“Aye.” he motioned to the north and west as he fell into easy step beside her. “I hie from over to Inverthorne Keep north by Gairloch, though I’m here with the men for the distilling of the summer harvest, and then the sowing of the winter crops.”
“Oh? I was unaware another keep resided so close to Ravencroft.”
Another of his easy smiles endeared him to her even more. “’Tis another Mackenzie stronghold, lorded over by the Earl of Thorne.”
“I’ve never met the Earl of Thorne.”
“And ye shouldna like to, either.” he warned sagely. “Ravencroft’s half brother. An incessant hedonist and notorious libertine, that one. Pretty lass like ye would do best to avoid his ilk, lest ye find yerself in trouble.”
Mena’s eyebrows flew toward her hairline. “I wasn’t aware Ravencroft had any more brothers.”
The Highlander slid a bemused glance her way. “What do ye mean, more brothers?”
Oh, blast, why had she allowed this slip of the tongue? Of course no one else knew about Dorian Blackwell. That he’d once been Dougan Mackenzie. She’d never forgive herself if she revealed a secret that was not hers to tell.
Especially when she trusted the Blackwells to keep her own secrets.
“Not very many outsiders know about Hamish,” he said easily, sensing her distress. “I’m surprised ye were told, is all, English.”
“I thought Hamish was the name of Ravencroft’s father.”
“So it was.” Gavin nodded, studying her intently. “But it was also the name of Liam’s elder brother.”
“Good Lord. How many errant Mackenzie brothers are there?”
“Too many.” Gavin peered into the woods toward Ravencroft, though they were still too far away to see it through the copse of dense trees.
Mena barely had time to wonder at the shadows that settled over the genial Highlander’s features before they were gone.
“The lairdship of Hamish the elder was a dark time for the Mackenzies of Wester Ross,” he explained. “Young Hamish was the firstborn of the laird, but he wasna legitimate. Liam followed soon thereafter, and then the marchioness died under what some believe to be suspicious circumstances. There was a rumored bastard or two after that, no one knows who or how many. The laird wasna a kind man, ye ken, he didna always give his mistresses the choice…”
Mena nodded, her heart pinching for the poor women left in the late Laird Mackenzie’s wake. “I heard as much. So this Earl of Thorne, he’s one of these—illegitimate children?”
“Nay, he’s the firstborn of the late Laird Mackenzie’s second wife, ’tis why he was bequeathed the lesser title and a drafty keep.”
“And … what happened to young Hamish?” If it was anything as terrible as Dorian Blackwell’s fate, she’d almost rather not know.
“He was raised with Liam, mostly. They were close after a fashion, went off to war together, only…”
“Only what?”
“Only Liam returned. Hamish died at sea.”
“Oh, dear, how very sad.” They walked on in silence for a while. Mena gathered a few more late sprigs of heather, some wild lavender, and a small white flower that had fluffy, fernlike leaves. It occurred to her that her bouquet was rather like something someone would place at a grave. “This family has certainly seen its fair share of tragedy. Hamish the elder and younger, the laird’s mother, and then his wife, all gone.”
“Aye, well … Colleen, Liam’s wife, was different,” Gavin murmured, his eyes still far away.
Mena’s eyes drew together at the liberty the Highlander took with the laird’s first name. “How so?” she queried.
He took a long time to answer, so long Mena thought he must be lost in a faraway memory. “She just was.”
Feeling as though she trod on a clan secret, a sense of unease around the death of two young Mackenzie marchionesses brought another dark fear to mind. “Mr. St. James,” Mena began.
“Call me Gavin, please, there’s no need to stand on ceremony out here, English.” And just like that, his amiable mood and mischievous smirk had returned.
It struck Mena again how handsome he was, so incredibly virile, and she had to fix her gaze firmly on the forest in front of her.
“I wondered if you might tell me, that is, if you’ve ever heard of … or are familiar with…” Mena squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly foolish. “With the brollachan.”