“Brilliant?” Mared asked, perking up. “What is it, then?”
“We sell acreage to Sorley,” Grif said. “I donna know why we didna think of it before now! Douglas may have refused land in exchange for ye, but Sorley? Aye, he’ll want it, he will. We’ll sell enough to buy ye back.”
“How much?” Mared asked.
Grif blinked. “How much?”
“How much land will ye sell?”
“Ach,” he said, flicking his wrist, “‘No’ so very much.”
“How much?” Mared insisted.
“Thirty acres,” Grif said, his smile fading.
“Thirty!” Mared cried. “Ye’d sell thirty acres of Lockhart land? Ye must no’ do so, Grif! No, no, I’d rather give a year of my life to Douglas than sell as much as an inch of this land!”
Grif exchanged a perplexed look with Carson, who asked, “But ye’d agreed we’d trade the same amount of land for ye to Douglas, did ye no’? ’Tis the same, lass. Sorley or Douglas, it makes no difference.”
Mared tossed her head and looked at a painting of a Lockhart ancestor. “Aye, perhaps I did agree then. But upon further reflection I now believe that one year can be borne with the proper fortitude. And I seem to possess the proper fortitude.”
That opinion was met with perplexed looks all around.
“Tell her of Hugh!” Anna said excitedly.
“’Tis rubbish, Anna, I’ve told ye as much,” Liam said gruffly.
“It may very well be rubbish, but it also may very well be true, Liam. If you won’t tell her, I will,” she said firmly and struggled to her feet—it seemed to Mared that Anna had ballooned overnight. “We’ve heard a rumor that Hugh is in Scotland,” she said, her brown eyes glowing with excitement.
“In Scotland?” Mared echoed skeptically. “What have ye heard?”
“That he has returned from a rather long journey.”
“Aye? And from where has he returned?”
“Oh, we’ve not the slightest idea,” Anna cheerfully responded.
“Aha. And from whom have we heard this?”
“Ben MacCracken,” Anna said, and both Liam and Grif rolled their eyes.
“All right, yes, we heard it from Ben MacCracken, but that does not mean it isn’t true!” she insisted.
Mared smiled at her sister-in-law, but she agreed with her brothers’ skepticism. Ben MacCracken tended to suffer from illusions brought on by far too much barley-bree consumed in the man’s lifetime. He’d most recently vowed he’d supped with bonny Prince Charlie, in spite of that man’s death at least thirty years ago. If old Ben knew anything of Hugh, it was what he’d dreamed after a few drams of his beloved barley-bree.
“Then I’m hopeful,” Mared said to spare Anna’s feelings and took Duncan from Ellie. “But I’ll not allow my hopes to be raised to such heights that they would be dashed to pieces in a fall.”
With a sigh, Anna nodded and fidgeted with her sash. “I know Mr. MacCracken is a bit addled…but it is entirely possible that he heard something about Hugh in a public house,” she muttered.
“Of course it is,” Ellie said soothingly. “And the fact that he offered to share what he’d heard in exchange for coin should not sway your opinion in the least.”
“Oh please,” Mared said, pausing to kiss Duncan’s chubby cheek. “I donna want to spend our day speaking of Hugh MacAlister! I should much prefer to hear wee Duncan speak. Can ye speak, lad?” she asked, tweaking his cheek.
The baby gurgled and shook his chubby hands in the air, and the Lockharts were suddenly encircling Mared and Duncan, urging him to speak.
Later, during a very lean supper of fish—creamed finnan haddie—the conversation turned to how they might convert an old maid’s chamber adjacent to Anna and Grif’s chambers into a nursery.
Mared smiled and nodded at the conversation, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She thought about the fury she had seen on Payton’s face when Jamie had touched her, the set of his jaw, the murderous look in his eye. She thought about Mr. Craig, who had told her how Payton had devoted himself to Mrs. Craig’s grandson, ensuring that the two of them should never want, and how he called personally at least once a week to see to their welfare.
Mared wasn’t certain any of it was a surprise, but it had cast him in a different light. Alight that was less Douglas…and more that of a man.
When supper was over, and the port was drunk, Mared glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Ach, I suppose I should be getting back,” she said.
“’Tis late, lass. I’ll take ye on the morrow,” Liam said.
“No, I best go tonight, Liam.”
Her family stopped talking all at once and looked closely at her.
Mared colored slightly. “He’ll, ah…he’ll add another day to my enslavement if I’m late,” she quickly explained. “He’s added three as it is.”
“That was no’ our agreement!” Carson said sternly. “What right has he?”
“Ah, well…ahem…there was the broken ewer, I suppose. And the ruined neckcloths,” she said, smiling weakly. “And I think, perhaps, the silver.”