Chapter 9
“So ye mean to marry her yourself then? Ye told her as much, aye?” Magnus tore a chunky crust of bread in two and sopped the halves in the puddle of thick, dark meat drippings left in the shallow well of his plate.
“Lower your voice, man.” Alexander paused as a kitchen maid set another board of meat and bread on the table, refilled their tankards, then moved on to tend to others. “Ye ken as well as I that I canna wed the woman.”
Magnus looked up from his meal and frowned, staring at Alexander as though he thought him addled. “And why not? 'Tis obvious ye feel kindness toward the lass. I’ll admit she seems a tad headstrong and set in her ways but I’m thinking a man such as yourself might need that in a wife.”
“Aye,” Graham said from Alexander’s left, lifting his mug in a mock toast then taking a deep draught. A loud belch followed as he gave Alexander a knowing wink and thunked his tankard back beside his plate. “I agree. Marry the lass.” He clapped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “Ye’ve grown old, brother. Leave the fighting for hire to us.” He leaned forward and nodded to Duncan and Sutherland, sitting opposite him at the long table on either side of Magnus.
On cue, the brothers lifted their tankards.
“To Alexander’s retirement,” Sutherland said.
“Aye,” Duncan agreed, then reached across in front of Magnus and tapped his mug to Sutherland’s.
“Graham has the right of it, cousin,” Ian said. “Get out while ye’re able enough to father a brood of your own, ye ken? Marry the woman and take her somewhere safe.” Ian sat at the other end of the table, off to himself, apart from the others. He spoke in a cold, somber tone without looking up from his plate, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his knife and fork tighter. “I lost my dear Janet by no' casting aside our warring ways and I’ll regret it as long as I draw breath.”
“What have I to offer a wife?” Alexander said in a strained whisper as he shoved his half-eaten meal away and fisted one hand into the palm of the other. “I’ve nothing more than my sword and pistol. No croft. No clan. What kind of life is that for a woman such as Catriona?”
Graham nudged a shoulder against his. “The Lord of the Isles promised ye land. The two of ye could build a life there. Claim fealty to Clan MacDonald, live on Islay, and fill it with a gaggle of sons and daughters.”
“Aye,” Sutherland said with an excited bob of his head. “Then we’d all have a place to rest our weary bones when we’ve no battle for hire.”
“Do ye truly think Laird MacDonald will gift me land after what happened at Glencoe?” Alexander popped his knuckles and ground his fist harder into his palm. He’d lain awake most of the night trying to think of a way to save Catriona and her clan because she’d made it adamantly clear she was just as upset about breaking her oath to protect her people as she was about being promised to a man she’d never met. A man certain to be of questionable morals considering the fact that he appeared to be on good terms with her abhorrent brother. “And besides—Catriona wishes to save her people from Calum when the time comes.”
“I’m surprised the wee bastard has no’ already done his father in to lay claim to the chieftainship,” Graham observed as he motioned for a refill by waving his tankard at a maid passing between the rows of long dinner tables lined on either side of the hall.
“'Tis my understanding he’s no' been namedTanist,” Magnus said with a meaningful glance around the room. He paused and waited for the maid filling their mugs to finish and move away. “Has Catriona spoken of anyone else that might sway the elders into being named asTanistrather than Calum?”
“I asked her that.” Alexander shook his head; the impossibility of the situation churned in his gut like a poorly cooked meal. “Her fifteen-year-old brother is well on his way to being as vile as Calum. Her two youngest brothers are naught but wee lads of nine years. She has no male cousins and knows of no one else in the clan the elders might consider.”
“We shall figure this out,” Alasdair said with a reassuring clap of his hand atop Alexander’s shoulder as he rose from the bench. He bent close to Alexander’s ear and nodded toward the head of the hall. “Battle readiness, cousin. There be the devil himself.”
Just the sight of Calum sauntering toward them set Alexander’s rage to a dangerous simmer that neared boiling over. He’d just as soon snap the whoreson’s neck as to look at him. The only thing staying his hand was Catriona. She'd been clear enough, told him if Alexander or any of his men harmed Calum, her brother’s blood would be on her hands just the same as if she’d done the deed herself. Alexander struggled to understand why that would necessarily be a bad thing but to Catriona, the thought of killing her own brother for the safety of the clan was unquestionably wrong. She’d explained that if she killed Calum, she felt herself to be no better than he was. Alexander huffed out a frustrated snort. Catriona was most definitely a more honorable person than himself.
“Men.” Calum gave them an imperious nod while picking at his large, yellowed front teeth with his grimy thumbnail. Wiping the results on the side of his shirt, he sucked at his teeth as he meandered around their table. “I bring a warning for the lot of ye,” he said with an irritating smirk.
“Have ye now?” Alexander shifted on the bench, sitting taller and flexing the hand that fit with such a comfortable grip around Calum’s windpipe.
Calum didn’t miss Alexander’s intent. His eyes widened the slightest bit, and he cleared his throat. “Aye. I do.” He took a stance at the head of their table, clasped his hands to the small of his back, and lifted his chin to a defiant angle. “I’ve received word we’re soon to have more guests here atTor Ruadh.Guests I’m sure will be most pleased to meet the lot of ye—if ye’re still here when they arrive.”
“Spit out your threat, man, or do ye mean to kill us with boredom?” Alexander winked at his brothers. If he couldna kill Calum, he might as well torment the man as much as possible.
Duncan and Sutherland each snorted out a laugh and Graham saluted his brothers with his tankard.
Alexander's cockiness faded when he spotted Catriona. She stood at the door of a small anteroom adjoining the hall. Distress colored her features an alarming rosy shade. Her clasped hands, knuckles whitening with her grip, trembled as she stretched to see across the room and those amassed at the tables. When her gaze alighted on Alexander, she rushed over to join them.
“Well?” she asked in a breathless tone, alarm flashing in her eyes.
“I havena told them yet, sister,” Calum said in a sly, drawling tone. “They were too intent on their imbecilic jests to listen.” He gave them a bored flip of one hand then made a gallant bow toward Catriona and retreated a step. “Perhaps they’ll listen to yourself.”
“Ye must leave,” Catriona admonished, her hands crumpling and twisting a small bit of linen as though wringing the cloth might give her some ease. She locked eyes with Alexander and added, “All of ye. Leave and save yourselves. Afore it’s too late.”
Alexander rose from his seat. He planted a hand to Graham’s shoulder, leaning heavy on his brother to manage his way out from behind the bench. He retrieved his smaller, much more convenient, knob-headed cane from where he’d leaned it at his side against his seat and limped his way to stand close to Catriona. It pained him no small amount to see her so overwrought, and he’d be damned if he deserted her when she needed him most. “Who are these guests, lass? Why do ye fear them?”
Calum rose to the tips of his toes then popped back down to his heels with an excited bounce. He folded his arms across his narrow chest and his knowing smirk deepened to an even more irritating level of repulsiveness. “Aye, Catriona. Tell your precious Alexander why ye fear the guests we're expecting?”
It was all Alexander could do to keep from lunging forward and snapping Calum’s neck. He'd no’ be stopped from finishing the job this time. With both hands propped atop his cane, he locked his arms in place, and gripped the polished wooden knob of the short staff with such ferocity 'twas a wonder it didna snap off. Jaws aching with the clenching of his teeth, he forced his focus on Catriona and waited.
