Before she could think upon it further, shouting from the cottage drew her attention. First a man’s voice boomed threats, and then she heard Greer screech. Gasping, Lena drew up her skirts and raced toward the cottage with the basket banging against her thigh and the soup sloshing out of the container, over her hands and splashing her skirts.
When she got to the door the shouting had died to a dull roar. “I dunnae wish to leave, Hamish!” Greer wailed.
“Well, we must, and that is that,” Hamish bellowed.
“Why must we? Why will ye nae explain yerself?”
Lena’s hand hovered beside the door to knock, but she froze, listening to the conversation.
“Ye want explanations? Fine! I knew that the laird’s cousin was plotting to take the lairdship. And more than that, I helped Archibald.”
Lena almost dropped the soup, she was so shocked.
“Oh God, Hamish!” Greer cried. “What did ye do? What did ye do? Why? Why would ye do such a thing?”
“He kens!” Hamish growled, his words slurred. “The MacLean kens, and he waits like a wolf, sly and wily, to catch me. I’ll nae stay here and wait for death, stay here and be degraded any longer.”
“Why’d ye do it, Hamish? Why did ye help Archibald plot against our laird?”
“I’m more than just a guard!” Hamish bellowed. “I deserve respect and my own land. Archibald vowed it! The MacLean gives me naught! He did nae ever give me a thing, and now he has demoted me to the stables. He has stripped me of everything. The men laugh at me, and the women whisper behind my back. We are leaving!”
“I’m nae leaving!” Greer shouted.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Lena could do no more than gasp before Greer collided with her. The air whooshed out of Lena’s lungs as she stumbled to the ground and dropped the soup and the basket. Greer tumbled down beside Lena, slipping on the soup and landing on her knees.
When the woman shoved her mass of heavy hair off her face and Lena saw her bloody lip, she cried out, but the sound was muffled by the roar of Greer’s name from her brother, who came thundering out the door. “Greer!” Hamish bellowed, tripping over them but catching himself before he fell on his face. He reeked of mead, and his eyes were glazed. “Ye!” he roared, pointing at Lena. “How long have ye been standing here listening?”
Lena’s face went hot with guilt, and she cursed inwardly.
Hamish’s gaze narrowed as he glared at her. “I’m sorry to say, ye must die.”
Terror swept through Lena’s body, and she dug her heels in to propel herself backward, but before she could move, Hamish reached down and grasped her ankle.
“Hamish?” Greer asked, shock in her voice. “What are ye doing? Ye kinnae truly mean what ye said!”
Lena gave a tug on her left leg, but Hamish tightened his grip until sharp pricks shot through her ankle.
“Release her!” Greer cried, grabbing Lena’s leg, as well, and tugging.
“Stop!” Lena gasped when Hamish yanked in the opposite direction as Greer did. It felt as if they were going to rip her leg in two.
Hamish’s face twisted as he looked at both of them. “She kens the truth, and once the MacLean has confirmation, he will hunt me down and kill me. She must die. I’ll make it seem an accident, and we will slip away before she’s discovered.”
His voice was so devoid of emotion that Lena shivered. She’d not spoken because she feared anything she say would worsen matters. She’d seen the look on Hamish’s face before; it had been one Findlay had worn often. It was the look of a man with no remorse.
“We must kill her,” Hamish stated again.
Lena’s breath caught in her chest, and she barely contained her protestation.
“Have ye lost all sense?” Greer gasped, releasing Lena and attempting to stand, but Hamish kicked out, hitting Greer in the chest, and she fell backward against Lena once more.
Lena’s nerves tensed. “Hamish—”
“Dunnae talk, or I’ll kill ye here and slow.”
She choked back a cry, frightened and furious at once. She’d not survived Findlay to die at the hands of this man.
“She’ll nae tell!” Greer assured her brother in a voice one would use to reason with a petulant child. Greer turned a pleading, warning gaze on Lena. “Ye’ll nae speak of this, will ye, Lena?”
