you always say?" Neacal snapped.

"Aye." Bhatar grinned. "But it never hurts."

Neacal had the urge to hit something… or choke someone. He turned away, lest he throttle his elderly uncle. "I meant what I said. I have no intention of marrying now. If her clan is offended by my lack of interest, 'tis on your head."

"Och. You must learn how to be diplomatic, Neacal," he said in a cajoling tone. "You let your fiery temper rule you."

If Bhatar had been tortured he would no doubt have a bad temper, too.

Neacal wished he was mild-mannered and charming, more like he used to be. But wishes and reality were often miles apart.

"I have good reason," Neacal grated. Besides, he had improved over the past few months, he thought. And he would be even better if people, like the elders, didn't intentionally provoke him.

"Mayhap so, but I've always known you to be a wise man. Be careful you do not allow anger to rob you of that."

Sounded like something his da would've said. Neacal lifted a brow, eyeing his great uncle. As for the current situation… he did not want to make enemies of the MacRury clan.

"This is only a meeting, naught more," Bhatar said in the placating tone that riled Neacal even more. "If you don't like her, we'll send them on their way."

"Does the chief know this?"

"Of course. In order to ken who you wish to marry, you must meet a few acceptable young ladies."

Warning flashed through him. "A few? What the devil does that mean?"

Bhatar simply gave him a wee toothless grin.

"You've sent for more ladies? How many?" Neacal could not help that his voice blasted out that last question.

"Only two more, lad. Surely you can meet three bonny young ladies and be civil to them for a few days. If you dislike them, we will send them away."

"I don't need this right now." Neacal paced, irritation crawling along his nerve endings. "I have enough to deal with in rebuilding the garrison with loyal and skilled fighting men."

"I ken it, but you're a canny chief. You're capable of doing many things. Simply look how you went from a bedridden invalid to such a strong and fearsome warrior. I have much confidence in you, lad. Besides that, wedding the right lass could bring many warriors into the garrison from another clan. You could make that a part of the marriage agreement."

He damn well hated that his uncle made a good point. He refused to choose his wife based on how many soldiers her father could spare. To his way of thinking, marriage should be so much more than a business arrangement.

Neacal ground his teeth and they rejoined everyone in the great hall for the meal. It was a tedious affair. He wanted naught more than to leave them all where they sat, go out and climb a mountain in the fresh air. The room was stifling and too warm with so many people crammed into it.

Anna no longer sat at the table where he'd seen her before. Where had she gone? He scanned the room for her bonny face and blond hair.

Simply looking into her eyes could calm him and chase away his anger. But listening to her sing affected him in ways he didn't want to think of. Her voice ripped at his emotions.

When the lute music began and she moved in front of the musicians, he knew 'twas his cue to leave.

"Please excuse me. I have some business to attend to," Neacal said to Chief MacRury. "Make yourselves at home and enjoy the entertainment." He bowed. At the edge of the great hall, he asked the housekeeper to take care of the MacRurys. She assured him chambers were being prepared.

Neacal left the room and climbed the spiral stone staircase. How he wished Anna was with him now. He would give anything to hold her, to talk to her in the quiet and the breeze off the loch. But her lovely voice rang out behind him as if she were a divine being from the heavens.

But she was not an angel. She was a flesh-and-blood woman who stole his senses and stirred his blood as no woman ever had.

Once on the battlements, he drew in a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air and calmness stole over him.

"Chief?" someone said in a low tone. He turned and found Matthew slipping from behind a chimney.

"Aye?"

"I'd hoped you would come up here. Our plan is working," he whispered. "Three more men, aside from Roy and Parlan, have expressed their disloyalty toward you." Matthew named them.

"Damnation," Neacal muttered, though none of the traitors were guards, they were still his clansmen, a couple of them distant cousins. What was he going to do with them? Once they ferreted them all out, he would have to lock them in the dungeon. "I thank you for telling me."

"I want to keep up the pretense for a few days and see how many more rotten apples are in the barrel."

Neacal nodded. "I appreciate it. I know this cannot be easy for you. Some of these men are your friends."

"But no longer, if they're traitors to you."

What would he do if half the clan was against him?

***

Anna could not believe it when a second clan arrived the next day—the MacGills. How many more would come? Rumors had spread that the elders were searching for a bride for their new chief. Anna wondered what Neacal thought of this. Judging by the annoyed expression on his face, he was extremely irked. He had not spoken with her in a few days and she wondered why. It had something to do with the kiss, but she was not certain whether he was angry with her or with himself.

The ladies who were arriving certainly were beautiful, and young. Girls of around seventeen summers. Anna had also been seventeen when she'd married, so 'twas naught unusual.

Still, the idea that Neacal could potentially wed one of these lasses caused jealousy to rip a hole through her. Although she had no claim on him, his kiss had delved into her soul. She wished for it again… could not sleep at night… thought of him every moment. How foolish was she? Neacal was beyond her reach and, at present, far above her social station. Although she had been a lady in the past, her false identity made her little more than a servant who sang for her supper. He would never want to marry her, and even if he did, there was the problem with Blackburn.

Through the doorway, she peered into the great hall toward the high table where Neacal sat with his esteemed guests. Although at times he appeared miserable, she could tell he was putting forth much effort to be friendly and welcoming to the other clans. He belonged there with them at the high table, but she no longer sat at any high table as she used to.

"Are you well?"

Anna jerked around to find Tavia standing next to her. "Aye."

She looked to where Anna had been staring. "The chief holds you in high regard," Tavia said.

Anna searched her face, wanting to know what she meant exactly. "As I do him."

"He asks after your health each day."

Anna frowned, both surprised and confused. "He asks you? About me?"

"Aye. I've assured him you are well healed, but still he asks."

"Why wouldn't he simply ask me how I am?"

Tavia shrugged. "Men are ever a mystery. 'Haps you should talk to him."

Indeed, Anna would love to talk to him, but he'd been more aloof the past few days. She assumed he regretted kissing her and perhaps felt awkward about it. "And how is he dealing with all these guests and… young ladies?"

"He detests it." Tavia gazed out toward him. "He looks miserable, does he not?"

"Aye." His expression clearly said he was both annoyed and bored. Did none of those sitting by him notice?

"Even though I'm not truly old enough to be his mother, he has become like a son to me since he was so badly injured. I fed him; I bathed him like a child." Tavia blinked back tears. "And now I only wish to see him happy. I have not heard his laugh since before his capture."

Anna nodded, her throat tight. "I want him to be happy, too."

"When he looks at you, or talks about you, sometimes it seems he is about to smile. I think you're more important to him than you realize."

Anna's heart felt as if it leapt into her throat and her face heated. "Surely you jest."

Tavia shook her head. "He worries over you constantly."

Anna stared at the floor for she knew not how to respond to that.

"Saints," Tavia whispered. "Now which clan is this?"

Anna followed her gaze to see more strangers entering the great hall from outside. Two beautiful young ladies this time, along with their older female relatives and various clansmen. Her gaze darted to Neacal, sitting at the high table. Even from this distance, she saw the muscle jump in his jaw. The annoyance in his sharp blue gaze intensified. He shoved his chair back, arose and stepped from the dais. He strode between the lower tables filled with people and offered his hand to a tall, brawny dark-haired man… a chief she recognized.

Anna's breath froze within her chest. 'Twas the chief of the Hamilton clan. She had met him two years prior. He was an acquaintance of the beast who had forced her to marry him. Saints! She could not let him see her. He would surely get word to Blackburn as to her whereabouts.