MacAlister - Taming The Scotsman Part 45

Sin laughed. "Perhaps."

"Have you any more word about the MacKaids?" Alexander asked.

Lochlan shook his head. How he wished to find them. And he would. He wouldn't rest until they paid for what they had attempted to do to his family.

"None of my men have found a trace of them," he said to Alexander. "Have yours?"

"Nay."

"That sits ill with me," Sin said. "I have a feeling we haven't heard the last of them."

"Most likely not," Lochlan concurred.

"So what should we do?" Alexander asked. "I've notified my cousin what they've done, and he has issued an order of execution for them, but until they're caught..."

"There's not much we can do," Braden said.

Sin finished off his tankard of ale and poured more. "Sure there is."

"What?" Braden asked.

"Marry Lochlan off."

Lochlan shoved playfully at Sin's arm. "You're drunk."

"Is he?" a feminine voice asked.

They looked up to see Sin's wife, Caledonia, approaching the table.

She moved around the side of the table until she was behind Sin's chair. Looking down at her husband, she gave him a chiding, gentle smile. "I had a feeling my wayward husband was spending far too much time down here."

Sin looked a bit sheepish.

"Come, my lord," she said, taking Sin's hand. "We have a long journey home tomorrow, and I promised my brother Jamie that we would be back in time for his birthday."

Sin kissed her hand, then rubbed it against his cheek.

Lochlan was amazed by the gesture that was so alien to Sin. He was glad to see his brother so well suited with his wife.

Sin was another one he had never expected to see happy. It did him good to know life had finally treated his elder brother kindly.

"Good night, gentlemen," Sin said, rising to follow after his wife.

They pa.s.sed Maggie in the entranceway.

Lochlan smiled as she came forward, eyeing the three of them suspiciously. He remembered a time when he had contemplated her death and had wished many vile things upon her.

Now he was glad he had refrained from the urge to kill her.

"Look lively, Braden," he said to his, youngest brother. " 'Tis your turn to have your ears boxed."

Braden scoffed, "My sweet Maggie knows better than to box my ear, eh, love?"

There was a saucy sway to her hips as she approached the table. "It depends on if you've done anything to have them boxed for."

She smiled sweetly at Alexander and Lochlan. "Do you mind if I steal him away from you?"

"Not at all," Alexander said.

Braden got up, swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs at almost a dead run.

Lochlan watched them leave, his heart light at his brother's antics. No doubt Maggie would be gifting him with another niece or nephew soon.

"So," Alexander said once they were alone. "Have you any plans to take a bride?"

Lochlan swirled the ale around in his cup as he considered that. In truth, there was no woman in his heart. He doubted if there ever would be. But still, his duty commanded him to take a bride.

There was only so long he could put off that particular responsibility.

"Mayhap one day," he said quietly.

Alexander arched a brow at him. "Aren't you a little old now not to be looking?"

Perhaps he was. But Lochlan had too many things that demanded his time, and marrying a woman sight unseen wasn't something he relished.

"To everything there is a season."

Alexander laughed at that.

Footsteps sounded outside the room, followed by the main door opening and closing.

Lochlan and Alexander exchanged puzzled frowns.

It was far too late for company.

An old servant entered the hall with a youth behind him. The boy hadn't quite reached his majority.

Dressed in rags, the boy carried a weathered satchel.

"Forgive me, my lord," the old servant said to Alexander. "The lad said he had news of Lysander."

Alexander motioned the boy to come forward. "Is there a problem?"

The boy hesitated, then shrank back. He looked warily at the servant, then to Lochlan.

"Speak, lad," Alexander said patiently. "No one will harm you."

Still the boy looked doubtful. "I have word, my lord. This man came to our village and he told me I was to bring this to you."

The boy rushed forward, dropped the satchel on the table, then ran back to a safe distance as if he expected the wrath of h.e.l.l to fall down upon his young head.

Lochlan frowned at his fearful actions.

Alexander ran his hand over the worn leather. "Is this Lysander's?"

The boy swallowed. "I know not, my lord. I was only told to give it you and to not open it."

By the pallor of the boy's face, Lochlan could surmise the child hadn't listened.

"Who gave you this?" Lochlan asked.

The youth scratched his neck nervously. "He said there was a letter for Lord Alexander inside and...

and to tell his lords.h.i.+p that next time you should hire yourself someone better than a French knight." The boy was shaking. "Can I go home now, please, my lord?"

Alexander nodded.

The boy shot from the room as if Lucifer's hounds were after him.

Lochlan's frown deepened.

Alexander studied the bag. "How very strange."

"Aye," Lochlan said, leaning forward to look at it as well. "It is indeed."

Alexander opened the satchel and dumped its contents onto the table.

Lochlan stood up the instant he saw the green and black plaid that their father had commissioned years ago for his sons. He'd never known anyone other than he and his brothers to have it.

His blood went cold as he stared at it in disbelief.

Alexander opened a small piece of parchment while Lochlan pulled the plaid closer to examine it.

"Canmore," he read aloud, "I don't like being made a fool of by anyone. You can tell the gypsies that they are next on our list. You should have never told the king about us. Had you stayed quiet, your daughter might have lived. Now we'll be coming for her and the rest of the MacAllisters. Guard your backs carefully."

Alexander's hands shook and his face turned dark red with rage. "It's signed Graham MacKaid."

Lochlan barely heard the words. He was too fixated by the initials embroidered in the corner of the tattered and worn plaid.

K.M.

Kieran MacAllister.

But how?

Who would have had his brother's plaid? No one outside their clan would have access to it.

Seeking more clues, Lochlan unfolded the material and cursed as a disembodied hand fell to the floor.

Alexander's own curse rang out as he saw it and the strange brand that was on the back of the hand.

"So help me," he growled. "I'll kill every one of those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for this."

Lochlan found it hard to breathe. Hard to focus. He ran through his mind the man whom he had met briefly. A man he had paid all too little attention to.

"Who was Lysander?" he asked Alexander.

"I don't know, to be honest. I found him in France about five years ago when I went to visit a friend. He had just come back from Outremer and refused to speak of it."

"And this plaid?"

Alexander shrugged. "It was wrapped around him when he asked for work. Does it mean something to you?"

It meant more to him than his own life. "Did he say how he came by it?"

He shook his head. "I only know it was very dear to him. My wife's maid tried to take it from him once to clean it and he almost tore her arm for the trouble. He was rather feral in the early days of his employment."

Alexander retrieved the hand and went to find the priest to dispose of it.

Lochlan ran the monogrammed corner of the plaid through his long fingers as he stared at the initials his mother had placed there.

How had a Frenchman found Kieran's plaid?

None of the brothers had ever journeyed farther than England except for Sin, and Sin had never taken a plaid with him.

If not for the initials, he might think that perhaps the weaver had created more of the design and sold it.

But those initials matched the one for his plaid, Braden's and Ewan's.

Nay, this was Kieran's. He knew it. There was no doubt in his mind that it was his brother's, and by the looks of it, it was quite old.

A souvenir of Outremer.

Which meant that Kieran hadn't died that day when he'd gone out to the loch on his own.

For some unknown reason, his brother had faked his own death and then left Scotland.

But why?

Why would Kieran not send word to them. Why would he allow them to believe he was dead all these years?

Lochlan sat down as the news sank in.

No doubt the MacKaids had found the plaid after they killed Lysander and had sent it back to them.

They would have known exactly who this belonged to and what it meant.

Lochlan drained his ale in one gulp.