it is my task to watch over all those in the clan—most especially the Laird and his family. I observe and note a great deal that others do no’.”
“Naught will come of it,” Gregor murmured.
“Aye, I ken, which is why I decided to grant ye a sliver of trust—that and because this last fortnight has kicked yer arse,” Lamond said with a half-smile. “Ye are finally at the point I’d reached before ye arrived—flummoxed, aggravated, and out of ideas. Mayhap if ye’d been a wee bit humbler to begin with I wouldnae have been so hellbent against ye.”
Gregor grunted in displeasure at Lamond’s grinning, bald-faced assessment. Yet he had been arrogant when he’d arrived, thinking he’d throw a few punches and call the matter with the Gunns settled. All this subterfuge and nuanced political maneuvering was far more complicated than simply overpowering his opponents, as he was used to doing.
“To be fair, even if ye’d listened to me from the start, I wouldnae have liked ye, for the way that Lady Roberta looks at ye, and ye at her,” Lamond remarked, his smile slipping. “As ye’ve no doubt observed, MacLeod, she is well-loved by her people, me included.”
At the soft note in Lamond’s voice, Gregor once again sharpened his gaze on the man, but this time, instead of deception, he looked for signs of desire.
When Lamond glanced at him, his eyes widened and he drew back his chin. “Nay, no’ in that way!” he blurted. “I think of her as a daughter I never had.”
Gregor exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. He truly was losing his wits over the lass. What would he have done if Lamond had professed to want Birdie as a man wants a woman? Pummeled the poor bastard? He needed to regain control of himself before he was too far gone.
When he lowered his hand, he found Lamond watching him, a troubled, knowing look in his eyes.
“As ye said, naught will come of it. Naught can. Remember that, MacLeod,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle.
“Aye,” Gregor muttered, frustrated at himself for giving so much away. And disturbed that he needed reminding from the captain.
“Lady Roberta is the gem of the clan,” Lamond said quietly after a moment. “We all feel protective of her—of the Laird’s whole family. That is the true reason we must end these Gunn attacks. We cannae let a threat to our people, our family, stand.”
Lamond frowned, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Mayhap the Gunns are attacking because they, too, think they are defending themselves. I’m sure Laird Gunn feels just as protective of his sons as Laird Morgan does for his daughters.”
Gregor froze, absorbing Lamond’s words. “Laird Gunn has sons?”
“Aye,” Lamond replied. “Two, I believe. My mother was a distant relation of the lady of the clan. She used to receive news of their family’s wellbeing from time to time. When my mother passed, the missives dried up. That was several years past, though, so—”
“How old are they?”
Lamond pursed his lips at Gregor’s brusque demand, but considered the question. “Let me think… The eldest would be somewhere around four or five and twenty now, and the youngest mayhap only eight or nine summers, if I—”
“Bloody fecking hell.”
Even as the air leaked out of his lungs, Gregor’s thoughts took off at a gallop.
And when he dug his heels in hard, so did his horse.
Chapter Twelve
Not long after dawn, Birdie had managed to wrangle both her father and a bleary-eyed Tessa to the great hall to break their fast.
Poor, overwhelmed Annis was having to make three separate meals for them because they all usually rose at different times—Birdie at dawn, her father an hour or two later, and Tessa sometimes closer to midday than morning.
Though managing the servants was supposed to fall under Tessa’s purview, there had been much disruption to daily life of late. Between Gregor’s presence and the guards coming and going at strange hours to keep watch of the Gunn border overnight, Birdie needed to get a firm grasp on the situation—and save Annis’s frazzled nerves as she adjusted to the task of feeding the entire castle singlehandedly.
Just as they were lifting their spoons for their first bite of honeyed porridge with fresh cream and spiced apple preserves, the great hall’s double doors flew open.
Gregor strode in, his black hair windswept and his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but his jaw set resolutely.
“Why didnae ye tell me Laird Gunn has a son?” he demanded of her father even from halfway across the