“Does he…does he know about Angus?” Meg asked.
Alison’s eyes flew, horrified, to Meg’s. “Nooo, he doesna know, and he must not! I dinna want him to know, Lady Meg! Promise me ye willna tell him!”
Meg shushed her gently. “I won’t tell him, never fear. But he will find out, Alison, he can’t help but discover it, in time. You should tell him first, before that happens.”
Alison looked away, blinking fast to stop the tears.
Meg sighed and rose, wrapping her shawl about her plain white nightgown. Once she stepped off th
e thick rug, the floor was cold beneath her bare feet, and she quickly climbed into her bed. Alison bustled about, tidying up clothing and folding it away.
“My lady,” she said at last, “I dinna wish to speak out of turn.”
“Of course not. You can say whatever you wish to me, Alison.”
“The laird…the Captain. He will bring trouble to the glen.”
Meg narrowed her gaze, trying to see into the other woman’s mind. “How do you know that, Alison?”
Alison shrugged uncomfortably. “I feel it, Lady.”
Alison’s “feelings” were well known in the glen and not to be taken lightly; she was one of those with the second sight. Meg nodded soberly and thanked her. “I will take care. I will be watchful.”
Alison gazed at her a moment longer, and then nodded her satisfaction with her mistress’s answer. “Verra well. Good night, my lady.”
“Good night, Alison….”
The door closed and Meg was finally alone. Alone in the darkness with a single candle. Alone to wonder what it was her father and Gregor Grant were discussing, and why it was she could not hear it.
Chapter 13
Malcolm Bain strode along the upper corridor, his mind preoccupied. He had spent the night in the stables, sleeping in a pile of less-than-sweet straw, while horses snorted and farted all around him. Now his back ached and even the cold water he had pumped over his head in the yard had failed to put a dent in his weariness.
I am too old for this, he thought to himself. I should have stayed at the barracks in Clashennic.
If ye had never left Glen Dhui, a voice whispered in his head, ye’d have a house of yer own now, with a family to welcome ye to it.
He’d made a choice between family and duty. At the time he had felt he had had no choice. He still did.
And now he must find Gregor Grant and rouse him for the long day ahead. There were men coming from all corners of the glen, carrying a motley collection of arms. Meg’s tacksman, Duncan Forbes, in his usual high-handed manner, had sent out word without waiting for instructions.
Malcolm Bain did not see the plump, dark-haired woman step out of the doorway into his path. Not until he collided with her and all but sent her flying.
“What the—” she began, turning to glare. Black hair and black eyes, big and round, and getting rounder. Alison Forbes actually quivered with anger.
“I dinna see ye,” Malcolm Bain spoke cautiously.
“Then ye’re blind as well as stupid!” she screeched back. “Ye great poopnoddy! What do ye mean by crashing about without looking where ye are going? I could have fallen and broken something!”
He had meant to be unfailingly polite to her, to answer her with gravity and respect. But now her words had made him smile. He caught it before it could grow into a grin, but it was too late.
“Wipe that smirk off yer face, Malcolm Bain,” she hissed. “Do ye think this is funny? Do ye?”
“I…’tis just that if ye did fall, Alison Forbes, ye would bounce before ye broke. Ye are so delightfully soft.”
Her black eyes flared like wildfire, her mouth pinched white at the corners, and he knew she meant to mortally wound him. In a flash, he was past her, and hammering desperately on Gregor’s door. A sleepy voice within bade him enter, and he did so, gladly.
“Was that you shouting out there?” Gregor asked, yawning, and blinking in the early light.