Page 54 of Love with a Scottish Outlaw
“Sit, please, eat,” she said, motioning him down. “A pleasure to meet ye, Mr. McDonald.”
“Ye’re kind to offer hospitality to strangers, my lady.”
“A tradition in the Highlands, as ye surely know.”
He briefly bowed his head.
“So ye’re heading to Glasgow. My sister by marriage is there even as we speak, visiting friends.”
“She’s surely enjoying herself.” Duncan was shocked that she’d brought up Catriona so easily, but he’d take the good fortune. If he’d chosen another city, Catriona’s name would never have come up. He’d been incredibly lucky. But if they thought she was just visiting, surely after two weeks, they’d expect a letter from her, a response to one they must have sent. He didn’t have much time before this new earl put all his efforts into finding her.
He realized that Lady Aberfoyle was still regarding him with friendliness, but also a certain scrutiny.
“Ye seem . . . familiar to me,” she said slowly.
He let himself take a sip of ale, even as he leaned back and regarded her curiously. “I’ve never been here before.”
“And ye’ve never been to Larig Castle, the main keep of the McCallums? My brother is chief.”
“Nay, my lady.”
Though she smiled, she cocked her head and continued to study him with those unusual, piercing eyes. “I know ye from somewhere. Maybe it came to me in a dream.”
Was he supposed to take that as a joke? A threat? Did she suspect he was an outlaw? He gave her another rusty smile. She only nodded her head to him and moved on down the table to converse with other guests.
Duncan kept to himself for the rest of the evening, standing near groups of drinking men, as if he was a part of them, so he didn’t look so out of place. He’d debated leaving Castle Kinlochard right after supper, but knew that might appear suspicious, since Lady Aberfoyle was already curious about him. Several times he thought he felt her watching him, but he didn’t risk looking her way.
He spent the night rolled up in his plaid on the floor near the hearth with several other travelers. When the castle doors were opened at dawn, he started to leave before even waiting for a meal.
“Mr. McDonald!” came a voice just as he reached the doors.
Everything inside him urged an escape, but he forced himself to turn around. It was the maidservant, Rona, from the night before.
“Mr. McDonald, my lady bid me prepare ye food for yer journey,” she called, holding up a satchel.
He let out his breath. “’Tis kind of her. Please give her my thanks.”
“If ye wait but a moment, ye can do so yerself.”
“I cannot. My journey today will be long.”
This time, she didn’t try to stop him, and he reached the courtyard without any sense of relief. He wasn’t free of the castle yet. Several people moved through the courtyard with purpose, but it was obvious that many more were heading inside to break their fast. Inside the stables, a groom lazily shoveled out a stall, ignoring Duncan. The marshal of the horses was nowhere in sight.
Duncan found his saddle and other gear in the corner of the stall on the floor, not where he’d left it. As he bent over to see if anything was missing, he heard voices as someone else entered the stable.
A man said, “We cannot interrogate a guest simply because ye might’ve had a dream about him, Maggie.”
Duncan froze, staying well hidden in the shadowy rear of the stall, with Arran between him and the visitors. It was the earl and his countess. Why did she keep bringing up a dream?
“I didn’t just dream about him, Owen, but your sister, too. And ye know my dreams come true.”
“Not always,” said her husband, his voice good-natured.
Duncan didn’t think he could be any more shocked, and didn’t know what to make of this unreal discussion.
Lady Aberfoyle’s response to her husband’s skepticism was an unladylike snort.
“What happens in this dream of yours?” he continued.
