Page 73 of A Wife for the Highland Villain
“Ye would be surprised what folks choose to believe when their fear is stronger than their reason,” Finn answered.
Alasdair groaned into his palm. “For the love of God.”
“And let us nae forget. They havenae all accepted ye as their Laird. At least, nae yet. Some think ye came out of nowhere to seize the clan, and that makes it easier for them to believe that yer wife has a dark hold over ye.”
Alasdair shook his head, his anger flaring. “After everything I’ve done? This is how I’m repaid? What else did ye hear?”
Finn’s eyes flickered. “Well, and I wouldnae count this as anything, but a group of drunken men said ye were preparing the village for a sacrifice. They laughed, aye, but the words were spoken.”
Alasdair’s chest tightened. He rose to his feet and walked back to the window, his eyes fixed on the garden. Lily was still there with Sorcha, her gown trailing over the grass as she bent to pluck a flower. She looked soft, untouched by the poison of rumors, and he hated that the village spoke her name with such lies.
“These are only whispers,” Finn added, following his gaze. “But whispers turn into something more when enough men believe in them. It only takes a few people angry enough to do something before disaster strikes. Ye ken this more than anyone.”
Alasdair turned back to him, his eyes sharp. “I was attacked in the woods. Trust me, I ken a disaster is brewing.”
Finn said nothing, and Alasdair exhaled again, the faint scent of the burning logs from the fireplace hitting his nostrils.
“I just hate that she is being dragged into this.”
Finn stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “Ye want me advice? Daenae tell her about it.”
Alasdair frowned at him, but Finn continued anyway.
“Ye cannae let her suspect a thing. If she panics, her mind willnae be steady, and the men she is trying to heal will suffer for it. She must believe the attack was a one-time thing, and ye must make her think the worst has passed.”
Alasdair’s fists clenched. He hated the thought of lying to her. Yet he knew Finn was right. Lily’s heart was fierce but restless. Her worry for others would consume her if she believed she was the cause of danger.
“And one more thing,” Finn added softly, leaning closer. “Daenae dwell on this more than ye must. We will watch the leads Nathan gathers and silence the rumors when the time is right. But for now, focus on the upcoming cèilidh. That is the only thing that needs yer focus. Nothing else.”
Alasdair exhaled slowly and sat back in his chair. His eyes were heavy, and he rubbed his injured shoulder. The silence stretched until he finally spoke.
“What have I dragged her into, Finn?” he asked, his voice raw.
Finn had no answer, and the crackling fire was the only sound that filled the room.
CHAPTER 23
The woundedhall was filled with the usual scent of smoke, herbs, and unwashed bodies. It was also crowded, but unlike the first week, this was a rather pleasant improvement.
Lily moved as quickly and as deftly as she could between the cots. Whenever she was in the hall, tending to the men, all her worries seemed to fall away.
Why would she think of Alasdair when a man was convulsing right before her and she was trying to bring him back to life?
Why would she worry about her place in the castle when the only thing on her mind was how she could bring a soldier’s fever down? The hall had its own way of grounding her in reality.
A man nearby coughed, and her head snapped toward him. Blast it, she’d made a brew for him and left it behind.
“Give me a moment, will ye, Mr. Smith?”
The man nodded, evidently trying to stifle another cough.
She hurried across the hall to fetch the roots she had set aside the day before. When she reached the small basket she kept near the wall, her steps slowed.
It was empty.
She bent low, shifted the cloths and jars beside it, but no, there was nothing there. The roots were all gone.
“Great,” she muttered under her breath.
