“Tempting,” the Black said sardonically. “There’s still a marriage agreement that we signed.”
“Aboot that,” Caelan grinned. “Ma son’s already married.”
“What?” Maxwell demanded, interjecting once more despite the hatred filling the surrounding air.
“Aye, to ma niece.” Andrew matched Caelan’s grin.
“For how long?” the Black asked.
“Nae longer than that agreement’s been signed,” Maxwell insisted. “That made Rab pre-contracted. The marriage isnae valid. It’s a handfast most likely.”
“Nay. Apparently, ma son and daughter-by-marriage are quite resourceful. They had the banns read at Dunblane and wed there.”
“Neither of them is a parishioner there. That means the banns were worthless,” the Black noted.
“Dunblane is a Stirling parish, where ma niece has lived for three years.” Andrew shrugged. “Rab was in Stirling and attended Mass there. Sounds like it was both of their parishes to me.”
“That is a ludicrous stretch, and ye both ken it,” complained Maxwell.
“Apparently,” Caelan reached into his sporran and retrieved a folded piece of vellum, “according to the king, if anyone was already pre-contracted, it was Rab and Lady Catherine.”
“He said that to ye, too?” Andrew asked, as he withdrew his own missive with a royal seal. “Seems Rab said something aboot they’d agreed to marry and were on their way to tell each of us when our argument exploded.”
“Aye. I remember him trying to tell me some such and mentioning Lady Catherine,” Caelan recalled, his brow furrowing. He stared at Maxwell. “Ye kenned that, didna ye? Ye kenned they must have talked aboot marrying, and that’s why ye acted when ye did. Ye wanted to keep them apart.”
“If this is really aboot the Campbells more than it is us, I’m certain Dominic will be happy to weigh in.” Before anyone could disagree, Andrew turned back and called out to the Campbell tánaiste, waving him forward. Dominic moved out of the line, leaving Andrew Óg and Rab shoulder to shoulder, a most unexpected sight. One that was as jarring as watching Andrew Mòr and Caelan smiling at one another as they taunted the Douglases.
“Douglas,” Dominic said to the Black, not sparing Nigel or Maxwell a glance.
“Seems ma brother took it upon himself to play chief diplomat for ma clan,” the Black stated.
“So I gather. He thought pitting the MacLarens against the MacFarlanes could make them dependent on ye. Either he is far more patient than I imagined because it’s been three years since he started this, or he’s the greatest fool in the Highlands. I lean toward the latter.” Dominic smirked at Maxwell. “Ye think far more of yerself than anyone else does. Brodie isnae interested in proving aught to ye. He doesnae need to. The Bruce respects ye,” Dominic nodded at the Black, “and ma brother. Brodie is fine with that.”
“Upstart,” Maxwell hissed, to which Dominic boomed a laugh.
“If ye say so,” Dominic said. “Black, either ye’re leading yer clan or ye’re nae. If ye are, then decide now: do ye wish to fight us or nae?”
“Dinna test me by trying to shame me, Dom,” the Black warned. “I rode out to see if we can put an end to this. I dinna care what Maxwell thought. I’m nae interested in starting a war with ye or anyone else. There’s still too much trouble with the English for us to waste our time and our men killing one another in the Highlands.”
“To that, I think we can all agree,” Dominic nodded. “But yer brother canna just return home with nay consequences.”
“Believe ye me, I ken that, and so does he.”
“Seems like ye made a long ride for naught,” Caelan mused. “Ye could put an end to it by nae coming back and being sure to muzzle yer wee brother.”
“We rode out to be sure Catriona is safe,” Nigel interjected. “We dinna ken what she told ye, and we didna ken how ye would receive it.”
“The little—”
“Finish that thought, and I will call ma son over to hear ye repeat it,” Andrew warned. “Turns out he’s fond of the lass. I dinna think he’d take well to hearing a disparaging word aboot her.”
“Aye, well.” Nigel’s mouth turned down. “She told me that more than once. We didna see allying ourselves with ye as useful. Ye ken what we thought. I assume it’s ye who thinks we’re nae a desirable ally.”
“I’ve never thought ye were,” Andrew snarked. “But that’s nae the lass’s fault.”
“Send her out,” Nigel responded.
“Nay.” Andrew shook his head. “I dinna believe she’s safe with ye. And even if she is, I dinna think I can convince ma son to agree. Keep her dowry, and we keep her.”
