Truth was, by all accounts, Durward Lovat was a fine enough man – excepting his bottomless thirst for coupling. “Dunwhinnie would never leave his holding and I will not live anywhere but here,” she said, grabbing the least arguable objection. “Indeed, as the last Seacliffe Grant, I cannot.”
“As a countess you could do as you please.”
“I have duties, obligations.” Drawing a deep breath, Alanna rested a hand against the wall, taking strength from its cold, age-smoothed stone. Then she tossed down the truth even her aunt couldn’t deny…
“There’s also the matter of Lovat’s cats. Folk say he has more than a hundred and they have full run of Dunwhinnie Castle. You’ve surely forgotten I can only be around a handful of cats before my eyes swell and I can’t breathe.”
“Pah-phooey!” Aunt Nettie gave her a fond smile. “Gubbie ne’er makes you sneeze.”
“Gubbie is one cat.” Alanna looked at her aunt, wondering if dottiness was mushing her mind. “You know I tried bringing in more so he’d have friends. I nearly died. Having to find homes for them all nigh broke my heart.”
It had. And the pain still had the power to shred her soul.
But her aunt only tsked, making light of her concerns.
“We will speak of this later,” Alanna said, standing taller and using a firm voice. She had earnest reasons to marry no man and, for sure, she wouldn’t wed Dunwhinnie, earl, prince, or whatever. “It’s Yule and not the time for serious matters.”
“Humph.” Aunt Nettie’s face fell, but then lit almost as quickly. “Ach!” she cried, tilting her head to the side, cupping an ear. “I do believe the guisers are coming!”
Chapter 7
Seacliffe Castle bailey
In the midst of mayhem and merriment…
“You’ve run full mad.”
Callum didn’t bother to lower his voice as he frowned at his cousin. He did try to ignore the smell and itchiness of the bear-skin cloak slung about his shoulders. He wouldn’t think about why the heavy, black-furred monstrosities didn’t plague Grim and the other Mackintosh warriors who’d just accompanied them through Seacliffe’s gates and into the teeming bailey.
“I aye knew you Nought Mackintoshes are no’ like other men.” Callum brushed at the bear-skin. “Crazed, the lot of you.”
“Perhaps.” Grim shrugged. “Some men are born with a fire in their belly. Times like these ignite it.”
“We’re here to fetch a lassie – a lady,” Callum reminded him.
“So we are, and the madness as you call it, runs in your veins as well.” Grim glanced about the bailey, his sharp gaze at odds with his outlandish appearance. “Be glad. Boldness has its merits. You’ll need the wildness this night.”
“And you and your men look more like Viking Berserkers than Yuletide guisers.” Callum swatted at a swirl of wind-born ash. “Battle-thirsty heathens.”
Grim chuckled. “That’s no’ an insult to us.”
“Aye, well.” Callum lifted the Thor’s hammer amulet at his own neck, kissed it – an old family habit, or he aye believed. “My part remains the same.”
“So we agreed.”
“Dinnae forget.” Callum glanced at the others. “Thon men as well.”
The King’s band of Stewart kin stood a bit apart, but were just as crazed. Like Grim and the Mackintoshes, they wore bear-or-wolfskin cloaks, leather trews and jerkins, tall leather boots, and were hung about with silver chains thick with Thor’s hammers, bear claws, and rough chunks of amber.
Horned helms similar to Grim’s made them appear even more heathen, while a weird array of skull-or-bone-topped branches served as over-sized rattles they held high and shook whenever anyone looked their way. A few already leapt about, roaring nonsense in a language Callum assumed was old Norse – or not.
What he knew was that an even more unsettling collection of deadly-sharp dirks, long-swords, and broad-bladed axes were craftily hidden beneath all the guiserly fur.
Some clutched baskets of mistletoe and holly, tossing handfuls to the laughing, ale-taken merrymakers in the crowded bailey.
A place that teemed even more now, thanks to the large entourage of lofties just pressing through the gatehouse arch. These newcomers spurred their beasts straight for the stables, almost as if to escape Grim and his fake guisers, more than to simply dismount and have their fine-looking steeds properly tended.
“Madmen and worthies,” Callum grumbled, shaking his head as Grim just smiled in a cold shimmer of winter moonlight. “This best go well.”
