The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,67

upset.

“Ye know Sorcie nearly died. Ye know someone tried to kill her and Jenny, aye?” Sutherland watched the lad closely. He could spot a liar from across the Highlands.

“I know,” Heckie whispered. His shoulders sagged as he stepped forward with a sorrowful look. “I been in the chapel thanking the Almighty for saving her. I been asking for extra angels to watch over her and Jenny.”

Sutherland slid a perturbed look at Alexander, then Graham, then shifted it to Magnus. Each of the men gave him a single nod. They all were in silent agreement. Heckie didn’t have the sense to form, much less carry out such a wicked murder. “Why did ye wear yer cloak and hood? The weather was fair today. Why were ye trying to hide yer face?”

“I cut all Cook’s saplings and reeds from the river’s edge. Waded knee-deep to get to the best of them. Bugs and such already rising up out of that mud.” He made a face. “I dinna like bugs. ’Specially when they get in me face.

Chieftain Greyloch turned away and bowed his head. “This be a fool’s errand,” he muttered.

Sutherland flung a hand toward the door. “Get him out of here and let him go back to the chapel. Now.” Poor, simple Heckie was not the murderous bastard they sought. This man was as harmless as a child. He shook his head. “The maid was good to tell us what she saw, but I dinna believe Heckie is the one we want.” Suddenly, he felt extremely weary, as though he had aged a thousand years. “I’m going back to my wife. Dinna disturb us again unless it’s a legitimate claim, aye?” He didn’t wait for their answer, just prayed that Sorcha healed quickly. The sooner she was whole again, the sooner they would be shed of this place.

*

Sorcha watched the rippling waters of the River Spey. This time of year, the waves danced and frothed with the addition of melting snow and heavy spring rains. This was her favorite path. One she had walked many times. Who knew when she would have the chance to walk it again? “Ye promised we wouldna leave until that witch and her son were gone,” she said without pulling her gaze from the river’s edge.

“Aye, well…” Her husband’s words trailed off into the wind.

“Aye, well, what?” she prodded.

Sutherland halted them both and turned her to face him. “She’s still abed. Even old Aderyn said something’s amiss with her. We canna very well lash her to the back of a horse and send her off, now can we?”

“Then shove her in the back of a wagon.”

“Sorcha.”

“Dinna use that tone with me. Ye know that woman’s evil as they come.” She fiddled with the ties of his tunic, enjoying the fact he’d left both jacket and waistcoat behind with the warming weather. “Da might be safe from her wiles, but what if Garthin targets him next?”

“If it is Garthin, he’s been quite canny in his attacks so far. It made sense for him to target me, and might verra well have been his mother targeting ye. But I fail to see how it would benefit either of them to attack yer father.” With a gentle lifting of her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “The trunks are packed and loaded in the wagons. It’s time we said our goodbyes and set off. Yer father will be fine, love. He’s as fierce as they come.” He armed his argument with the softest of kisses. “Besides, once we’re settled, we’ve bairns to be making,” he whispered before treating her to a more heated kiss.

“Ye dinna fight fair, husband,” she said when he finally lifted his mouth from hers.

“All’s fair when a man’s wanting his wife.” With a sly look around, he scooped her up into his arms and forged his way deep into the center of a thicket not too far from the river’s edge. As soon as the budding greenery closed in all around them, he lowered her to the ground and stretched out beside her.

“What are ye doing?” she giggled, although she had a fair idea and loved the thought of it.

He grinned. “We might as well get an early start on the bairns, aye?” With promising nibbles, he nudged aside the kerchief tucked at her neckline and slid his hand under her skirts.

As his fingers set fire to the tender insides of her thigh, she found it exceedingly difficult to argue, but at least, she