The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,90

a strong laird, the McKay would not hold the respect of the neighboring clans. Even with a formidable mistress, they’d have a tough road in the years to come.

Perhaps there would be an heir.

It was a tiny flicker of hope but one far overshadowed by the odds stacked against it.

Naught ever came from worrying, but it gave Orla the strength to finish her chore. She walked the last few paces to a small door. As a competent Head-of-House, she knew where every chamber was. She rapped on it once before entering. A candle was lit inside the chamber. Una sat on a stool beside the made bed. There was a small bundle on the bed.

“I see ye expected me,” Orla remarked.

Una nodded. “I hoped ye’d be the one to come. We have known one another our entire lives. One last moment with a friend. So much better than a noose and a masked executioner.”

Orla spent a moment in recollection. There had been summer days filled with games in the heather. There had been weddings when they had danced and danced with all of the exuberance of youth.

And now, there was the duty of being the adults who had to make the difficult decisions.

Una stood up and took the cup Orla held. She wasted no time in draining it. Likely worried she’d be denied a quick death if she argued.

“We were friends once,” Orla assured her quietly. She sat down on the stool as Una lowered herself onto the bed.

Una offered her a small smile. She recalled a melody from childhood and began to hum it. Orla tilted her head to one side, listening before she joined in.

Orla finished the last bit of the song herself. She pinched out the candle before leaving the chamber.

It was another chore finished. And like all chores, they were done for the sake of having a good home to live in. Orla sought out her bed, resting, at last, in comfort because her home was safe.

Chapter Eleven

There was a soft rap on the outer door in the morning. Cora went to answer it quickly.

Cormac Grant stood there. He offered her a nod as she got a look at his green eyes. He walked over to the door and pulled it wide.

“Me father is raving mad.”

Cormac was facing away from her still. His body was tense. She heard him draw in a deep breath before he turned and looked at her.

“It’s a poor excuse. All of the matters of the Grants have fallen to me, and it’s me duty to shoulder it. I placed me trust in Lirkin. A matter I apologize to ye for, lass.”

“He placed greed above the good of the clan,” Cora offered. “It is something we must all be on guard against.”

Cormac nodded. He considered her for a long moment. His gaze was sharp, and Cora stood in place, looking straight back at him.

“Ye are a fine woman, Cora Mackenzie,” he complimented her.

“A married one.”

Cora turned so fast her ankle nearly buckled. She had to blink, but Faolan was leaning against the doorway, his dark eyes open, even if his eyebrows were lowered in pain.

“And do…nae forget it, Grant.” Faolan pointed at Cormac.

“Christ, man,” Cormac muttered. “What are ye doing on yer feet?”

Faolan chuckled. The sound was weak, but his lips curled up. “I’m no’ ready to be buried just yet.” He looked at Cora. “Me wife refuses to be cheated out of our years together.”

Cora trembled. From head to toe, her body reacted to the knowledge that he had heard her.

But he was as white as the shirt he wore.

Cora gasped. “Ye’ll go straight back to bed, Faolan.”

She hurried toward him, still locked in wonder over seeing his eyes open. Was she trapped in an enchantment? Her soul willingly embracing fantasy because reality was too cruel? Her hand shook as she reached for him. Cora felt his heartbeat as she got beneath his arm. Cormac took his other side as they walked Faolan back to his bed.

Faolan growled. “If ye’ve a mind to be helpful, Grant, share some whisky with me.”

Faolan settled back into bed. Cormac reached into his jerkin and withdrew a costly silver flask. He unscrewed the top and offered it to Faolan.

Faolan took a large swig of it and let out a satisfied sound. Cora smiled. It was a huge, likely ridiculous-looking expression. Anyone watching would have known she’d become a fool muddled by love.

And she didn’t care.

Not one bit.

*

Brynna carried a tray down from the laird’s chamber.