on hand, The Gordon was held in check whilst Ewan earned his title. Now, instead of holding off for fear of Isobelle’s ghost defending her brother and her clan, they held off for fear that Ewan Ross had an impressive hatred for all things Gordon and would lay to waste any who strayed South. There would be no more alliances between them.
It was also rumored that the Gordons had offered protection to Clan Muir, no doubt to counter the Ross Ghost with a witch or two. Ewan hoped the rumor proved false, though. The Muirs lived but on the far side of the hill to the east. And although he and Monty had been searching since they were wee laddies, they’d never been able to find the existence of the tunnel they suspected of running beneath that hill.
The Muir sisters were forever popping up out of the cellar, as if there were a leak in the floor and they a bit of sea water determined to get into the boat.
Nay, if the Gordons won over the Muirs, I would wake one night with Gordon’s boot on me throat.
Since Quinn knew so few names and faces, the clansmen had believed their laird had gone addlepated. They paid him every respect, but their glances were full of pity. Poor man. It was not the easiest way to live, with people speaking to him simply and slowly all the time.
But this day, he pitied Quinn Ross for another reason entirely. This day, the Ross Pretender was in the hands of Clan Gordon. The lad Orie hadn’t been taken, praise be, and had been able to ride home to tell Ewan where the wayward man could be found. And considering the many grudges The Gordon held in the name of Montgomery Ross, Quinn might find it a fine time indeed to deny that name, to tell The Gordon that he was not truly Montgomery Ross at all.
And if The Gordon was able to ferret out one secret, he might be able to ferret out the rest, that although Montgomery had buried his sister Isobelle in the tomb that stood inside the great Ross hall, Ewan and Ossian had tunneled beneath and freed her from it while Monty kept the bastards at bay with his rantings. The kirk’s henchmen believed she’d died inside, as the clergy had decreed. The priest had ordered the tomb be placed upon stone so such a rescue would be impossible. And it nearly had been. If they’d gotten to her only a few hours later, it would have been her grave in truth. If the kirk discovered the deception, the entire clan would be punished, cut off.
If The Gordon discovered their secret, Clan Ross was doomed. And a clan cut off from the kirk might be unhappy to have lost their souls in order to save the life of one lass. No matter that it had been their laird’s own sister.
If the Gordon were to squeeze the truth from Quinn...
Although Ewan blanched at the thought, even as he thought it, the notion came upon him that Quinn’s life might not be worth a clanful of resentful Scots, let alone souls—especially if Quinn had taken on his current role of Pretender in order to keep that secret.
Ewan took a long drink of aqua vitae before he allowed his thoughts to go farther, for strong drink might prove a fine scapegoat for the argument he saw coming.
Quinn Ross was no’ so keen on livin’ in any case. Hadn’t he said so many a time when he first arrived?
Before Ewan thought better of it, or had the chance to sober, he hollered for Daniel.
“Send Enos to me.”
Daniel swallowed, but his feet didna move. “Enos?”
“Have we more than one Enos among us?”
“Nay, praise be.” Daniel took the bag from around his neck and kissed it. A superstitious man was his second in command.
For the first time, Ewan wished he had such a talisman around his own neck.
“Then send Enos to me,” he said.
“Can we not call everyone to arms and go after our lost laird?”
Ewan shook his head. “Nay. Quinn Ross would tack me bloody hide to the curtain wall if I allowed one man to be harmed in his stead. He’s told me so a dozen times.”
The young man’s shoulders dropped as he left the hall, and inside, Ewan’s soul sagged as well. It was an unholy thing he must do. And as he waited, and drank, the weight of the great Ross