Alasdair crossed his arms languidly over his chest. “I’m nae goin’ anywhere.”
“Of course, me Laird,” Jane said, and attended to the cloth again.
From the corridor, a knock at the door sounded. This one was firmer than Jane’s. A man’s voice accompanied it. “Me Laird? Lady Branwen is askin’ for ye. East receivin’ room. She said the matter is urgent and wishes for you to come to her directly.”
Alasdair looked at Isobel once more. Her chest rose and fell steadily.
“Stay with her,” he ordered Jane. “Daenae leave this room for any reason.”
“Aye,” Jane replied, bobbing her head in agreement. She had already moved to the chair beside the bed.
* * *
Lady Branwen was sitting closest to the fire with both hands wrapped around a cup of amber liquid. Her walking stick leaned against the arm of the chair. She looked him over when he came in, the way she had been looking him over his entire life, slow and thorough and missing nothing, and then she said, “Join me, me boy.”
He sat.
“Ross and several emissaries have gone to the northern glens,” she said. “They left before the first bell. He, as well as many others, believes the fire was set deliberately.”
“Ross should have come to me first.”
“He should have. He didnae.” She took a sip from her cup. “He’ll be back before dawn, or he willnae, and ye cannae do anythin’ about it tonight either way.” She set the cup down on the small table beside her. “There’s somethin’ else.”
He waited.
“The weddin’.” Granny paused, allowing him a moment to reply before inserting her own thoughts on the matter.
“I promised Isobel we would marry two days hence.”
“Indeed?”
Alasdair nodded brusquely.
His grandmother placed her cup on the edge of the desk, then leaned heavily on her cane as she stood. “I am pleased to hear that ye and yer bride have discussed the wedding.” Her lips pulled into a pucker, as if she were choosing her next words carefully and did not wish to spoil the moment by blurting something she could not take back later. “The clansmen and Elders expect to see ye wed soon, me boy. Very soon.”
“We will make haste,” Alasdair vowed.
Lady Branwen nodded her approval, then turned to leave. With one hand on the doorknob and the other wrapped around the top of her cane, she pivoted towards him once more. “When Ross or one of the men return from the north country…”
“If ye daenae hear their tales before they reach my ears, I willnae fail to seek ye out and share them with ye.”
“Such a good boy.” Her brows wrinkled and her lips drooped softly. “So dependable. So worthy of love.” She paused. “It is ablessing that Isobel is safe. The Heavens have smiled on our clan once again.”
“Aye,” Alasdair agreed. “Even when we struggle and face challenges, Clan Dunalasdair rises above the chaos.”
Granny’s withered hands lifted. She pressed her index and ring fingers to her lips, then tapped the silver brooch which fastened the collar of her dress. “Clan Dunalasdair.”
“Clan Dunalasdair,” he echoed.***
The bath was warm and smelled of lavender, and Isobel sank into it, feeling the smoke slowly rise from her skin. Her throat still ached when she swallowed. Her lungs felt scorched through. But she would be perfectly well soon, and she supposed that was all that really mattered.
She looked at the ceiling.
“He stayed,” she said mostly to herself. “While I slept.”
Jane was folding a cloth near the fire, her back to the basin. “He did.”
“For how long?”