Page 12 of The Rogue’s Redemption

Ferguson MacDuff asked, pulling Reid’s attention back to the debate.

“Do you care if we do or do not?” he asked.

While his brothers would chastise him for poking an already angry chieftain, Reid simply could not resist. MacDuff and de Sowlis were allies, but he would never forget the former’s reluctant response to Toren’s call for help after Catrina was taken by the English.

MacDuff’s face turned an even brighter shade, much like his red hair. “You insult me to ask such a question.”

The seven other men in the room watched their exchange closely.

“If an insult was given, none was intended,” he said, keeping his voice as cool as MacDuff’s was hot.

MacDuff’s eyes narrowed. “You wonder why the elders hesitate to name you as your brother’s second.”

Reid could see Graeme was about to intervene, but he couldn’t let him do it. He needed to be sure MacDuff, and the others in attendance, were all clear on that particular topic.

“I could never replace Alex,” he said of his brother. No truer words had ever been spoken, at least not by him. And he knew better than anyone that the truth was oft more uncomfortable than any lie.

It worked.

MacDuff snapped his mouth closed. His argument had been stolen from him, and he hesitated to so openly agree with the man he was chastising.

“To answer your question,” he continued, “Clan Kerr is in full agreement. The appointment of Lord Caxton as the English warden will certainly not ease tensions.”

“Caxton,” another clan chief spat. “There is not a man alive who hates us more. And so unlike Hallington.”

Juliette’s father may have sheltered his daughter, a common enough occurrence along the border, but his failing health was felt by all when he was forced to remove himself as warden. Fair and well-respected, with the exception of a misunderstanding that had put his brother Toren in an awkward position when he first met his future wife, Hallington’s replacement was a very different sort of man.

“Aye,” Graeme said. “I fear the repercussions are already being felt. But will Douglas be willing to act?”

An uncomfortable silence met the question. None knew how their Lord Warden, a fair and honorable man, would react to the Englishman’s appointment. The Treaty of York, formed more than thirty years earlier, dictated their current state of affairs. It had established a border between Scotland and their southern neighbors and instituted the monthly Day of Truce. It was all that stood between them and abject, uncontrolled violence.

Someone accused the English of inventing titles to preserve their self-importance—as if they did not do the same—and Reid stopped listening again. Their ranting would go on for hours. Toren often complained about such gatherings, and Reid could see why. He allowed his thoughts to drift to a certain brown-haired Englishwoman who had captured not only his attention but his dreams.

Reid had awoken that morn primed and ready, and it had only taken a moment for him to remember why. Lady Allie. Last eve she was a very different woman than the one he’d first met outside the tower. Why had she dressed in boys’ clothing? And where had she been rushing to, or from, when she’d first gripped his attention and refused to let go?

The questions, and the lady, were so engrossing that it took him a moment to realize the bickering had stopped and the others had begun to stand. He started to do the same, surprised but delighted they were finished already, when de Sowlis nodded to him, indicating he wished for a private word outside the chamber. Unfortunately, it appeared the men were merely taking a break.

He followed Graeme out of the chamber, expecting to be chastised about his treatment of MacDuff. Instead, the man seemed almost . . . nervous.

“This is awkward for me, Reid,” he began.

Now he was even more curious.

“I do not typically meddle in such affairs.”

Reid waited and watched as Graeme’s eyes darted sideways. It struck him that this conversation would have nothing to do with MacDuff. Or their discussions.

This was about Allie.

His brother Alex had often said if he believed in witchcraft, he would think his own brother practiced such sorcery. The truth was less exciting. He merely observed more than most.

“Gillian worries, some may say overly much, for her sister.”

Reid tried hard not to smirk. Offending Graeme would infuriate Toren, so he simply pretended not to understand. “I should think so. She is, as I understand it, her older sister.”

Graeme smiled. “You know how protective an older sibling can be.”

“Protective? Nay. Toren only has half of Clan Kerr at my back when I travel more than a day’s ride away from Brockburg,” he joked.