Cicilia’s heart clenched in her chest at the mention of her father.
He kens. Alexander has nae told him yet, but he kens anyway. Has he kent since he was at the farm? Why wouldnae he tell Alexander?
“Thomeas,” Alexander started.
“Actually,” Thomeas continued, as though he hadn’t heard Alexander speak at all. “How is yer faither? Surely he should be back by now?” He smiled without humor. “Will he nae be joinin’ us here?”
Cicilia opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. Was he genuinely taunting her, or had the fire and the slaughter of her animals made her see ghosts in the shadows? The twins clutched tightly to her, and she heard Annys sniffle. “Nay,” she said after a moment. “Nay, me faither will nae be joinin’ us.”
“Oh?” Thomeas asked. If it was an act, it was a good one, as he looked genuinely surprised. Perhaps she had imagined it before. “That’s a shame. It’s passin’ strange that a faither would allow his unwed daughter to—”
“Thomeas, a word?” Alexander interrupted abruptly.
The accomptant turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Laird?”
“I would speak wi’ ye,” Alexander said. Then he turned to Cicilia and the twins, and in a gentler voice, said, “Wait here. I’ll
send one o’ the women to get ye settled, an’ come see ye when I’m done here, aye?”
Cicilia nodded, though she still felt on edge and couldn’t quite put her finger on what was causing the feeling. “Aye, o’ course, Laird.”
“Alexander, will ye play wi’ us later?” Annys asked quietly. When Cicilia glanced down at her, she saw her sister’s lip wobbling as she kept back tears. “I dinnae ken this place an’ it’d be nice if ye were around.”
Alexander crouched to her level and whispered something that Cicilia couldn’t hear. When he straightened up again, Annys was nodding thoughtfully.
“All right,” the little girl said. “I’ll remember.”
“Good,” Alexander told her with a smile. He winked at Jamie, then turned to Thomeas. “Shall we?”
Thomeas bowed his head. “Aye, Laird,” he agreed. The two men walked towards the door he’d come through, Alexander disappearing first, while Cicilia and the children waited on their escort.
Just before the side door closed, though, Cicilia could swear that she felt the lingering gaze of those suspicious gray eyes.
When Alexander was quite sure they were alone, he leaned his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands and said, “How long have ye kent about Cameron O’Donnel, Thomeas?”
He had half-expected the accomptant to deny it, so he was pleased when Thomeas had the decency to look abashed.
“So he is deid, then. I dinnae ken for sure, but I suspected. When I was out at yonder farm, I kent somethin’ was nae right about that lassie’s story.”
Alexander sighed. “Aye. A fever, she tells me. Cicilia has been runnin’ the farm alone since, an’ raisin’ the bairns, besides. It’s nae wonder they’re half-wild. It’s a tragedy worthy o’ the Bard, I’m tellin’ ye.”
He launched into the story, describing precisely what had happened since he arrived at the farm, including the gory details of the animal slaughter but excluding the events on the stable floor. When he was done, he could scarcely believe all such things had happened in the space of a few days.
After a long time, Thomeas still didn’t reply, and Alexander could tell that the accomptant had something on his mind.
He’s givin’ me that look he gives when he disapproves but doesn’ae want to offend.
“Speak freely, Thomeas,” he insisted. “Ye ken I value yer opinion above most others.”
Thomeas nodded. “I ken, Laird, an’ it means a lot.” He considered for a moment then asked, “So she an’ the bairns are to stay at the castle? Are ye sure that’s wise?”
“Why would it be unwise?” Alexander asked him. “We have the room. More than enough. She can even reside in Catherine’s old bed-chamber. God kens it’s been goin’ to waste since me sister was wed.”
“We dinnae have facilities for children,” Thomeas pointed out. “They’ll run amok an’ we can hardly give them lessons. Yer Lairdship has nae been blessed wi’ bairns o’ yer own yet, after all.”
“Cicilia will continue to see to their education,” Alexander told him with a shrug. “She is a learned woman. She doesn’ae just ken her letters an’ numbers, she’s proficient in Greek, Latin, economics…”
“Aye, she’s quite the woman,” Thomeas interrupted. “But still a woman, nonetheless, an’ women have their limitations. She’s a well-off lass used to a certain way o’ life. We dinnae have any women who are nae servants wi’ a job already in the castle. What o’ her lady’s maid?”