The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,96

table, then settled back in her pillows.

Sutherland kissed her forehead, then tenderly combed her hair back with his fingers. “I dinna care how many bairns we have as long as ye stay by my side.” He held her hand as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed. “It willna hurt ye if I sit here, will it? I dinna wish to shake ye o’er much.”

“I begged ye to come to bed last night, remember? Ye know I like having ye close.” She cradled his hand between both of hers. “I was disappointed when I awoke and found ye gone from that silly chair.”

His gaze dropped to their hands, and his smile faded. “Yer father sent a maidservant early to fetch me. I didna want to wake ye.”

“What’s happened now?” When he remained silent for entirely too long, she feared the worst. “Please tell me Da hasna fallen ill with all the goings-on and wickedness in the keep. Nor that Jenny’s gotten worse. Please say they’re both safe.”

“They are both well, my love, I promise.” He calmed her with a caring look, then lifted her hand for a kiss. “But I am sorry to tell ye that War Chief MacIlroy is no more. One of the guards found him. The man hanged himself. Left his apologies for his family’s ways tacked to the tree with his dirk. He chose the oak closest to his wife’s grave.”

Sorcha felt nothing but sorrow for the troubled war chief. The madness of both his wife and son wasn’t his fault and, heaven only knew, he had suffered more than his share because of it. “I wish he hadna blamed himself.” She crossed herself. “God rest ye, Hector MacIlroy. May ye finally be at peace.” She couldn’t imagine the keep without him. “Da will be at such a loss. He entrusted the security of the clan and the handling of the guards to MacIlroy completely.”

“And now yer father wishes me to accept that responsibility.” His attention focused on their clasped hands. Sutherland smoothed open her fingers across his broad palm and gently stroked them one by one. “He has offered me the position of war chief to Clan Greyloch.”

“And what did ye tell him?” She knew what she hoped he had said. If Sutherland became war chief, their residence would be here rather than Tor Ruadh. She knew it might be selfish, but it would please her greatly to remain in her childhood home and not leave her father all alone.

“I told him I needed to speak with ye first. A man doesna make such decisions without consulting his wife—at least, I willna do so.”

His unreadable expression frustrated her to no end. While she wished to remain at Greyloch keep, she didn’t want him resenting her for tearing him away from his duties and his clan at Tor Ruadh. She reached up and touched the stubble shadowing his jawline. “I want ye happy. Whatever ye decide will please me as long as I am with ye.” That was all that really mattered. Even if they lived at Tor Ruadh, it wasn’t like she was half a world away from Da. It was just a two-day trip. Sutherland’s happiness was just as important as her own. She knew that fully now.

He leaned forward and gave her a kiss that stole her breath and made her wish her ribs were already healed. “I shall accept the honor he has offered me. In fact, I more or less already accepted it with the provision that if ye didna wish it, he would have to find someone else. Of course, he laughed when I told him that. I’m sure Alexander will understand and fully support my decision to remain here and work at yer father’s side.”

“Are ye certain?” she whispered, searching his face to ensure he was truly at peace with his decision.

“Aye, m’love.” He cradled her cheek in his hand and smiled. “And as soon as ye’re healed, we’ll set to the task of filling this keep with little ones that’ll make yer father wish for the days of peace and quiet.”

Someone knocked on the door, interrupting the tender moment.

“Aye?” Sutherland called out without rising from his seat beside her.

The door eased open, and a maidservant stuck her head inside. “’Tis the locksmith for the moon turret. Shall I tell him to wait until later?”

“The locksmith?” Sorcha repeated.

“I want that turret locked, and no one shall have the key except for ye and myself.” Jaw set, he

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