returning home, but I wonder if it would be so bad if they dinna return home?”
Ciaran leveled a stare at her. “Stop playing matchmaker. Ye ken I need tae marry eventually fer an heir.”
She stared right back at him. “Do ye?”
“’Tis what Father always said.” His father had been very supportive of Ciaran’s preference for men, but his father had drilled it into his head that while he could have a male lover, he needed a female wife to produce heirs.
“Fiddlesticks!” Agatha waved a dismissive hand. “Ye have an heir. Ye have Ian. Let him produce more heirs.”
Ciaran shrugged. He needed someone to help him with Ian and Fiona, and even if Red stayed, he wasn’t the man for the job. He was nearly as big a handful as Fiona and Ian. Not to mention he was way too prickly and stuffy. “Ye got them patched up?”
She gave him a look that said their discussion was not over, but she nodded and propped her hip on the desk, folding her still-green hands in her lap. “There was nothing tae serious, just bumps and bruises, a few cuts, but nothing tae deep. I gave them both yarrow and chamomile tea tae help ward off fever, should infection set in.”
“Guid.” He liked knowing Red was taken care of and settled. Perhaps a little too much. Ciaran had found himself about to go into the west wing several times this morning while stretching his legs. He’d tried to reason with himself that he needed to help Red get home and get him to talk. They could help each other, after all, but first he had to gain Red’s trust. Only the idea that he might wake Red had stopped him. “Is Red up?” Ciaran yawned.
Agatha raised a brow, which was still pale blond, and a smile quirked the corners of her lips. “Ye mean Bannon?”
“Aye. Red fits him better than Bannon.”
Chuckling, Agatha shook her head and pushed the papers aside on his desk, revealing the tablet. “Ye want tae ask him about that?”
“Are ye a mind reader now? How did ye ken about this?” He dipped his head toward the object on his desk.
After picking it up, Agatha turned it over and gasped at the back. “It’s beautiful.”
Ciaran nodded. It was pretty impressive. The entire back side was a sea of jewels. In the middle was a large letter E in pale blue crystals. The stones surrounding the E went from dark blue to white as they reached the edges, but as far as Ciaran could tell, they were only decorative. He’d mashed on every single one of them and they’d done nothing.
Agatha handed him the device and glanced at the door. “I ken about it from Fiona, of course. And dinna worry, I dinna say anything tae Bannon or Louie. I actually came tae tell ye that the council is headed this way. I saw them in the outer bailey from the west tower and came here tae tell ye. They are probably in the great hall by now.”
With a sigh, Ciaran took the slate and put it away in the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk and threw some papers on top of it for good measure. “I was wondering how long I could avoid them.”
“I can always go tell them ye have gone out.”
“No, I might as well get it over with.” They weren’t going to leave him alone until they had answers to their questions, and no doubt the majority of them involved Red and Louisa.
“Well, then….” Agatha bent and kissed his cheek. “I will go. Come find me when ye are done here. I have an idea how tae get more food fer the clan.”
Ciaran started to tell her he’d handle the food situation, but she turned to go and a soft knock landed on the door only a split second before it opened.
“Ciaran?” Maggie MacKay, the spokesperson for the council came in. She was his third cousin and had inherited the MacKay chin, complete with dimple and the tendency to look haughty when it was lifted, and it was definitely elevated at the moment. She was a stark woman. Her salt-and-pepper hair was in a no-nonsense bun at the back of her neck, and her dress was dark, with the MacKay plaid draped across her shoulder offering the only real color—and the clan tartan wasn’t very colorful with its muted browns and greens. Maggie searched the room, her gaze landing on Agatha first. Her mouth dropped open,