“I have a letter for ye,” he said, handing it over. “And a verbal message from the council.”
“The council? The MacCulloch council?” Megan asked.
Ryder nodded, sighing. “Aye. Too many despotic lairds in centuries gone by means that no laird can rule without his councilors, me included. Generally, they’re a millstone around me neck, but I see the logic in havin’ them. I daenae, however, see the logic in countless pointless meetin’s. If they want to see me again, Ewan, I…”
“Nothin’ like that,” Ewan chuckled. “I might as well tell ye that news of yer betrothal has spread around the Keep like wildfire. Everybody who was anybody in the Keep knew by supper last night, and by dawn, everybody knew it, too. It’s bein’ whispered in the lands around the Keep now, too.”
“How wonderful,” Ryder muttered.
Ewan chuckled, giving a teasing smile. “Are ye nae happy? It’s yer betrothal, me Laird. When Flora agreed to wed me, I… I was mad with happiness. Ye remember. Ye were there.”
Ryder’s expression softened a little. He swallowed, glancing up. His eyes fell first on Megan’s.
Aye, that’s right,she thought, hoping that he read a warning in her eyes.We are betrothed. Act like it, man.
“I’m sorry, I am just preoccupied,” he murmured. “I am happy, of course I am. And the council wants to offer its congratulations, do they?”
“More than that. They want to organize a feast—a cèilidh, to properly celebrate. We’ll invite key members of other clans, which should strengthen our alliances as well as proclaim the good news. Several lairds have wondered for a while whether ye are goin’ to be wed or nae.”
Ryder pursed his lips, nodding. “I see—a fine idea, Ewan. Ye can tell the council to go ahead. A cèilidh would be a fine thing.”
“Can I go?” Sophie asked, perking up. “Apropercèilidh?”
“Aye, a proper cèilidh,” Ewan laughed, pinching her cheek. “With dancin’ and music and more food than ye could ever imagine.”
“I do like food,” Sophie murmured. “Will there be bannocks?”
Ewan leaned down to meet her eye. “Mountainsof bannocks.”
Alaina cleared her throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Am I permitted to come?”
Ryder shot her an annoyed glance. “Of course ye are, Alaina. Daenae act as though ye are bein’ persecuted.”
“What about Megan’s dress? Has she got a dress?” Sophie asked hastily, possibly to forestall a coming argument.
All heads turned her way. Megan shifted, clearing her throat.
“Well, I have this dress.”
Sophie frowned. “Thatdress? Ye will need a new one.”
Megan flushed. New dresses cost money. They cost fabric, time, and craftsmanship. Ma had always been very snippy about women who had too many dresses.
“I daenae need a new dress,” she answered, as firmly as she could.
“Nevertheless, ye will have one,” Ryder responded, breaking the wax seal of the letter. “Ye are betrothed to Laird MacCulloch. Ye are goin’ to be Lady MacCulloch. Ye must look the part, and ye must be convincin’. Because, believe me, folks will be lookin’.”
“Well, she doesnae need to convince anyone, does she?” Alaina pointed out, frowning.
“Ryder is right,” Megan said somewhat hastily. “I will need to look a certain way. Perhaps somethin’ simple, then.”
Ryder grunted, his attention fixed on the letter.
“Oh, it’s from yer uncle, lassies.”
“Who?” Megan asked, frowning. Ryder tossed the letter toward her, and she caught it neatly.
“Laird MacAdair,” Ryder explained. “Logan Arkley. His sister was the girls’ mother.”
