The Dreamer Read online

  “Evander Shaw Neal!”

  “Dinna tell her of the oath, aye? We do it for her sake, too.”

  Desperation and something akin to a plea for understanding flickered in the boy’s eyes. A certainty filled Ian. The certainty that he’d not betray the lads’ trust if at all possible. He shot a stern look over at Magnus, then Sutherland. “Not a word—aye?”

  Both men gave silent assent, then ducked back a step as Gretna Neal raced down the keep’s front steps and flew across the cobblestone courtyard faster than a storm overtaking the land.

  “How did she find out so fast?” Ian asked under his breath.

  “She always knows,” Evander answered with a heavy sigh.

  “What in heaven’s name have the three of ye done this time?” Gretna came to a halt in front of her eldest son.

  Before Evander could begin his defense, Ian stepped next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He had to give the boy credit. The child didn’t cower nor shake as he stood prepared to endure his mother’s wrath.

  Ian smiled his most charming smile, made all the easier by the high coloring across Gretna’s lovely features. Magnus had spoken true. The lass was still a fiery beauty. Twice widowed, three children, and the passage of time hadn’t touched her. If anything, she’d blossomed even more with the full curviness of womanhood and held herself with strength and grace. Damn, she was bonnie. “’Tis good to see ye again, Gretna.”

  Blue eyes clearer than any Highland sky cut over to him. “’Twould be a fair sight better under different circumstances.” Her focus immediately shifted back to her son. “Well?”

  “We’re in the right this time, Mama,” Evander said with the barest lift of his chin. “I swear it.”

  Her mouth tightened, then she shifted the interrogation to her youngest. “Finn?”

  “’Member what we said,” Rory whispered entirely too loud.

  Snatching hold of Rory’s chin, she bent until the tip of her nose nearly touched his. “Dinna threaten yer brother, or I’ll take a switch to yer backside, ye ken?”

  “Gretna…” Words fled Ian as her angry glare shot back to him. A distant memory of her temper returned with sudden clarity. He cleared his throat. “I dinna ken about the other times the lads have been participants in great hall, but I believe them to be in the right this time. Somewhat,” he added as an afterthought. The boys had vandalized the man’s cart when they should’ve taken the matter to an adult—if they could’ve gotten an adult to listen.

  “Somewhat?” she repeated as a clanging bell signaled the beginning of the chieftain’s hearing of his peoples’ grievances.

  Never fight a battle ye’re no’ armed to win. Mercenary wisdom also applied to arguing with women. He’d learned that early on. He motioned to Magnus and Sutherland. “Find the smithy quick as ye can. Have him look over that cart and tell ye what he finds.” Movement near the gate behind them caught his eye. “And keep close watch of Duff Tamson, aye?” He pointed to the peddler angling his team back toward the bailey’s exit. “The bastard’s looking to make a run for it once we all get inside. He has no intention of joining us in the hall if he can keep from it.”

  “Ye told me I couldna call him a bastard,” Evander said.

  “Dinna sass yer elders, and dinna ye dare use that word again. Ye know better.” Gretna yanked her eldest from Ian’s side and gave him a shake. “Now, tell me why Master Cameron is bringing ye to the chieftain. What did ye do? Have ye been nettling the peddler again?”

  “I brought him here to keep him from getting shot,” Ian interrupted while watching Magnus and Sutherland take their posts on either side of Tamson and escort the man into the keep. As soon as he heard Gretna’s gasp, he cringed. Perhaps, he could’ve worded that better.

  “Shot?” She snatched the rest of her brood closer, herding them up the steps while alternately swatting each of their backsides hard enough to make them yelp and step livelier. “The death of me! The lot of ye shall be the death of me. D’ye hear? Are ye set on sending me to an early grave? Are ye?”

  Ian’s heart went out to the lads, but now was neither the time nor the place to assert his opinion or assistance on the matter. He didn’t fear Gretna, but she’d instilled within him a healthy dose of respect long ago. The woman was as fierce as any warrior. He prayed she’d calm enough to reason with once she heard all the details of the day. The boys had meant well. Surely, she’d find comfort and pride in that and grant them a bit of forgiveness.

