Fiona paid no attention to her companion and replied to him with that same steadiness, “I’m not stupid. It’s a tragedy, laird. How could it not be? And oh, such a sad, sad one. But I don’t see how you could have prevented it. No rational person would have felt the need to lock people in their rooms. Janet’s parents were berating themselves for not having kept a better watch on her.” Fiona looked down, though whether or not she actually saw her hands, clasped loosely in her lap, was unclear. And then she looked up and directly at him again. “In the end, Janet brought it on herself, the poor reckless girl. Nor should you forget how her actions resulted in a dreadful injury to yourself—and I saw two of your men killed as a result. That is a tragedy also.”
He stared at her. Noticed again how pale her face was. Saw, now, the dark circles underneath her eyes. “You speak like a chieftain’s daughter,” he said slowly.
“Which is what I am.”
“My men told me how cleanly you made your shot. Your father taught you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He did so when I was twelve, and began riding alone, all across our lands.”
“He allowed you that freedom?”
“He knew I’d do it no matter what.”
“Why?”
She shrugged again.
There was a silence, and finally, as if the words were dragged from him, Alasdair said: “Thank you.”
“There’s no need for that. I’d have done it for anyone. The Dalwhinnies should not have sought to harm you, or steal what is yours.”
God above, she was cold, cold. He pulled his blankets up, hating the wound that rendered him so weak. Still he pressed on. “Wynda Ramsay is gone?”
“Yes, she left after Janet Reid was killed. She took all her mother’s money and jewelry, and one of their horses, and fled in the middle of the night.”
“To her home?”
“Apparently not. If I had to guess,” Fiona added thoughtfully, “I’d say she went to England. I heard her say more than once that Scotland is so coarse and barbaric, so offensive to those of more refined sensibilities. The events of last week finally convinced her, I daresay. I wouldn’t have expected such enterprising behavior from her, but people can surprise one sometimes.”
“Yes, life here is very coarse and barbaric,” he echoed sardonically, glancing around his elegant bedchamber.
“As compared to London,” Fiona explained, in a carefully neutral tone. “Où les rues sont pavées d’or, sur lequel les gens à la mode foulent.”
Where the streets are paved with gold, upon which the fashionable people tread.
He snorted. “You’ll not catch me among all those damned Sassenachs.”
“I believe Wynda finally realized that. Are you sending anyone after her, for her violation of clan law?”
“No. Her parents may if they so choose.”
“I think they desire nothing more than to be allowed to quietly return home.”
“So be it. And Mairi MacIntyre lies ill in her bed, close to death?”
Fiona smiled slightly. “The reports exaggerate. According to your good Dr. Colquhoun, she is in the midst of an extended fit of hysterics.”
“From which she will recover?”
Alasdair watched as Fiona’s smile disappeared. “I expect she’ll make a remarkable recovery as soon as she learns she too can go home.”
“You suggest that her illness is a ruse?”
Fiona was silent, then reluctantly answered: “No. It’s my opinion she truly believes she’s at death’s door. She is very fragile. In another week or two I think she may well somehow persuade herself to die.”
“And the remedy is to tell her she’s not to be my wife?”
“That is, of course, up to you, laird.”
“I’ve no interest in murdering someone by marriage.”
“A commendable attitude.”
“Don’t patronize me, Miss Douglass.” He loathed this feeling of helplessness, of being supine in his bed when she sat so straight, so upright, in her seat. He gave a loud, lengthy, irritable sigh. “It seems there’s only you left.”
Her lips thinned. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“You’ll obey the decree?”
“I must, for I don’t care to die. My father could very well see to that.”
“He’d do that?”
“Quite possibly.”
Alasdair looked hard at her. She puzzled him. Confounded him. Other lasses would be weeping, raging, at having such a parent. Other lasses would be crying with joy at their good fortune in having their hand secured by the laird of Castle Tadgh.