Chapter Eleven

Lack of TV—not a problem. No electricity—who cares? Non-flushing latrines made of stone—kids' stuff.

Janet breezed around the keep for the next couple of days feeling drunk on giddiness. He loved her. Handsome, virile, sexy Euan was in love with mousy Janet Donald nee Duval.

So it was much to her chagrin when Morag squirreled her away in an alcove on the second day following Euan's pronouncement of love, wanting to escape.

"I can no' stand to be with Stuart, Janet." Morag threw a lock of red hair over her shoulder. "Did I say he's no' as bad as my brothers? Ha! He is a thousand times worse!"

Janet cleared her throat. "What did he do?"

"What didn't he do is more the question needing asked," Morag huffed. "He tells me what to do, orders me around like a bloody personal servant, he…"

Janet listened with half an ear as Morag detailed the longish litany of her husband's sins. She knew Morag—and her temper—well. Even though her best friend didn't realize how she got when she was in a pique, Janet understood implicitly that she'd change her mind about wanting to leave Stuart once she cooled down a bit. She knew Morag loved him. It's just that Morag always became agitated whenever a man displayed even a hint of behavior that smacked of her brothers'. A fact Janet could hardly blame her for.

"So are you with me or no'?" Morag finished her tirade with a definitive nod of the head. "Or do you plan to make me find passage back to Nairn myself?"

Three years of experience enabled Janet to deal with the potentially explosive situation pragmatically. She knew Morag would change her mind once she let off a bit more steam. It was just a matter of distracting her until then.

Janet pretended to turn the matter over a bit. She narrowed her eyes and gazed thoughtfully toward the ceiling. "I don't think we should discuss this here. Let's go take a walk outside," she whispered.

Morag's blue gaze rounded as if she hadn't expected Janet to capitulate in the slightest and, in fact, had been hoping she wouldn't. That only confirmed Janet's initial suspicion—Morag just wanted to vent. "Y-You want to discuss it outside?"

"Of course." Janet shrugged. "This is hardly the sort of thing we can talk about in here."

Morag was so taken aback it didn't occur to her that there was no reason they couldn't talk within the castle walls because nobody would understand them anyway. "Well…" She scrunched up her face and cocked her head. "You want to leave Euan?" she squeaked out.

Janet decided not to bother playing games. Clearly, Morag had no desire to leave. Not deep down inside at any rate. "Not any more than you want to leave Stuart." She held out her hand and smiled. "Come on. Why don't we go outside and take a nice brisk walk and you can tell me all about what a jerk he is and then you'll feel tons better and more ready to confront him."

Morag chuckled. "You know me too damn well, lovie."

"Lucky for you." Janet grinned. "If I was any other woman we would have been half way to Nairn by now."

* * * * *

"I dinna ken her problem," Stuart growled, his sword clashing against Euan's. They were sparring in the lower bailey, honing their skills.

Euan disarmed him almost immediately, then pointed the tip of his sword just under his brother's chin. "Ye best figure it out, mon. 'Tis affecting your concentration." He released him and resheathed his weapon.

Graeme, who had been watching from the sidelines, chose that moment to amble over and do a little grumbling of his own. "At least ye have a wench tae moan o'er, Stuart. I still can no' believe Auld Sheumais let wee Elizabeth get away from him." He threw his hands in the air dramatically. "All the mon had tae do was watch her whilst I took a piss!"

Stuart found a grin at that. "He'd been hitting the cups again, no doubt."

Euan snorted. "As always." He shook his head, then rumpled Graeme's hair affectionately. "'Tis tae young ye are tae worry o'er a wench, boy. Ye'll get another. I'll find ye a betrothed myself come Michaelmas when a few of the clan leaders come tae sup."

Graeme shivered at the notion. "I can scarcely contain my excitement, brother. Will ye betroth me tae that MacPherson wench who possesses a face with a frighteningly close resemblance tae that of a pig, or will it be the dowered daughter of the MacInnis with the over-large teeth?"

Euan and Stuart couldn't help but to chuckle. "Well," Stuart teased, "what is your preference? A pig face or over-large teeth?"

Graeme didn't see the humor in the situation. He sniffed at such a choice. "Ye best save your ill-wit for one who can appreciate it. Since I dinna care for it and since your lady wife is planning tae run away from ye, one must wonder—"

"Back up, whelp," Stuart interrupted. His smile faded abruptly. "What do ye mean Morag plans tae run away?"

Graeme's eyes widened. "Well," he stammered out, "she was mayhap no' serious. Mayhap she was just grumblin' aboot because she was mad at—"

"Graeme," Stuart ground out, "tell me what ye heard."

"Aye," Euan rumbled, his thoughts turning to Janet and her close friendship with Stuart's wife. "Tell us."

Graeme sighed, thinking the scene he'd witnessed this morn not worth the telling of it, but eventually he gave in with a shrug. Why not. "I dinna ken most of what she said for she was mutterin' tae herself in that foreign tongue of hers, but after ye stomped off from the great hall this morn she grumbled under her breath in Gaelic that she was off tae find Janet and leave this place forever."

A chill of foreboding coursed down Euan's spine. Janet had never even confessed to him from whence she'd come. If she got away, he wouldn't have the foggiest notion where to hunt her down to.

"Damme!" Angered, Stuart cursed up a mild storm before turning back to his brothers. "I best go see what the wench is aboot."

"I'll come with ye," Euan murmured.

Stuart's eyes rounded comprehendingly. He nodded. "Let us go."