The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,73

for the Grant Retainers. The men were soaked to the skin and grateful.

Buchanan was grateful, too. His wife had taken up the duties of sending out the necessary letters. He scanned the number of Grant Retainers and felt his confidence grow. If Cora was on McKay land, Malcolm would think twice about holding her if all three clans were united in the effort to recover her. Beyond that, Buchanan wouldn’t think about what might have happened to his sister. Whatever her circumstances, he had to bear some of the responsibility for allowing her to depart from his own stronghold. A man had to safeguard his own.

Buchanan contemplated Cormac.

“Aye, I know well we have unfinished business,” Cormac responded. “Me father takes a great deal of me time, but that is my duty as a son. I should have sent for Cora two years ago. But the truth is, me father might have harmed her. He’s taken to seeing ghosts and thinks to run them through. His mind has gone soft, but his body still has strength.”

Cormac drew in a stiff breath and shared a look with Rolfe. “I know ye understand that it’s not something I wish to be common knowledge.”

Rolfe’s own father had been ill for many years. Somewhere in the stronghold, he was clinging to life in stubborn defiance.

“Let’s find her first,” Buchanan said firmly.

Rolfe and Cormac shared a look behind Buchanan’s back. It was one full of the knowledge of the dark possibilities Buchanan might have to face. But blood was blood. So, they’d ride with him and hope they never had to call on him to be at their backs in a similar situation.

Chapter Nine

Someone pounded on the chamber door just after daybreak.

Faolan groaned. Cora shifted and squeaked when the door was opened before Faolan bid anyone enter.

“Gainor…” Faolan growled. “What are ye doing here so bloody early?” He tossed the covers over Cora’s head as Yestin and Lonn followed Gainor into the room.

“What are ye doing?” Faolan demanded once more as he climbed out of bed.

“There’s a matter needing yer attention, Laird,” Yestin answered.

His voice was grave. Cora felt something tingle on her nape as she peeked over the edge of the bedding.

“Here, now,” Brynna spoke as she came into the room.

Faolan had barely pulled a shirt on as Brynna and the Head-of-House bustled into the chamber with three maids in tow. Brynna propped her hands on her hips.

“Ye’ll have to be going, Laird,” Brynna said. “We need to get the mistress up and dressed so she can appear below. All of ye men…out with ye!”

The maids weren’t willing to wait either. They began pushing the captains out the door.

“Now…just a moment…this is the laird’s chamber,” Gainor protested.

“And the mistress is not presentable,” Brynna insisted as she took Faolan’s boots from one of the matrons and pressed them into Gainor’s hands before she closed the door firmly in his face.

Cora stared at the Head-of-House. Brynna clapped her hands together. It was a bold action, one which sent a sense of foreboding through Cora.

“Come now, Mistress,” Orla encouraged her. “Ye need to be up and dressed. Do nae keep the priests waiting.”

The maids pulled the bedding back, allowing the crisp morning air in. Cora was quick to get on her feet as she shivered. But she stopped as her brain processed what Brynna said.

“Priests?” Cora asked.

Brynna’s expression hardened. “They are waiting below.”

The maids were suddenly all looking down. Tension knotted the muscles between Cora’s shoulders. She dressed in silence, noting that Brynna buttoned her doublet all the way to the top this time.

The Church and its representatives were not to be taken lightly. Even Brynna was wearing a linen cap over her hair this morning, and she brought one over to Cora. It was a delicate one, with a small decorative stitch running along its edge.

“Best to tone down yer natural coloring a bit, Mistress. If ye do nae mind me saying so,” Brynna muttered as she tucked the cap into place.

The sense of foreboding intensified.

But Cora refused to cower. She stood up.

“Let’s see what the priests need today.”

The odds were not in her favor. But Cora squared her shoulders and kept her chin level.

As mistress of the stronghold, she’d face whatever the matter was without shirking.

*

Faolan curled his fingers into the fabric of Yestin’s jerkin.

“They refused to tell me, Laird,” the senior captain would not be intimidated.

Faolan released him. “Forgive me.”

“I’m no’ too happy to see the Church up here,” Yestin replied. “It is rarely a