“’Tis a lass.”
Artan opened his mouth to loudly decry naming a lass the heir to Glascreag, and then quickly shut it. He resisted the temptation to look behind him to see if his kinswomen were bearing down on him, well armed and ready to beat some sense into him. They would all be sorely aggrieved if they knew what thoughts were whirling about in his head. Words like too weak, too sentimental, too trusting, and made to have bairns not lead armies were the sort of thoughts that would have his kinswomen grinding their teeth in fury.
But Glascreag was no Donncoill, he thought. Deep in the Highlands, it was surrounded by rough lands and even rougher men. In the years he and Lucas had trained with Angus, they had fought reivers, other clans, and some who had wanted Angus’s lands. Glascreag required constant vigilance and a strong sword arm. Murray women were strong and clever, but they were healers not warriors, not deep in their hearts. Artan also considered his kinswomen unique and doubted Angus’s niece was of their ilk.
“If ye name a lass as your heir, Angus, every mon who has e’er coveted your lands will come kicking down your gates.” Artan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at the man. “Malcolm is a spineless weasel, but a mon, more or less. Naming him your heir would at least make men pause as they girded themselves for battle. Aye, and your men would heed his orders far more quickly than they would those of a lass, and ye ken it weel.”
Angus nodded and ran one scarred hand through his black hair, which was still thick and long, but was now well threaded with white. “I ken it, but I have a plan.”
A tickle of unease passed through Artan. Angus’s plans could often mean trouble. At the very least, they meant hard work for him. The way the man’s eyes, a silvery blue like his own, were shielded by his half-lowered lids warned Artan that even Angus knew he was not going to like this particular plan.
“I want ye to go and fetch my niece for me and bring her here to Glascreag, where she belongs. I wish to see her once more before I die.” Angus sighed, slumped heavily against the pillows, and closed his eyes.
Artan grunted, making his disgust with such a pitiful play for sympathy very clear. “Then send word and have her people bring her here.”
Sitting up straight, Angus glared at him. “I did. I have been writing to the lass for years, e’en sent for her when her father and brother died ten, nay, twelve years ago. Her father’s kinsmen refused to give her into my care e’en though nary a one of them is as close in blood to her as I am.”
“Why didnae ye just go and get her? Ye are a laird. Ye could have claimed her as your legal heir and taken her. ’Tis easy to refuse letters and emissaries, but nay so easy to refuse a mon to his face. Ye could have saved yourself the misery of dealing with Malcolm.”
“I wanted the lass to want to come to Glascreag, didnae I?”
“’Tis past time ye ceased trying to coax her or her father’s kinsmen.”
“Exactly! That is why I wantyeto go and fetch her here. Ach, laddie, I am sure ye can do it. Ye can charm and threaten with equal skill. Aye, and ye can do it without making them all hot for your blood. I would surely start a feud I dinnae need. Ye have a way with folk that I dinnae, that ye do.”
Artan listened to Angus’s flattery and grew even more uneasy. Angus was not only a little desperate to have his niece brought home to Glascreag, but he also knew Artan would probably refuse to do him this favor. The question was, why would Angus think Artan would refuse to go and get the woman. It could not be because it was dangerous, for the man knew well that only something foolishly suicidal would cause Artan to, perhaps, hesitate. Although his mind was quickly crowded with possibilities ranging from illegal to just plain disgusting, Artan decided he had played this game long enough.
“Shut it, Angus,” he said, standing up straighter and putting his hands on his hips.“Whyhavenae ye gone after the woman yourself, andwhydo ye think I will refuse to go?”
“Ye would refuse to help a mon on his deathbed?”
“Just spit it out, Angus, or I will leave right now and ye will ne’er ken which I might have said, aye or nay.”
“Och, ye will say nay,” Angus mumbled. “Cecily lives at Dunburn near Kirkfalls.”
“Near Kirkfalls? Kirkfalls?” Artan muttered; then he swore. “That is in the Lowlands.” Artan’s voice was soft yet sharp with loathing.
“Weel, just a few miles into the Lowlands.”
“Now I ken why ye ne’er went after the lass yourself. Ye couldnae stomach the thought of going there. Yet ye would sendmeinto that hellhole?”
“’Tisnae as bad as all that.”
“’Tis as bad as if ye wanted me to ride to London. I willnae do it,” Artan said, and started to leave.
“I need an heir of my own blood!”
“Then ye should ne’er have let your sister marry a Lowlander. ’Tis near as bad as if ye had let her run off with a Sassanach. Best ye leave the lass where she is. She is weel ruined by now.”
“Wait! Ye havenae heard the whole of my plan!”
Artan opened the door and stared at Malcolm, who was crouched on the floor, obviously having had his large ear pressed against the door. The thin, pale young man grew even paler and stood up. He staggered back a few steps, and then bolted down the hall. Artan sighed. He did not need such a stark reminder of the pathetic choice Angus had for an heir now.
Curiosity also halted him at the door. Every instinct he had told him to keep on moving, that he would be a fool to listen to anything else Angus had to say. A voice in his head whispered that his next step could change his life forever. Artan wished that voice would tell him if that change would be for the better. Praying he was not about to make a very bad choice, he slowly turned to look at Angus, but he did not move away from the door.
Angus looked a little smug, and Artan inwardly cursed. The old man had judged his victim well. Curiosity had always been Artan’s weakness. It had caused him trouble and several injuries more times than he cared to recall. He wished Lucas were with him, for his brother was the cautious one. Then Artan quickly shook that thought aside. He was a grown man now, not a reckless child, and he had wit enough to make his own decisions with care and wisdom.
“What is the rest of your plan?” he asked Angus.
