The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,45

ye, we hold Aderyn in the highest esteem and depend on her skills greatly for the benefit of the clan.”

Magnus accepted her apology with a somber nod, then turned back to Sutherland. “I propose to leave for Tor Ruadh tomorrow to carry Chief Greyloch’s invitation to our clan. That is—if ye feel safe enough here without me.” With a tilt of his head and a glance at Sorcha, he shifted with a slight shrug. “Or the three of us could leave for Tor Ruadh and return with the MacCoinnich party in time for the festivities. That would be safest for all concerned.”

While Sorcha understood a wife’s place was at her husband’s side, wherever that side might be, she preferred to delay leaving Castle Greyloch until the matter of ousting Lady Culane and her son had been handled. She had no problem with Da finding love again and taking another wife, but that despicable woman was not the one. She also felt sure that once those two were gone, the strange near misses around Sutherland would cease.

While she wanted her husband safe, she doubted either she or Magnus could convince him to leave before the evildoer was found and brought to justice. Over the past few days, she had come to realize her husband carried a grudge and cherished vengeance even more than she did. “Would it nay be more proper for us to remain here until after the celebration?”

“Aye, it would,” Sutherland agreed. He frowned at Magnus. “Ye know as well as I that I dinna run from any fight.”

“Ye would nay be running,” Magnus argued. “Ye would merely be making their wicked game more of a challenge.” Folding his arms, he returned Sutherland’s frown. “I dinna like leaving ye unguarded. Too much is still unanswered here.”

“I am fully healed now and able to be more wary.” Sutherland poured three glasses of whisky. As he handed one to Magnus and one to Sorcha, he nodded. “Until the bastard is caught, I shall behave as though this is enemy ground and watch my own back.” With a pointed look at Sorcha, he smiled. “Besides, I willna be going anywhere until after tomorrow night.”

“What happens tomorrow night?” Magnus asked, his glass halfway to his mouth.

“Everything,” Sutherland said with more meaning than Sorcha had ever dreamed a single word could carry.

Chapter Eight

“Why in the world is he fanning his manparts with his plaid?” Jenny asked. She peeked around the corner again, then turned back to Sorcha. “And where in heaven’s name are his trews? Even with the snow melting, there’s still a bite in the air.” She pointed at the melting sludge of snow the servants had scraped into piles in various parts of the courtyard. “He’ll dip his bollocks and freeze them clean off if he walks through some of those.”

Sorcha pulled Jenny out of the way and snuck a look around the wall separating the thawing kitchen garden from the alleyway next to the largest stable. Sutherland’s fine taut arse shone as white as the laundress’s boiled linen as he rucked up his kilt and turned into the breeze. She held her breath to keep from laughing as he scooped up a handful of the icy slush and cupped it to his manparts, knowing good and well why he did it. She had seriously considered sitting in one of those frigid piles herself to cool the fiery aching beneath her skirts.

“I guess ye could say he’s strengthening his resolve.” She blew out a heavy sigh as she turned back to Jenny. “Aderyn told me I must not lie with him until he’s fully healed—and even told me yesterday it needed to be at least seven days from his injury or else our firstborn would be cursed. I’ve managed to hold him off ’til now. Ye know Aderyn is never wrong.”

“Ye’ve been married nearly a sennight and still haven’t rid yerself of yer maidenhead? Are ye daft?” Jenny darted a look around the wall again. “The poor man must be miserable. Heaven’s own angels, Sorcie, holding his seed that long could make him fearsome ill! Might even kill him!”

“Just what do ye know about a man holding his seed?” Sorcha frowned at Jenny. While the girl had always been mischievous and fun-loving, she had never been anything less than virtuous—or at least, so Sorcha had always thought.

With a superior shake of her head, Jenny held up a hand. “Never ye mind what I know. By the by, have ye noticed Garthin and