  As soon as they’d pushed their way to the front of those gathered on the fringes of the long meeting hall, he lifted a hand to catch both the chieftain and his wife’s attention. Catriona would choose this day of all days to join Alexander in the settling of grievances. Their heads turned at the same time, and their gazes settled on him. A chill raced across him as their smiles flashed brighter.

  Graham, Alexander’s brother, and Clan MacCoinnich’s war chief, stood beside the laird’s chair, grinning like a fool, too. He winked at Ian. Was everyone privy to this plot to marry him off to Gretna?

  “Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered under his breath as he strode into the area in front of the chieftain and motioned for the boys to join him. Jaw set, Gretna herded her sons forward, then took her place behind them. Evander to the right, Rory to the left, and poor trembling Finn in the middle backed up into the folds of his mother’s skirts.

  Ian moved to stand beside her, directly behind Evander. Even though he knew nothing about the raising of bairns, he wouldn’t let them fight this battle alone. They needed someone other than their mother on their side.

  Magnus and Sutherland nudged Duff Tamson into the space, then stepped back and took a stance that left no question they stood guard to ensure no one exited without permission.

  Ian resettled his stance and glanced around. The cavernous hall at the heart of the keep was packed. Folk clustered at least three-deep around the sides of the room and in the archways. Some even gathered above in the gallery, leaning over the banister to better view the proceedings.

  Alexander lifted a hand, and silence washed across the room. “’Tis good to see ye, cousin. How long has it been since ye graced these halls?”

  Not long enough. Ian stifled the selfish thought and forced a polite smile. “Nigh on three years, I think. With Alasdair last time.”

  With a thoughtful nod, Alexander agreed. “Aye. Three years.” His pleasant countenance faded, settling into a dark look, Ian knew all too well from their days of fighting together as mercenaries. Alexander was about to launch a battle plan. He pointed at the boys. “’Tis my understanding ye happened upon an incident ye feel needs my attention.”

  “Aye.” Ian settled a hand on Evander’s shoulder and squeezed, hoping both the boy and Gretna would understand what he was about to do. He’d been known to plot a battle plan or two himself. He turned and made a half bow to Duff Tamson. “To take care of any accusations of prejudice due to my ties to yerself, I believe Master Tamson should speak first and present his side of what happened.”

  Eyes narrowing, the chieftain looked at the peddler. “Master Tamson.”

  The fidgeting man stole one last hopeful glance toward the exit, then scrubbed his palms on his coat. With a respectful bob of his head, he cleared his throat and shifted back and forth. “Chieftain.” He made a sideways jerk of his head toward the boys. “These scamps meddled with me wagon. Made it so my team broke loose, and half me wares ended up in the street.”

  “Did ye recover yer horses?” Alexander asked.

  “Aye, aye.” Tamson clasped his hands together. “Only went up the road a short way, they did. Weren’t no trouble at all to fetch them.”

  “Any damages?” Alexander shifted in the ornately carved chieftain’s seat, then set his fingers to drumming atop the curved arm of the chair.

  Tamson shook his head. “Nay, my chieftain.”

  Alexander shifted his attention to Ian, seeming not to understand. “No damages and the horses r
ecovered. Why are the lot of ye here? This isna the place to address the pranks of children.”

  “Aye, that’s true,” Ian agreed, pleased he’d read Tamson correctly. He’d wagered the man would try to get through this with as little trouble as possible to keep from drawing too much attention to his business. “But shooting the lads seemed a rather severe punishment for their crime. D’ye no’ agree?”

  “Shooting the lads?” Alexander sat straighter, even leaned forward as though relieved to finally hear something of interest.

  Tamson eked out a nervous laugh and gave a sharp shake of his head. “I was nay really going to shoot them, my chieftain. Just wanted to put a little fear into the boys, ye ken?”

  “Ye had your pistol aimed right at this boy when I stepped in front of it.” Ian made a dramatic sweeping look around the room. His brother Alasdair, Edinburgh’s finest solicitor, was not the only member of the family who knew how to play a crowd. A collective gasp from several of the women goaded him on. “Ye didna call them scamps then either. I believe yer exact words were, ‘Ye wee bastards. Shoot ye, I will!’”

