“‘Lad?’” she echoed incredulously. “Ye cannae seriously be calling that old man a ‘lad,’ father, surely?”
“I call him the salvation of our clan!” Hamish bellowed. “An’ I call ye an ungrateful whelp, an’ wish yer mum had given birth tae a more worthy specimen of offspring, that I’d nae be vexed by one such as ye the rest of my days! I curse the day ye were conceived, an’ that’s the truth!”
“Ye may insult me all ye wish, father,” she challenged, jutting her chin defiantly. “The fact remains that I’m no longer a wee lass, and ye cannae threaten me with the punishments of my childhood! I’ll speak my mind and live my own life, and that’s all there is to it!”
Hamish let out a roar like a wounded wildcat and seized Isla by the arm, dragging her up the steps. “We shall see aboot that!”
“Unhand me, father!” she demanded. “At once!”
“Nay, ye’ll be locked in yer room tonight with nae supper so ye may ponder yer actions an’ repent of them!” he growled, pulling her along sharply. “Perhaps by tomorrow, ye’ll be more willing tae listen tae yer father, act yer age, and do what’s best for yer clan instead of actin’ like a spoiled and selfish wee girl!”
When they reached the door to her chamber, Hamish flung her in and slammed it shut, locking it from the outside.
Isla let out an enraged shriek and grabbed the ink pot from her writing desk. She threw it against the door with all her might and it shattered, leaving a black and oozing splatter across it like a shadow someone had carelessly left behind.
Her father had locked her in her room without supper numerous times when she was a child, but she had hoped she’d grown too old for such a punishment. She felt sullied and demeaned by such treatment, as though he’d managed to snatch her very adulthood out from under her and reduce her to the wee lass who was not old enough to make any decisions for herself.
Isla threw herself on her bed and buried her face in her pillow, stifling an enraged and helpless scream. She knew that he was right, she wouldn’t be able to put off marriage forever.
And when the time came, and her secret was exposed? What would become of her then?
Downstairs, Hamish paced his private study, stopping to slam his fist upon the desk every few turns.What would it take to get through that girl’s thick skull?he wondered. When would she finally grow up and understand that by being a member of the clan’s ruling family, she owed a debt to its people—a well-arranged marriage that would strengthen their position?
He’d tried reasoning with her, he’d tried yelling at her, he’d tried punishing her, and none of it had worked. In truth, he did not have much reason to believe locking her in her room would have any effect either… except to make the contrary lass dig in all the more.
Where could she havegottensuch confounded stubbornness?he thought.
As this question made his head ache, there was a knock at the door. “What is it?” he shouted.
Murdo Cormican poked his head in. He was Hamish’s right hand—a stout man with a red nose, a timid smile, and small bashful eyes which blinked erratically. “Forgive the intrusion, Laird Hamish, but Kirk Oliphant is here an’ wishes an audience with ye.”
Hamish scowled, confused. “The cousin of the new laird? Why the devil wouldhedrop in so suddenly?”
“I inquired, but he maintained ‘twas a matter best discussed with ye personally. If ye wish, I can press the point…?”
“Nay, best tae see what the man wants,” Hamish grumbled, leaving the study, “even if it is damned inconvenient, with all the other nonsense already weighing upon my shoulders…”
Hamish entered the Great Hall, where his unexpected guest awaited him. Kirk Oliphant was twenty-eight, solidly-built, with red hair, a full beard, and laughing emerald eyes. He smiled at Hamish, exposing rows of straight white teeth. “Well met, Laird Hamish. I apologize for this surprise visit… I do hope I have nae inconvenienced ye too grievously?”
“A laird is always busy at one thing or another, Kirk Oliphant,” Hamish replied gruffly. “What matter is of such concern that ye wouldmakesuch a visit, I wonder? All remains well between our clans now, I trust? For if we’ve somehow offended Laird Alex, ‘twould be best to settle it at once, and peacefully.”
“Nay, nay, ye needn’t concern yerself about anything of the sort,” Kirk reassured him. “This is an altogether different circumstance. Now that my cousin has ascended tae his new role as ruler of our clan, his advisors—myself included—have persuaded him that it is important for him tae select a bride. He must now produce an heir, after all, in the event that anything might happen tae him.”
“That’s sensible enough, aye,” Hamish grunted. “What’s it tae do with me?”
“I thought it might be best to propose the notion of a marriage between Laird Alex and yer daughter, sir.”
Hamish raised an eyebrow. “Och, did ye, now?”
Kirk spread his arms in a gesture of reasonable persuasion. “Let us speak plainly tae each other, Laird Hamish. We all know that beneath the veneer of civility between our two clans, the bad blood yet remains. No doubt ye’ve little inclination tae agree that yer daughter should marry the descendant of the man who killed her grandfather. That is understandable, tae be sure. However, what I suggest could make our gentility toward each other arealityrather than a falsehood. It could form an alliance whichmight be beneficial tae both parties.” He paused, then asked, “What do ye ken of Laird Alex, sir? His character, I mean?”
“I ken that he is called the Crimson Laird,” Hamish mused, “after yer clan’s crest. He is said tae be a strict an’ imposing figure indeed. More feared than respected, they say.”
Kirk shook his head. “He’s a good man, and a fair one. His redoubtable reputation is earned, tae be sure, but his people adore him. He cares for them deeply, and he allows them to feel safe. He could make your daughter feel safe too… and, perhaps, your clan as a whole as well. For who would dare tae challenge ye, knowin’ ye are allied with the Oliphants?”
“Ye make a fair case, I grant ye,” Hamish said.
Kirk grinned. “Then ye’ll consider it?”
