Sins of the Highlander by Connie Mason Read Free Book Online

of the man he was giving his daughter to, then he canna be a verra canny sort.”
    She bristled at that. Her father was the Stewart, laird of a powerful clan. “My father is a great man.”
    “Your father made a deal with the devil, and unfortunately, ye get to pay the bill.”
    They came to a fork in the trail, and he turned the stallion’s head to the left onto the track heading down.
    “Trust me, lass. By and by, ye’ll thank me for keeping you from becoming Lachlan Drummond’s wife.”
    Elspeth curled her toes inside her left slipper and managed to wiggle it off without his knowledge. It fell under the stallion’s hooves and was pressed into the path, marking their way as clearly as if she’d stopped and drawn an arrow.

Chapter 5
    “Wine!” Lord Drummond bellowed as he entered the solar.
    Old Normina shuffled forward with a horn and a wineskin of the best vintage to be found in the laird’s cellars. She’d anticipated he’d demand more than mead this night after chasing all over creation for his lost bride. Without a word of thanks, the laird knocked back the horn in one long swallow and held it out for Normina to refill.
    Not that she expected thanks. A laird couldn’t be bothered to notice the likes of her. It was enough to have a roof over her head, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep. At her age, she was grateful for small comforts.
    Lord Stewart followed him into the comfortable, tapestry-bedecked room. He pulled off his gloves, shrugged off his heavy cloak, and glowered at his would-be son-in-law. Without being told to do so, Normina scurried over to offer him a drink.
    The Drummond didn’t suffer servants who couldn’t correctly divine his needs or the needs of his guests.
    Then Normina took her place in the corner and propped herself on a little straight-backed chair. That way, she’d be ready if called upon, and out of the way and of no more consequence than the boar hound lolling before the fire, if she was not.
    “Well?” Lord Stewart said, his fists bunched at his sides. “Are you going to try to tell me this isn’t about that sorry business from two years ago?”
    “Who knows with a madman?” the laird said.
    Lady Stewart appeared in the doorway, her eyes red rimmed from a long day of praying and weeping. She ran to her husband. “Tell me you found her, Alistair.”
    “Not yet, love,” Lord Stewart whispered and took her into his arms to comfort her.
    Normina didn’t move to offer Lady Stewart wine. She’d not taken a bit of nourishment all day, though Normina had tried to tempt her with a number of dainty morsels. After her laird’s disappointing news, the lady wasn’t likely to change her mind now.
    “But you will,” she pleaded, her face pressed against his chest. “Promise me you will.”
    “Aye, we’ll start again at first light. Lachlan thinks he knows where he lost them, and we’ll begin there to pick up the trail. We’ll find her, Morag.” Lord Stewart patted her hair, bound in a snood, and then pulled her away from him. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Now, to bed with you, and let us men worry about our plans.”
    “She’s my bairn, Alistair,” Lady Stewart said as she backed out of the room, her hands covering her face, her shoulders slumped. “My last, rosy-cheeked bairn.”
    Lord Stewart watched his wife leave, his mouth in a grim line.
    “Dinna have children late in life, if ye can help it, Lachlan. Mothers get overly attached to that last little hatchling.” Alistair Stewart swiped his eyes and coughed to cover an unmanly sniffle. “’Struth! Fathers do too. If it’s a lass especially.”
    Normina had birthed five bairns, two lads and three lasses, and nary a one lived long enough to see ten summers. Her husband was gone now too, but that was the lot of all flesh. The cradle swings above a grave, and beds are empty at the last.
    But how lovely it would have been to have had a daughter to comfort her last years. Someone to bring her a cup