  “I didna mean it,” Tamson sputtered, waving both hands as though wishing to wipe away Ian’s words. “I was angry. Spoke ill because of me temper. Surely, ye’ve done that at times? Said things ye didna mean?” He swiped his fingers across his forehead, then pulled a dingy square of linen out of his pocket and mopped his face with it. He shook his head again. “Meant no harm at all. I wouldna have really shot them.”

  “Ye would, too, ye ole baw bag!” Evander jeered. “Ye tried last month but misfired. Then ye threw it at us. That’s why ye’ve nay got but one pistol left!”

  “Evander!” Gretna scolded in a shushing whisper.

  “Hush, boy. Let me handle this.” Ian squeezed Evander’s shoulder again and gave Rory a stern look to keep his wee mouth shut as well. “These boys dinna deny what they did, Alexander. They told me their reasons.” He paused for effect. “And after witnessing Master Tamson’s behavior, I felt ye should hear their reasons, too.”

  Alexander nodded. “So be it.”

  Chapter Two

  Teeth clenched so tight her jaws throbbed, Gretna held her breath as she watched her eldest son. Evander would be the one to speak. Dear, sweet, headstrong Evander always spoke for the three whenever they’d been caught in some mischief. Rory had too much of a temper, and poor, timid Finn sometimes went mute whenever afraid—and the lad was scared of everything.

  God bless these three—her heart’s reason for beating. But, sweet Jesu, they would have her silver-headed before her time. And they would pick today for one of their ill-fated campaigns. She stole a glance at Ian. Poor man. Hunted down and brought to heel by Catriona and Mercy’s infernal matchmaking. The bait they’d used to draw him in had worked well. Her unsuspecting sons had played right into the matchmakers’ hands.

  “Evander?” Alexander encouraged. “Ye’ve always been the one to speak on behalf of yer brothers. Tell me yer reasons, boy.”

  Evander inched a step forward and threw out his chest. “We did what ole Tamson said we did. Fixed it so his team would run loose and dump his cart.” The boy’s stern look puckered into an irritated scowl. “Didna work as we planned, though. Not everything fell off like it was supposed to.”

  A tittering of laughter rippled through the crowd. Inwardly, Gretna groaned. Evander always spoke his mind whether it did him good or not.

  Alexander cleared his throat and turned aside for a moment. Fist pressed to his mouth, he appeared to be struggling to breathe. He finally pointed at Ian. “My cousin seems to think I need to hear the reasons for yer plan. The same reasons ye explained to him, aye? Why ye did it, boy. Not what ye did.”

  “The man’s a thief,” Evander declared. “He cheats the poor. Been up to his evil a long time. Me and my brothers decided to end it by running him out a Ruadh.”

  Gretna understood now. It was the old woman again. Mam Hattie, the elderly spinster who helped with the boys, had to be at the heart of this. She felt sure of it. The gossipmonger had filled the boys’ heads with her tales again.

  Everyone knew about Duff Tamson. The man didn’t do all that much harm. Gretna had even been duped by him. But he served a purpose. When a body didn’t have a pair of pence to rub together and couldn’t afford MacElroy’s goods, they were thankful for what they could get from Tamson.

  “We mean to keep him out,” Evander added. “We’re protecting the innocent.”

  “The boy lies!” Tamson interjected. “I take care of the poor. Price me wares just for them.”

  “Ye had yer chance,” Ian said with a threatening step toward the man. “Shut your maw, and let the lad finish.”

  Relief and gratitude warmed Gretna. Ian always had been a kind man. Usually, only she defended her boys. While her lads weren’t perfect and could nettle a soul to death, their hearts were pure gold, and she wouldn’t have them any other way. Not many in Clan MacCoinnich understood that.

  “How does he cheat the poor, lad?” Alexander rose and paced slowly back and forth in front of the chief’s dais.

  “Sells them things made to fall apart. Thin, shabby cast-offs ready for the scrap heap. He knows they’ll have to either buy more or pay him to mend them in a few months.” Evander shoved a hand into the ratty leather pouch hanging from his belt. He drew out a bent piece of metal and showed it. “See how it bends and snaps?” He folded the piece back and forth a time or two, then snapped it apart with ease.

