Page 12 of A Flawed Scotsman

Swallowing past her parched throat, Esme reached for a glass of water. “I heard voices just before whoever it was entered. It was an argument. I swear it.”

“Very well. A guard will be posted outside yer door until this is figured out.” Her father gave her mother one last look and walked out.

“One of ye remain here and another at the end of the corridor. Ensure someone takes yer place in the morning.” Her father gave instructions and lingered in the doorway. There was a pensive expression about him, as if realizing something. Then when he saw she was watching him, he turned away and left.

“Mother?” Esme said to her mother who’d settled once again back in the chair. “Do ye think perhaps someone in our clan wishes us harm?”

Her mother didn’t look astonished, instead more pensive. “I would certainly hope not. Whoever came in earlier was not a servant. Otherwise, they’d have been carrying a lantern or such. Something is not right. I must speak to yer father directly in the morning.”

“Ye should speak to him now.”

As if realizing something, her mother let out a sigh, a faraway expression on her face. “I trust that he will take care of things. There is no need to worry overly.”

The next day went by swiftly. Esme felt better, not well enough that it wasn’t excruciating to move, but at least her fever seemed to have abated. When her father and brother entered her chamber, she instinctively knew they were there to ask questions again.

Her father gave her a patient look. “I spoke to the two young men who I allowed to hunt. Both admit to seeing ye, but swear ye left them unharmed.”

“Is it true?” her brother asked.

She nodded. “I remember speaking to them and then heading back toward here. I realized I’d gone far and was frustrated at myself for it.”

It was obvious they restrained from admonishing her by the tightness in their faces.

“What do ye remember next?” her father prompted.

“Trying to find Dot. Just after I found her, she heard men’s voices and dashed away. The men Dot heard then came from behind trees and shot me. I tried to return home but, before long, I found it impossible. I hid then.” Once again, a picture of foliage moving, of the arrows impaled in her body formed and she winced.

“Did ye see them?” her brother asked. “Esme, ye must have seen something.”

She nodded. “Aye, I believe I did. But I do not recall their faces. Perhaps I didn’t see them clearly. By the time they emerged from the thicket, they’d already shot the arrows.”

“Were they shocked, surprised?” Her father moved closer leaning over her.

The men had spoken in hushed tones. “Aye, they were. I believe one wished to see about me, but the other talked him out of it. I was looking down at my body and not at them. I only saw their boots. When I looked up, they were running away.”

“Esme…” her brother began, and she held a hand out to stop him.

“One had wavy hair, very light, almost blond. The other short cropped dark hair. Neither was particularly large, both slender.”

“And so, it wasn’t the ones I allowed to hunt?” Her father sounded relieved that he’d not made a decision that had almost cost her life.

“Nay and I did not recognize either man’s voice. I am not familiar with most of the guards or village men well enough to remember voices. But I do recall neither of them sounded like someone I’ve spoken to before.”

Keithen neared the bed and studied her face. “Ye will recover fully, I demand it.”

“I shall do my best, if only to annoy ye for years to come.”

“That is the spirit,” her brother replied with a soft smile. From the fact neither her brother nor father relaxed fully, the healer had not pronounced that she’d recover fully. Esme shifted her legs, hips and wiggled her toes. Once she was assured all worked well, she moved her shoulders and lifted both arms slowly.

“What are ye doing?” Keithen asked with a scowl. “Ye will hurt yerself if ye keep moving about like that.”

“Making sure all of my limbs work properly. Ye act as if I remain on death’s door.”

When Keithen and her father exchanged a strange look, Esme’s injured stomach tightened. Something was wrong.

“What is it?”

Her father waved a hand dismissively. “The healer remains cautious as it is hard to tell what injury ye sustained that cannot be treated with herbs and such.”