“Someone or other made mention of it,” Brodie nodded.
“Someone or other made mention of you marrying the lass.” Robert’s face split into a grin, his ruddy cheeks pressing deep grooves around his eyes. “I don’t ken if you’re the lad up to the task. She’s a right hellion.”
Brodie shrugged. “I like challenges.” He forced himself not to look back at where he’d spotted Liam and Nelson pouring over documents when he walked in.
“Ohh-ho-ho. A challenge. That’s being kind. Are you aware of what they call her?” Robert laughed.
“Aye. The Shrew of Stirling. I dinna care for it,” Brodie snapped, his burr slipping through. He didn’t know why the moniker bothered him so much. He wasn’t ashamed or even embarrassed that he might marry the woman to whom it belonged. He did find the challenge appealing. He felt sorry for Laurel more than anything else. “You’ve kenned the Rosses since the very beginning. They’re connected to the Sinclairs and Sutherlands like a bluidy spiderweb. You must have met Lady Laurel before she came here.”
“Aye,” Robert sobered. “She was a sweet lass. She had the bonniest smile and the brightest eyes. But that was a long time ago.”
“And why did she change? Did something happen to her?”
“Aye. Court happened to her.” At Brodie’s look of confusion, the king clarified. “Unlike many women, Laurel didn’t want to come to court. The fine gowns and expensive tastes didn’t interest her. She wanted to remain in the Highlands, but she had three aulder sisters who married and took princely dowries to their husbands’ clans. Her parents thought coming to court would improve her chances of finding a wealthy husband who wouldn’t need such a large dowry. The court was rife with speculation about her, but it wasn’t long before the Earl of Ross himself confirmed that Laurel’s dowry would be a pittance compared to her sisters’. It shrank further a couple of years ago when Ross paid an exorbitant amount to MacGillivray to marry his youngest daughter after she caused an almighty scandal with the Munros. The Kennedys were prepared to ride on the Rosses and bring most of the Lowlands with them.”
Brodie knew much of the story, having heard about how King Robert arranged a marriage between Cairren Kennedy and Padraig Munro. He recalled that there had been talk for years that Padraig would marry Myrna Ross. As best Brodie could remember, Myrna didn’t accept the change of plans and did everything she could to keep Padraig from Cairren. In the end, her ploys hadn’t mattered. Padraig loved his wife, and she—for reasons Brodie couldn’t fathom after what she endured—loved her husband.
“You should ken that Laurel won’t come with a large dowry. It’s unlikely that it’ll be as large as Eliza’s,” Robert warned.
“The Rosses are not a poor clan,” Brodie pointed out.
“Nay, they are not. But any laird who has to pay five dowries is a mon who will worry himself into an early grave.”
“Then he should make Montgomery marry and use his bride’s dowry to replenish their coffers,” Brodie suggested.
“I’ve said the same more than once,” Robert shrugged. “Are you serious aboot considering Lady Laurel?”
“Besides her acerbic tongue, is there any other reason not to?” Brodie wondered.
“None. Like I said, she was a sweet lass before she came here but never wanted to come. Unlike her cousins, Maude and Blair, her family did not help her settle here. Unlike Hamish, Tormud rarely comes to court, and it’s not to visit Laurel. Hamish and Lachlan took turns coming to check on Maude and Blair, even traveling together with Amelia. Monty comes from time to time, but they aren’t close like they were as children. All the women she once knew have married, but no mon wishes to make a harpy his wife if she doesn’t come with a healthy dowry. It’s a vicious circle: she didn’t want to be here, knowing she had little dowry to offer. It made her bitter and scornful, so no men approach, leaving her even more bitter because she’s alone.”
Brodie listened in silence as he considered what he learned from the Bruce. He’d suspected much of it from knowing Tormud Ross most of his life. The man was angry with the world for giving him five daughters and one son instead of the other way around. It didn’t surprise Brodie to learn that the laird never visited his daughter. He pitied Laurel and made a silent pledge to be patient with her. He would return each jab or taunt with a compliment, and perhaps she would learn that not everyone would disappoint her.
“Brodie?”
“Huh? I beg your pardon, Robert. Woolgathering.”
“Aboot Laurel? Have you spoken to her?”
“Mayhap once or twice, but it would have been several years ago. My tastes ran toward a different type of woman—an experienced woman,” Brodie clarified lest the king think it was a comment about Laurel’s character, “—when I came here more frequently.”
Robert nodded. “You have my blessing to pursue her. I’d rather she marries a mon like you than someone else. But I can only give you a fortnight. If she doesn’t come around to you by then, I will choose. And I won’t promise that it’ll be you.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” Brodie said as he rose and bowed. He cast his gaze around the chamber and wanted to groan when he spied Liam and Nelson still watching him. Liam’s gloating mien and Nelson’s smirk made him wonder what they might have overheard. The two meddlers reached the door before he did.
“Does the king wish to enter the wager, too?” Nelson asked.
“There is no wager,” Brodie growled.
“But you still intend to subdue your shrew, make your hellion heel?” Liam guffawed.
“Enough,” Brodie warned. “You may wish to make a jest of this, but I do not. Do not think to interfere.”
“We shall just wait in the stands and watch the tourney begin,” Liam taunted.
“Leave Lady Laurel alone. Regardless of whether we suit, regardless of whether we marry, she has my protection. Harm her with word and deed, and you will find the might of the Campbells at your door.” Brodie didn’t wait for a response, pulling the door open and marching through.
“Poor sod doesn’t know what he’s in for with her,” Nelson mused.
“He’ll be ruing the day soon enough. Then he’ll be begging us to get him free of her hooks,” Liam shook his head before both men turned back to the correspondence they’d been sorting. A missive from Laird Lamont caught their eyes.
