visit with the other guests in the hall first.”
Glynis had barely set foot in Duart Castle, and already she was counting the hours until they left. Once inside the keep, they stood at the entrance to the hall surveying the noisy room. Many clans were represented, judging by the number of men dressed in the saffron shirts and fine wool plaids of highborn clansmen.
“The young chieftain of the MacDonalds of Sleat is an elusive man,” her father said, his voice rasping with displeasure. “It doesn’t appear he has come.”
“You shouldn’t have either, da,” Glynis said. “Joining this rebellion was a mistake, and ye should quit it now.”
“Did I ask your advice, daughter? These are no matters for women to decide.”
“Please, da,” Glynis said, and pulled at his arm. “Don’t agree to do anything more.”
Preventing her father from becoming more deeply involved in this rebellion was the sole reason she’d agreed to come to the gathering without being bound and gagged.
“Your chances of catching a chieftain are poor now,” her father said, his eyes traveling the room. “If ye had proven yourself a good breeder, it might be different.”
Glynis told herself that her father didn’t realize how his harping on her failure to conceive was like a blade in her heart. It was the only way she could forgive him for it.
“Remember,” he said, “‘Honey may be sweet, but no one licks it off a briar.’”
Glynis sucked in her breath.
“What is it?” her father asked.
Her hands shook as she smoothed her skirts and tried to gather herself. Her former husband, Magnus Clanranald, the man who had humiliated and shamed her, was in the hall. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since the night she left him. As usual, Magnus was giving his full attention to the breasts of a buxom lass who was on his lap.
“I didn’t know Magnus would be here,” her father said, following her gaze.
Her face burned, and her eyes stung. She should have stuck her blade into Magnus’s black heart when she had the chance.
“I don’t believe ye,” she said. “Ye knew damned well Magnus would be here.”
Glynis turned and bolted out of the keep.
* * *
“How did Connor convince us to visit Shaggy Maclean?” Alex eyed Duart Castle looming ahead of them on a rock cliff.
Duncan was playing his whistle and didn’t trouble himself to respond. It was a sad tune, of course.
“I hope the accommodations are better than on our previous visit,” Alex said. The last time they were at Shaggy Maclean’s castle, they were prisoners in his dungeon.
Duncan tucked his whistle inside his shirt. “Then keep your distance from Shaggy’s wife this time.”
“Ye can’t blame that on me,” Alex said. “She took advantage of me when I was weak from the beating they gave me. I hadn’t the strength to resist her.”
“Ye never have the strength to resist a willing lass.”
“Willing? I thought the woman would eat the meat off my bones,” Alex said. “And ye owe me thanks, for she did help us escape Shaggy’s dungeon.”
“We would have found another way out,” Duncan said. “We always do.”
“Shaggy’s wife is a Campbell,” Alex said to annoy Duncan. “I should do my part to bring us closer to such a powerful clan.”
Shaggy had wed the Campbell chieftain’s sister in a bid to bring peace between their clans. The two hated each other, however, which just went to show that marriage was a poor basis for forming an alliance.
That made Alex think of Glynis MacNeil’s disastrous marriage. In truth, he thought of Glynis surprisingly often. She was a damned intriguing woman, though not his sort at all. He liked women with easy natures—and easier virtue.
“Why don’t ye just get a mistress like a normal man?” Duncan asked.
Alex made a face. “Ach, no. A mistress can become too much like a wife.”
He had seen that happen too many times. As a lad, it was always his shoulder they wept on when his father sent them
Learning to Kill: Stories