“Ye must make him listen, Megan,” Logan continued, throwing a tired glance down at her. “I worry that his desire for control spills over into all things, even in his treatment of me nieces. Love is at the core of it all, but tragic consequences can come from the best of intentions.”
She shivered at that, swallowing hard.
“Aye, I… I understand,” she stammered. “I’ll do me best.”
“I ken ye will, lass. I ken ye will.”
He reached out as if to pat her shoulder, then seemed to think better of it. At that moment, a roar broke out at the other end of the room. Logan heaved a sigh.
“The man of the hour is here, then. I’ll go greet him.”
CHAPTER 23
The music began,loud enough to make Ryder jump. They were at least an hour and a half into the celebration, and it felt like an eternity.
Just about all the guests were here now. Parties at Keep MacCulloch were rare enough to ensure that everybody accepted their invitation. A few well-known lairds made sure to come by and greet Ryder, laughing and cracking jokes.
He was careful to keep a smile on his face. The cèilidh might be a party to all intents and purposes, but everybody knew that for the lairds and their councilors, it was more than that. Much more than that.
A wrong word, a poorly phrased joke, or even a too-tight handshake could rub somebody up the wrong way. Annoy a particularly prickly laird, and if you were important enough, he might decide to take offence. Offence led to bad feelings, which led to malice, which led to decisive action.
What that action was could not be foreseen in advance. It was best to stay ahead of what might happen and be polite to everybody.
A lumbering man with a shock of orange hair came shuffling over, twisting the ends of his beard between his thumb and forefinger.
“It’s Draco Anderson, aye?” Ryder said, taking the initiative to step forward and extend a hand. “Chief councilor to Laird Black?”
“Aye, that’s me,” Draco said, his voice deep and rumbling as if he was talking from inside a barrel. “Fine party, this. It’s been a good while since I’ve seen so much decent food. The roast pork is excellent.”
“I’m glad ye are enjoyin’ it. We’re glad to have ye here.”
“Nay doubt, nay doubt,” Draco smiled, nodding. “And congratulations on yer betrothal. She’s a fine, pretty lass, but I am sure ye ken that already.”
Ryder smiled tightly. He had been complimented about a thousand times on Megan’s beauty and wit by various guests. Most of the compliments were sweet and genuine, but there were a couple of leering grins thrown at him along with the compliment, or a remark on Megan’s face or figure that made him bristle.
He generally just delivered a long, hard stare at whoever had made such a risky compliment until they realized their mistake and hurried off, muttering excuses.
Draco didn’t seem inclined to risk inappropriate comments.
“Beautiful hair,” he added. “Reminds me of me second daughter. She’s as sharp as a blade, too. Troublesome, as I’m sure ye can imagine.”
“I’m nae sure I can imagine, as I have nay bairns of me own.”
Draco pursed his lips, eyeing Ryder for a long moment. “Nay, but ye raise those sisters of yer like bairns. Laird Black and I admire a man who does well by his family. That’s why I wanted to drop a wee word in yer ear. Laird Black agrees; we discussed it just now.”
“A word in me ear? That sounds official,” Ryder responded mechanically, frowning.
“It’s nae official. It’s just the word of one man with daughters to another man raisin’ lassies of the same age. That sister of yers, Alaina. The wee pretty one, getting’ near to an age where she can be wed—have ye made a betrothal for her?”
Where was this going? Ryder eyed the other man for a long moment.
“She’ll nae be wed until she’s twenty at least,” he answered at last.
“Very wise. I daenae approve of young marriages. So, no betrothal?”
“Of course nae. Why do ye ask?”
“Because she’s been seen driftin’ around the hall with some young blond guardsman. I could nae even find out his name, only that he’s nae a guest but a soldier.”
