The Betrayal - By Ruth Langan Page 0,43
a hand on her arm, but she pushed it aside.
“You would take up sides with these others?”
“Aunt, I was merely…”
She lifted a hand to silence him. “I know how easy it is for a man to be led astray by a coarse woman. But I’d hoped those who bear the name of MacCallum were better than most.” Her gaze swept those at table, pausing to linger on Kylia before moving on to Grant, and then to Dougal. “It would seem I was wrong.”
She turned away and walked from the great hall, looking for all the world like a queen among peasants.
As soon as she took her leave, the room was abuzz with speculation about the lord’s unwelcome houseguest, and the lady who was the acknowledged mistress of Duncrune Castle.
Grant leaned close to Kylia. “I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my aunt. She labors under a heavy heart.”
Overhearing, Giles gave a grunt of displeasure. “Aye, and woe to anyone who tries to forget it. The lady not only suffers her grief, she embraces it. Welcomes it. Wears it, along with her nun’s habit, to keep it fresh in her mind and ours.”
“Giles…” Grant shook his head, but it was too late.
The old man’s words had Dougal getting to his feet to defend the object of his scorn. “Though it may be true that our aunt grieves, who’s to say when a broken heart will heal? Her pain is real, Giles, and I hope you will be gentleman enough to retract your accusation here and now.”
The older man nodded. “Forgive me, Dougal.” He turned to his host. “And you, my lord. It was not my intention to disparage your beloved aunt.”
Satisfied, Dougal took his seat.
Culver pushed away from the table and bowed to Grant. “Your brother is right, my lord. Your aunt must be feeling abandoned by all who love her. By your leave, I’ll go after her and keep her company, so that we don’t add to her grief.”
“That’s kind of you, cousin.” Grant nodded his approval. “You’re excused, Culver.”
As he walked from the room they returned their attention to their meal. Soon, with the help of Giles’s gentle teasing, they were once again laughing among themselves and sharing tales of battles and adventures.
As the conversation swirled around her, Kylia thought about what Giles had said. Could Hazlet not see that her expressions of grief were creating a chasm between her and those who loved her?
She realized with a trace of sadness that Hazlet’s absence brought a sense of relief to everyone in this hall. Without her dour countenance they could enjoy the levity of this happy occasion without guilt.
Chapter Fourteen
As the night wore on and the ale flowed, the guests became more raucous. It was impossible to take more than a bite of salmon or taste of mutton before pausing for another speech and an emptying of goblets, only to have them filled once more by passing servants.
Though Hazlet never returned, her friend and cousin, Culver, moved through the crowd, head bent in earnest conversation with many of the men from the village.
“M’laird.” A bleary-eyed warrior shuffled to his feet. “It’s come to my attention that ye left yer people without protection for many days while ye were off fetching the lady seated at yer table.”
Grant nodded. “Aye. My journey took many days. But the lady kindly offered to accompany me to my home to lend her services.”
“And what would those services be?”
At his coarse suggestion, the crowd fell silent.
Anger flared in Grant’s eyes, though he managed to bank it. “The lady has the gift of healing and sight.”
“A witch,” someone muttered aloud.
“How do we know ye aren’t under her spell?” another shouted.
“Aye.” A barrel-chested warrior got to his feet and tossed aside his goblet. “How do we even know yer the same man who left Duncrune Castle all those days ago? If ye’re in the company of a witch, how do we trust that ye’ll still protect us? I say we should choose another laird from among those present. One whose mind isn’t clouded by witchcraft.”
The bleary-eyed warrior took up the challenge. “If yer father were alive, Grant MacCallum, we’d have no such decision to make. Now there was a man who knew how to fight his enemies.”
“Aye.” A shout went up that nearly shook the rafters.
“We deserve a laird who can make us all proud as well.” The warrior’s voice trembled with emotion.
The men and their ladies drank, then pounded their cups on