Page 134 of The Laird's Masked Passion

For the first time in several days, Breac laughed. The sound surprised everyone, including Breac.

Outside the study, the castle had begun to change. More horses filled the stables. Strange tartans crossed the courtyard beside MacKenzie black. Men who had spent days speaking in lowered voices now exchanged news, insults, and cups with newcomers who had brought more than swords. They brought proof that the castle had not been abandoned to Robert’s mercy.

Colin felt no relief. Relief was merely vigilance resting at the wrong moment.

Yet when he crossed the upper gallery that afternoon, he found Elspeth walking with Margaret below, and the sight held him. The women moved slowly through the inner courtyard. Margaret had one arm linked through Elspeth’s, matching her careful pace without making the accommodation obvious. Elspeth was speaking with unusual animation.

Colin paused near the stone rail.

“Domhnall believes silence is evidence of wisdom,” Margaret spoke.

“And is it?”

“Nay. It generally means he is deciding how best tae be unreasonable.”

Elspeth smiled. “Colin daesnae require time fer that. He possesses a natural gift.”

Colin’s brows drew together. Domhnall came to stand beside him.

“They have kent each other less than an hour,” he observed.

“Margaret is insulting us.”

“Aye. That is how she expresses affection,” Domhnall chuckled.

“Elspeth uses several methods.”

“I have noticed.”

Colin looked at him. Domhnall’s expression became innocent with such poor skill that it amounted to mockery.

Below, Margaret said something quieter. Elspeth’s amusement softened. She looked toward the walls, where guards paced beneath a low sky. Margaret squeezed her arm.

Colin understood then what her presence offered. Elspeth was no longer the only woman seated among men discussing blood, borders, and vengeance as though fear were an inconvenience. Margaret knew what it meant to love a man whose duties regularly invited death to the door.

Colin disliked the thought of Elspeth loving him.

He disliked more how fiercely he wanted it to be true.

Dinner began with Niall insulting the ale.

“This is what ye serve guests?” he asked, holding the cup toward the fire as though poor light might explain the contents.

“This is what I serve men who arrive uninvited,” Colin replied.

Domhnall drank from his own cup. “It is better than what Niall serves.”

“That is slander.”

“It is memory.”

“Memory is notoriously unreliable after yer third cup.”

“At least I can reach a third cup without losing consciousness.”

Niall looked toward Elspeth. “He once slept beneath a table during a royal supper.”

Domhnall set down his cup. “I had been poisoned.”