“Not a mighty chieftain then, but mayhap from his fearless warriors. We can convince yer uncle of how it could improve his standing and influence with the other clans. There’s been talk, and the highland clans know yer uncle is currying favor with those lowlanders. Let him believe we’re doing his work as well as helping out the nuns.”
“What of his mighty plans?” Aldred asked.
“Let his precious son lead his battles for him.” Niall’s demeanor brightened considerably. “Lachlann, ye’re a wise man indeed. ’Twill bemethey see,methey’ll be getting to know. These men could be future allies, known to me, and I to them. Verra wise indeed.” Niall slapped him on the back. “Mayhap I can convince my uncle of the importance of this journey after all.”
“Making alliances should always be the goal of a wise leader,” Lachlann said. “Yer uncle doesn’t seem to understand that. He prefers making enemies of those closest to him.”
Aldred waggled his bushy blond brows. “I enjoy making alliances.”
Lachlann shoved the man against the wooden post, but Aldred just laughed, even as he struggled to keep his footing.
Niall didn’t return the Norseman’s grin. “And not keeping yer hands to yerself can sometimes make enemies.”
Aldred spit on the ground. “Are ye all expecting me to remain celibate?”
As in so many other instances when Aldred shot off his mouth without thinking, Niall and Lachlann merely glared back at the man.
“Well, do ye?” In supplication, he raised his upturned hands. “I hate it when ye act this way. I’d much prefer my lusty friends to join in on the conquests we could make.”
“I’m wondering why it is that ye seem to be the only one of us who still acts like a spry young buck? After any white-tailed doe he sees?”
“I’m not that bad.”
Lachlann stopped short of rolling his eyes. Instead, he met Aldred’s whining with a stoic face.
Aldred kicked at a stone and said in a petulant tone, “I will if ’tis needed.”
“It may be,” Niall said. “Ye’ve offended enough fathers by yer pursuit—”
“Not only pursuit, but claiming as well.”
“And yer proud of it?” Lachlann didn’t hide his annoyance. “’Tis the deflowering that causes us problems.”
Niall continued. “And conquering of their daughters. As a warrior, ye know just fine how to withstand temptation, no matter what ye may claim.”
Aldred puckered his lips then shrugged. When Niall raised a brow, not satisfied with his half agreement, Aldred nodded. A slow reflective nod.
Lachlann asked, “So shall we approach yer uncle tonight?”
Niall placed a hand on Aldred’s shoulder before facing Lachlann. “I think tonight will be fine. I’ll do my best to convince him, but my decision is made. We’ll leave by week’s end with or without his blessing.”
* * *
The large, open longhouse was set up for the evening meal with the room near to overflowing with men from the clan. All talking, drinking, and eating. The darkness just settling in, a few flaming torches were set up to offset the gloom. Garnait, his long gray hair flowing around his shoulders, sat on his raised dais centered on the far wall and looked out over his men. Lachlann’s scalp prickled. He knew of no justification for the man’s arrogance, but he basked in the title of chieftain as if he had somehow earned it. If Niall ever chose to confront the man for leadership, Lachlann would definitely receive great satisfaction in taking him off his throne. Even now, Garnait was the only one surrounded by women as was his custom whenever his wife was not nearby.
Lachlann and Niall weaved their way through the mass of loud, smelly warriors to settle at a quiet table tucked along the eave of the low, thatched roof, nearly hidden in shadows, with their sopping trenchers. Aldred quickly joined them, plopping down opposite on his own long bench.
“How am I to stay strong and ready to fight if they give me no meat?” he grumbled.
Lachlann held his tongue, though he was at the end of his patience as well. Warriors should never be treated so. They needed sustenance. They should be revered, treated to the best accommodations and fed like kings. Without them, the safety of the clan was in question.
Aldred’s downcast eyes lit up at the sight of an unexpected piece of meat in the watery broth. He speared it, then closed his eyes to savor the delicacy, groaning in satisfaction.
“Hey, Heathen!” Garnait’s oldest son Douglas called from the next table. He was surrounded by his minions, which included his younger brother Murchadh. His amicable tone did nothing to mask the nasty scowl. “Are ye eating or pleasuring yerself?”
Lachlann tensed at the insult, the ribald comments loud enough for everyone to hear. Despite his repeated attempts, Douglas had yet to be successful at riling Aldred, who again remained imperturbable. Even now, he merely opened his eyes, paused, and took a sip of his mead.
After what seemed like an eternity—Lachlann was ready to take down the man if he said even one more word—Aldred turned to Douglas and said, “Ye tell me, Douglas. Has it been so long since ye’ve lain with a woman that any pleasure must involve yer prick?”
