Halcourt’s grey eyes sharpened. He inclined his head with courtly precision. “How very… unexpected. England’s loss, I suppose.”
Elsie shifted, her chin lifting slightly, and Halvard caught the faintest tremor of tension in her posture.
“’Tis a pleasure tae meet you,” she curtsied deeply. “Earl Harcourt, Sir, Madame, as my husband just said, I am Elsie MacLeod née Montgomery, daughter of the recently passed Viscount Henry Montgomery.”
The king’s envoy stepped forward, wringing his lace cuffs, and bowed his head at her. “Laird MacLeod, this complicates the king’s arrangements considerably. His Majesty’s intention was that you should wed Lady Margaret Harcourt.”
The young woman in discussion, Margaret, curtsied prettily, keeping her eyes downcast.
Harcourt clasped his hands behind his back, his tone mild, but his eyes simmered with fury. “Tell me, MacLeod, did you forget His Majesty’s decree, or simply decide that royal commands do not apply in the wilds of the Highlands?”
Halvard’s jaw flexed. It would do no one any good for him to run the Earl through in his own great hall. “I dinnae take orders from London,” he bit out. “Or from fathers who have interest in marrying off their daughters.”
A thin smile ghosted over the earl’s lips. “You mistake loyalty for weakness, Laird MacLeod. I assure you, I serve the king’s interests as well as my family’s with equal devotion.”
The air between the men thickened, civility stretched thin as a wire. The Earl’s gaze was calm but cold. Halvard sensed he was a venomous snake, coiled but ready to strike. His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword.
Sten stepped forward, his second having a witch’s sense of when the air turned. “Perhaps, me laird, we might take this talk elsewhere. Th’ ladies have both traveled far and could use rest.”
Redfern’s eyes flicked to Sten and then settled on Halvard. “By all means, the council room then?”
Halvard gave a curt nod. “Aye. Muirin,” he called, gesturing to the wide-eyed maid who sat silently at the foot of the main staircase. “Take Lady Elsie tae our chambers.” And then as if remembering he did indeed have guests. “And see Lady Margaret back to her chambers as well.”
“Our?” Elsie began, her cheeks coloring.
Halvard leaned in close enough so that only she could hear him. “Ye’re me wife, remember?”
Her eyes flashed with indignation, but she bit back whatever retort burned her tongue. Turning toward Muirin she said tightly, “Very well. Lead the way.”
As she ascended the staircase, Halvard saw Harcourt’s eyes follow her. Not with lust or desire, but something worse. Calculation.
Bowen Harcourt was measuring him. Testing the walls as it were, looking for cracks.
Halvard straightened to his full height, every muscle in his body taut and ready for battle. “Council room,” he growled, his voice hard as frost. “We’ll speak there.”
Harcourt inclined his head, the picture of the perfect English gentleman, though a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “After you, MacLeod.”
Halvard turned on his heel, fists clenched at his sides. He’d met men like Harcourt before, but none so polished. And if that man was willing to cross a sea expecting to meet him as a meek man willing to bend, he’d soon learn that Highland men didn’t kneel, especially not to a devil dressed in silk.
He led the way into the council chambers. The oak doors swinging open with a groan, his stride long and sure. They were in his home, on his land. The fire crackled low in the grate and the room held a light scent of damp stone. Behind Halvard, boots and fine shoes echoed in an uneven rhythm as Sten and their guests followed into the room.
Halvard reached the long oak table and rested both hands upon it. “Let’s get this done,” he bit out.
Harcourt settled opposite from him, folding his hands with the composure of a man about to dissect something unpleasant but necessary. The envoy took a quieter seat between them, the picture of calm authority, Halvard thought. Sten maintained a position closest to the door as was his habit.
“I’ll speak plainly, MacLeod,” Harcourt stated. “You’ve made a mockery of a royal order and of me. You were promised to my daughter. Sanctioned by the Crown. Instead, you’ve taken another woman, a stranger, no less, and you’re calling it a marriage?”
Halvard’s eyes narrowed, as he clenched his fists. “Aye, I took a bride,” he said. “And I’ll nae let an English decree dictate th’ life o’ a Highland laird. Ye’d be wise tae keep me wife out of this discussion.”
“Defiance, then.” Harcourt’s smile did not reach his eyes. “You admit it.”
Halvard growled. “I’d point out that when I left there wasnae a decree or any order from th’ king. Is nae me fault I was tae be married off when I was already in possession of a wife.”
He set his fists on the table before him. “I admit, however, that I act fer me clan. Nae fer th’ ambition of greedy Englishmen.”
“Greedy?” Harcourt bit out. “You would do well to mind your tongue. My aim is to strengthen your isolated isle.”
Halvard leaned forward. The earl’s composure slipped just enough for Halvard to see he hit a nerve. There was a spark of recognition behind the polished mask.
