“Aye.”
“And you have done nothing for the people under his care.” The way she sneered that last word sent shivers down his spine. Just what had she endured?
“His people are his. No other laird can interfere. You know that.” He was risking a war between her clan and his just by sponsoring her now. Didn’t she see that?
“I know that sometimes one must take matters into one’s own hands,” Iseabail returned. The woman had surprising steel, but he could not let such folly stand. It was too dangerous. But before he could say that Mairi cut in.
“This was not one of those cases,” she said, her tone firm.
That was exactly what he was about to say, but it came better from her.
“You should have come to me,” Mairi continued. “And the countess. We would have helped you.”
So much for thinking they would rely on him to protect them. That was, after all, his job as the son of their laird. “You should have come to me,” he said firmly.
“There wasn’t time,” Sadie said. “And the fewer people who knew, the better.”
Mairi snorted. “That’s dung from a verra stupid sheep, Sadie, and you know it. I would have helped.”
“I would have taken care of it,” Connall said his voice strong. “And not a soul would be talking about hanging Scotswomen!”
Rather than be impressed, all three women shook their heads.
“You’re the only one talking about that,” said Mairi.
“Wrong,” he said. “Because I can assure you that Mr. Carr and Mr. Barrett are. And if one of them died last night? His parents are right now speaking very loudly about it.” He pushed to his feet. “There’s the noisy way of doing things and the quiet way. You’ve chosen to go verra loud, and we won’t know the end of it for a while.”
He stopped a moment to stare hard at Sadie and Iseabail. Both were chastened, but still firm in their belief that they could withstand any repercussions from their actions. He hoped it was true. Indeed, his plans for the day now revolved around making sure of it. But first he had to say one last thing to Mairi.
“I’m off to see if the blighter died. I give you leave to do as you will with them.”
“Me?” she said rearing back with surprise. “They’re your kinsmen. I’ve got—”
“More sense than they. Tell me true. Would you have done such a thing without talking with me about it first? Or the countess?”
Mairi took a breath, but eventually shook her head. “The countess knows society. She’d know best what would come from beating up a rapist bastard.”
“And me?”
“I’d trust you to watch my back. Two women in the dark against two men. They might be Sassenach dandies, but there’s still danger there. It’s only good sense to be sure a lucky punch won’t have you as another victim.”
Exactly. Their eyes met across the room, and he could see that she understood his thoughts. She had the sense of a laird’s woman and a Sassenach duchess. He knew it even if she didn’t.
“I’ll not punish them, you know,” she said. “If it were given to me, I would have done something to the bastard. Crush his bollocks at a minimum.”
He nodded. He’d guessed as much, but she needed to understand that he trusted her judgement. “When I leave something to you, I won’t interfere with your decisions.” He sighed. “I’ve enough to do today to keep them from the gallows.”
“And sell Liam’s whisky,” Mairi reminded him.
That, too. “When will you ever stop thinking of Liam?” he groused.
“When another man sleeps in my bed.” She arched her brows. “He’s the laird of my clan after his father. It’s the proper way for me to think.”
He looked at her a long moment, trying to figure out what she meant by that. After all, he had been in her bed last night. And while he stared at her, his expression caught halfway between confusion and hope, she flashed him a brilliant smile. It was her answer to his unspoken question.
It told him absolutely nothing. Except, perhaps, that she liked to keep him guessing.
He burst out laughing, a long full laugh that kept him filled with cheer. He smiled in the carriage. He chuckled when he went to speak with Lord Heath.
Indeed, he was in the best frame of mind until he learned that Mr. Barrett had indeed died. The son of an earl, dead as a doornail. And that was a verra bad thing indeed.