Nora joined them at the other end of the forest, along with the children. Gordon swiftly caught them up on what had happened at the finish line, he eyed their nephews the whole time.
Whilst the boys looked innocent enough, and suitably shocked at the attempted deception of ink, he was certain they hadn’t been at their mother’s side this whole time. For Darshan to have safely made it through the forest without fuss and with plenty of time to spare, had to mean his nephews were successful in locating the man and leading him through the forest. If they’d also been behind the ink on the ferns, then they would’ve warned Darshan. And thrown suspicion on him.
Why even use ink in the first place? It was a sloppy choice. None of the guards had been provided anything of the sort, not even something of the same colour, and the coating beneath the ferns was too deliberately thorough to be a mistake.
His musing had gotten him no closer to a possible culprit by the time their horses reached the castle courtyard. The stablehands rushed out to collect the animals as everyone dismounted.
His parents lingered near the castle doors. Travelling via horseback had made the journey shorter than those on foot. For them to wait and greet the clans upon their return was the proper thing to do. Expected of him, too.
Hamish strode up the stairs and flung the castle doors open wide. It earned him a glare and an exasperated huff from his mother, but he was well beyond the point of caring what she thought of his actions. He would’ve dragged Darshan before the clan members and snogged the man if he wasn’t so sure that acting on the impulse would lead to a civil war.
Unhampered, he continued storming down the entrance hall on his way to the library. It was one of the few places that had remained quiet and, more importantly, devoid of women attempting to cosy up to him. Perhaps he would get lucky and Darshan would pay a visit to the spot.
“Where do you suppose the ink came from?” Nora asked, sidling closer to Hamish and matching his stride.
He shot her a puzzled frown. “What makes you think I would ken that?”
Shrugging, she turned her attention to their surroundings. They were the same stone walls, faded tapestries and ornamentations that’d been there since before their births. “You didnae try to—?”
He shook his head before she could finish the question. There was no telling what their mother would do if he was caught attempting to rig the trials, but the other clans wouldn’t look favourably on it.
Behind them, Hamish caught the tail end of his brother’s grumbling. He twisted to eye Gordon. His brother’s face was as dark as a thunderhead. “What was that?”
“I think it might’ve been Sorcha,” Gordon muttered.
“Why would you think it was her?” Nora asked.
“What?” Hamish said almost at the same time as their sister. “Just because we caught her down there yesterday?” And she hadn’t been carrying any tools on her that would enable her to coat the underside of every fern along the line. Was there even that much ink in the castle?
Nora’s head had whipped around before the last word could pass his lips. The usual mossy green softness of her eyes had turned to shards of jade. “And what were you doing there?”
Hamish tilted his chin, peering down his nose at his sister. Whilst he’d a high degree of belief that Nora wouldn’t immediately rat out Darshan if told the truth, there was always a nagging doubt gnawing at the edges of his certainty. She did spend a lot of time at their mother’s side. “I was helping Gor mind your lads whilst they practised hunting over proper terrain.”
Her eyes narrowed further until they were mere gleams of reflected light beneath her lashes. “I can almost believe that.”
“It’s true!” Mac blurted.
As one, they turned towards the boy.
In his self-absorbed musing and seething over current events, Hamish hadn’t noticed anyone else tailing them, but all four of his siblings’ children huddled in the middle of the corridor. At the back, mostly hidden by her cousins, Sorcha stood hunched with a fist firmly pressed to her lips.
With little more than the twitch of his head, Gordon ushered them all through the library entrance. A glance revealed it to be empty, despite a desk being laden with books. An overturned inkwell sat amongst the papers strewn across the desk. Tiny, blotchy bootprints tracked from the desk to the cupboard where other inkwells were stored.
Hamish tugged open the door, certain of what he would find. Rows of capped inkwells greeted him. He lifted one of the glass jars from the shelf. Although the design etched into the outer surface obscured much, it was clearly empty. He checked one of the squat, bronze bottles. Unsurprisingly, it also suffered from a marked lack of ink.
He opened his mouth to announce his find to his siblings, only to be cut off by a reedy sob.
“Why did you nae tell me?” Gordon asked of his daughter. He stood over the girl, his arms folded across his chest. Unlike their mother’s fiery blasts of anger, his brother radiated tired disappointment.
Sorcha barely seemed to acknowledge her father’s presence. Her head was bowed, her cheeks red and tear-streaked. “I thought—” She sniffed, wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “I thought you’d try to stop me. Uncle Hamish doesnae want a wife. He almost died.” No matter how she tried to contain them, her tears wouldn’t stop. “Just like me mum… me sister.”
Hamish winced. Sorcha might not have been old enough to remember the family she had lost to the man-killer bear, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of their absence or didn’t feel it.
“Oh, me wee lass.” Gordon knelt, his arms wide.
The girl jumped into
