“Shut your—”
“Say another word to ma wife, and I will kill ye now. Ye dinna seem to understand, Sassenach, that ye are alive because we let ye live. We dinna give a sow’s fart that ye represent yer weak-kneed imposter king. Yer position at a royal court we dinna even recognize means naught to us. Ye are much too far into the Highlands for anyone to side with ye. The moment our curiosity ends, so does yer life. Speak ill of a woman in this clan, and we willna care why ye’re here.”
“As I said, I wish to see ma son and daughter.” Everyone’s gaze followed the arrow that swished through the tail of Sir Richard’s horse. The animal whinnied and sidestepped, unsure of what happened to it but certain it didn’t like it. Siùsan now aimed her bow at Sir Richard’s head.
Thor nudged his mount forward, grinning at Sir Richard as he approached his family and the gate. Greer lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the royal messenger. Her heart raced, but she would show none of her fear. She drew strength from her new family, who appeared unfazed by their unwanted guests. She watched Siùsan walk down the steps from the wall walk as they passed beneath the portcullis. Her lips twitched a smile at Greer as she gave her a quick nod. Greer realized Siùsan hadn’t feigned her threat, but she wanted Greer to feel confident about her arrival and to distract from the growing tension outside the gate.
Thor dismounted before helping Greer from the horse. Siùsan swooped in and wrapped her arms around both of them. Greer hugged her new mother-by-marriage and Thor. They shifted her into the center, protecting her from anyone unwelcome who might come too close.
“Och, lass. I’m so glad ye and ma bairn made it here safely. The men returned from Ackergill by birlinn and told us what happened. I’ve been so afraid for ye both.” Siùsan kissed Greer’s cheek before she gazed up as Thor. “Lad, I love ye. When ye have weans one day, ye will understand how relieved I am to have ye back in ma arms. If ye didna have a wife now, I might never let ye go.”
“Ye say that every time I come home, Mama.”
“And I meant it the first time and every time since then. Lean down.” Siùsan still had to stretch to kiss her son’s cheek, but Thor smiled and twisted his head to buss a kiss on his mother’s cheek in return.
“Ye said they just got here.”
“Aye. He nearly lost a hand when he thrust a scroll in yer grandda’s face. These English believe they rule the world like the second coming of the Romans. Except the Romans kenned to leave us alone. The English arenae that smart.”
Greer walked between Thor and Siùsan as everyone made their way into the Great Hall. Thor tried to guide her to the stairs, but Sir Richard’s voice filled the Great Hall.
“For Lady Greer’s disobedience and perfidy to the Crown, I sentence her to hang.”
There was utter silence for a heartbeat before the Great Hall erupted into Bedlam. Sinclairs—men and women—surged forward, dirks drawn. Greer’s gaze swept the gathered people, uncertain if they were defending her or merely angered by the English presence. She leaned toward believing the latter. Her eyes were so wide she feared they might fall from her head. She didn’t notice how she pressed closer to Thor’s side as Liam stepped forward.
“I would see yer king’s writ,” the distinguished and intimidating laird demanded, even though his voice was low and even. Authority drilled into him from a young age and the experience of more than two score years in leadership lent an air of supreme control to the man who barely had half a head of gray hair.
Sir Richard smirked and raised his chin, but Liam continued before the English knight could speak.
“As I thought. Ye smug, bastard. Ye havenae aught from yer king to say ye have the duty to arrest ma granddaughter. Yer ego is wounded, and so ye wish to punish her and ma grandson because ye didna get what ye wanted by squawking like a magpie. Leave ma home, and dinna return until ye have something enforceable.” It slipped no one’s attention that he added no qualifier. Greer was his granddaughter, not his granddaughter-by-marriage. He would put no distance between her and the rest of his family.
Liam glared at the blustering man half his age. The laird’s most comfortable stance showed forearms that rippled with muscle as they rested, crossed, against his still-lean abdomen. Legs like tree trunks braced him hip-width apart. His father had preferred to stand with his arms akimbo, but it had created the same ominous aura. Now Liam’s four replicas stood the same way, and those men’s sons adopted the stance, too. His son-by-marriage had taken to it immediately when he married into the family, and Tristan’s three sons stood just like their relatives. Only Thor stood differently, one arm wrapped around Greer’s shoulders and the other hand on his hip.
“King Edward granted me the right to do whatever is necessary to convey Lady Greer to her betrothed, John Gallda MacDougall. If that means she arrives in shackles, so be it.”
“Ye dinna ken much aboot us, do ye?” Liam took a step forward, and he could tell it was sheer willpower that kept Sir Richard from taking two steps back.
“I know all I need to about you heathenish Highlanders. These marriages Lady Greer and her lover claim are illegitimate and do not withstand any scrutiny.”
“Do ye realize that I have ten score warriors? I have the five-score who live within these walls, and I have another five-score living in the surrounding village. Ye might have wanted to learn that even the Sinclair farmers learn to wield a sword. They may toil in the fields by day, but they’ve all learned how to defend our clan. Do ye have two hundred men with ye? I saw nay army from ma battlements.”
“There aren’t two hundred—not even one hundred—warriors in here. You’re just trying to intimidate me, and it will not work.”
“Ye forget the ones in the barracks who’re sleeping because they have night duty and the ones on the wall walk with arrows pointed at yer camp. Ye forget the ones who patrol just beyond those arrows’ reach. Do ye ken that our nearest relatives are less than a day’s ride? I ken ye’ve already visited the Keiths, but did ye ken that ma wife was a Sutherland? Hamish has ten-score men too. He could easily send five-score, and he wouldnae notice them gone. Mayhap it’s a good time for a family reunion. Naught like shedding blood to bring family together.”
“The king will only send more men if I don’t return with Lady Greer.”
“And how will those men get all the way north when every clan between the border and here learns there are English knights trekking across our land? They willna make it past the River Dee.”
“I challenge you, old man. Not your sons or grandsons. Not your warriors. You. I challenge you to single combat to the death, not first blood.”
Everyone in the Great Hall took and held a collective breath. This had—inevitably—escalated rapidly. Every Sinclair present knew it would come to a fight of some sort since the English would never back down. It was no more in their nature to admit defeat to a Scotsman than it was for a Highlander to run from a battle.
Five baritone voices rang out. “I’ll be yer second, Da.”
In their youth, Robert the Bruce once named the Sinclair brothers collectively as cherubim. They acted as one with four faces—an ox, an eagle, a lion, and a man. Nothing had changed in twenty years except to add Tristan, who answered with the four brothers. Instead, there were merely more of them. Thormud, Tate, Wiley, Blake, Torquil, Wee Liam, Alec, and Hamish, along with Kirk Hartley and his father, Ric, stepped forward.
Seven more voices spoke in unison, “I will be yer second.” The words “Grandda” and “ma laird” clashing at the end.
