This brief exchange prompted Malcolm to lean slightly toward Miss Graham and lower his voice to a murmur. Discreetly, Alasdair angled his body nearer to hers and listened in on their conversation.
“He’s asking about the northern passes. Whether they should be reinforced before winter.”
“Thank you,” Miss Graham whispered.
“Of course.” Malcolm smiled. “It must be difficult, sitting in a room where half of what’s bein’ said is beyond ye.”
“It’s instructive,” she replied. Alasdair noticed the way she pulled herself up straighter in her chair, carefully preserving the distance between her space and the one Malcolm occupied. “A person learns more about a room from watching it than from following every word.”
Malcolm tilted his head. Something in his expression sharpened almost imperceptibly. “Is that so? And what have ye learned this mornin’, Miss Graham?”
“That you’re very good at asking questions that sound like answers.”
He blinked. Then he laughed quietly and turned back to the table as if she had said something charming rather than pointed.
Alasdair flicked his gaze toward Malcolm and assessed the situation briefly. He could not read Malcolm’s expression now that he was focused on the debate. But he did not like the exchange that passed between his betrothed and his clansman—no matter how brief it might have been. Malcolm was forever scheming and Alasdair did not trust that the silver-tongued Malcolm was not currently hatching some plot that would serve his own purposes.
But what purpose could Malcolm have in chattin’ with Miss Graham?
Alasdair’s mind sought answers, but nothing occurred to him readily.
Slippery and conniving Malcolm might be, but he had never proven himself to be anything less than loyal to the Clan MacRaeh.
I’m seein’ shadows where there’s no light and misdeeds where there’s no cause to suspect foul play.
His eyes slid towards Miss Graham once more. He watched the way her gaze flicked back and forth between the men. As they volleyed opinions around the room, her curious stare followed their every movement.
What does she see? What does she think of these men? Of me?
Alasdair shook off these thoughts and stood abruptly.
“We cannae make any hard or fast decisions today,” he said, giving a nod at several of the older clansmen who were known for cautioning the youngest on the council to fight their impulses and evaluate each situation thoroughly before acting rashly. “We’ll adjourn and reconvene later.”
The room quickly emptied. Men gathered their weapons and left with efficiency, likely because they had other affairs to attend to at their own homes.
Malcolm was the last to leave. He paused by the door and gave Miss Graham a quiet, yet sycophantic bow.
“Welcome to Dunalasdair, me Lady. I hope ye’ll find yer place here in time.”
Alasdair watched him leave, then turned toward Miss Graham.
“Well…?” he urged.
She opened her mouth, then clamped her lips shut before saying a word.
He snorted. “Yer first impressions of the council were so awful that ye’d rather keep yer thoughts to yerself?” He eyed her quizzically, daring her to speak her mind.
“I did not understand much of what I heard,” Miss Graham replied. Her brow scrunched as she nodded toward the maps which were still strewn on the table. “I do not even know how much territory Dunalasdair covers and…”
“And?” he prompted.
Miss Graham lifted her hand and rested her thumb near the corner of her mouth. Thoughtfully, she began chewing on the nail.
His eyes trained in on her lips. She was worried, that much was clear, but he found he rather liked seeing her concentrate so thoroughly. As her lips and teeth worked over her thumb and her eyes screwed up with consternation, Alasdair could appreciate not just the soft shape of her lips but also the amount of brain power she was devoting to comprehending all that had happened around her.
On an impulse, he reached forward and laid his hand atop hers. Miss Graham startled and immediately pulled her thumbnail away from her mouth. As she moved, his hand followed. Warmth seeped between them as he allowed his fingertips to linger near her own.
“I know I should not bite my nails,” she whispered as her fingers brushed gently against his palm. “My mother always says that it is an unladylike habit.”