  “That isna mine!” Tamson argued, pointing a shaking finger at the pieces of metal. “Who knows where the boy got that bit a trash?”

  Ian strode over to the man and grabbed his arm. “What did I tell ye about staying quiet and letting the lad say his piece?”

  Alexander held out his hand. “Hand it here, boy.”

  Without hesitation, Evander gave it to him.

  Alexander studied the pieces of metal, then handed them to Graham before turning back to Evander. “If what ye claim is true, why has no one brought this to my attention before now?”

  “He makes folks afeared.” Evander pointed at Tamson. “Threatens them, he does.”

  “I do not! All lies!” Tamson surged a step forward.

  Ian yanked him back in place.

  Alexander scowled at the peddler long enough to make the silence in the room palpable. He turned back to Evander. “How does he threaten them, lad?” he asked in an encouraging tone.

  Evander shrugged. “Finds out stuff they dinna want everyone to know and says he’ll tell it.” He shot a look of disgust at Tamson. “Makes’m feel all helpless and like they owe him. Tells’m if it weren’t for him, they wouldna have a pot to piss in and would have to go begging.” He shrugged again. “Mam Hattie knows better than me. Ask her. She’ll tell ye all he does.”

  A unified groan vibrated through the room.

  Gretna bowed her head and closed her eyes. Evander had just lost all support and credibility by mentioning Mam Hattie. No one listened to the old gossip. Everyone knew her tales always spun out of control. Her stories might start with a kernel of truth, but by the time she finished with them, what was real and what was imagined could not be sorted out.

  Graham stepped forward and whispered something in Alexander’s ear. Alexander gave a slow nod, shielded his response with his hand, then motioned toward the archway to the right of the room. Rather than return to his post beside the chieftain’s chair, Graham left the room.

  Alexander returned his attention to those gathered in front of him and fixed a dark look on Tamson. “It appears the smithy looked over yer wares, man. Would ye hazard a guess as to what he found?”

  Hope rising, Gretna lifted her head and looked over at old Duff Tamson. The suddenly pale man stood with his mouth open.

  Ian caught her eye and gave her a reassuring wink.

  “Master Tamson,” Alexander repeated. “I would appreciate an answer. Now.”

  Tamson stretched as tall as his squat stature allowed. “Aye
. I can tell ye verra well what the man found. But I stand by my goods. ’Tis the only way I can sell’m at a price suited for the folk who canna afford MacElroy’s shop.”

  “Yer goods come from the smithy’s scrap heap before he’s had a chance to melt them. Castoffs he’s paid good money for, I might add. The man recognized several of his pieces that had gone missing.” Alexander’s face darkened. “It appears ye not only stand accused of cheating yer customers but also of stealing from the smithy.”

  She squeezed her boys’ shoulders. For once, they might escape the great hall as heroes.

  “What say ye to these charges?” Alexander asked.

  “Nothing,” Tamson snapped with a dark look at the boys.

  With a motion to the MacCoinnich guards stationed along the wall behind the dais, Alexander nodded. “Verra well. Once the smithy has finished reclaiming what is his, ye shall be escorted from MacCoinnich lands, never to return again lest ye wish to live out yer life chained to the smithy’s forge, understand?”

  Tamson answered with a downward jerk of his chin.

  “I’d be thanking the chief if I were ye,” Ian interjected. “He couldha put ye in stocks or chopped off yer hands for yer thieving.”

  Tamson’s only response was a look filled with hatred as a pair of MacCoinnich guards escorted the sullen man from the room.

  Alexander held up a hand to silence the rumbling crowd. “And I shall speak to Hugh MacElroy to see what can be done about making goods affordable to the entire community of Ruadh, so none shall suffer from want.”

  A heady mix of relief, pride, and thankfulness bubbled through Gretna as she gathered up her boys in a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of ye,” she whispered as she embarrassed them each with a sound kiss on their cheeks. “We’ll talk about yer methods later, but for now, just know I’m proud of ye.” She turned to usher them out—

  “I bid ye wait, Gretna,” Alexander said, then snapped his fingers in Ian’s direction, where he was attempting to melt into the crowd. “And yerself as well, Ian. Please come stand beside the lady.”