Kenneth O’Malley was Magnus’s oldest friend. He knew him better than anyone.
Magnus hunched a shoulder in greeting as his mouth twisted into a scowl. He did not relish explaining what he had gotten himself into due to his weakness for a pretty face.
She is more than that,so much more.
“Does yer mood have anythin’ to do with the young lady who arrived with ye? Because the servants are abuzz with the news. Did ye kidnap her? I have a wager that ye did.”
Magnus growled at him. “Quiet, ye blaggard,” he muttered, but Kenneth only barked out a laugh.
“Who is she, then?”
“Do ye nae wish to ken of theallianceI have secured for our people? Or are ye more interested in a filly ye havenae met and willnae meet!” he asked, feeling possessive anger at the mere thought of Leah spending time with another man. Even his man-at-arms appeared to be off-limits to his overactive imagination.
Magnus almost groaned aloud at the inconvenience of this irritating obsession.
Thankfully, the talk of alliances had suitably distracted Kenneth from asking any other inappropriate questions.
“Did ye really meet with the Laird?” he asked, clearly surprised by the development. “I had thought ye were going ashore for a dram outside yer castle walls. I never imagined ye’d really attend the party. For abairn,nay less.”
His words were not unkind; he appeared pleased that Magnus had extended an olive branch.
Kenneth had good reason to be surprised. After all, Magnus had not attended an event outside the castle since Lady MacWatt’s passing.
“He is an odd fellow,” Magnus conceded, recalling the strange familiarity he had felt with Laird MacIrvin. “Sincere, I think, though he has nay reason to be. Our exchange was brief, but it seemed genuine. He said he will visit.”
“Visit here?” O’Malley repeated.
“Ye heard me,” Magnus grunted.
He was an overbearing ogre most of the time, that was true, but had he truly had so few visitors over the previous years?
None, death has been the only visitor in these halls.
He walked into his study at the end of the wide corridor. It was his favorite room in the castle, with a roaring fire and ten to twenty candelabras burning in the corners. He was sure he sent his servants into fits with the number of candles they had to light every night, but the room comforted him.
They both walked to the fireplace—a habit engrained in them from many years of O’Malley’s service. His man-at-arms understood when he was welcome, when his master needed to think, and when he had outstayed his usefulness.
They often shared a dram by the fire, and tonight was no exception.
“So ye believe MacIrvin will be a good ally?” O’Malley asked as Magnus poured two large measures into cut-glass tumblers and handed him one.
“Aye,” Magnus said, taking a big swig of the amber liquid, trying to settle the disquiet in his mind.
He rather misjudged the portion, however, and ended up coughing all over himself as it burned down his throat.
When he finally recovered, eyes streaming, he found his man-at-arms studying him with interest, his expression and demeanor entirely composed in comparison to Magnus’s.
“Went down the wrong pipe,” Magnus muttered, taking a seat in his leather armchair and watching O’Malley take the other.
“The council has asked about yer bride again,” Kenneth said haltingly.
Magnus could understand his reticence in bringing up the topic. O’Malley knew the subject grated on Magnus’s nerves more than any other. For a long time, he had banned it from being raised at all, but in recent months, he had recognized the need for an heir, even if the very thought sent a wave of unease through his body.
“Och, aye?” he asked. “Same tune, different song.”
“Indeed. Have ye thought any more about it? I wondered if the lady?—”
“Nay,” Magnus barked, taking a smaller gulp of his whisky and shaking his head. “She needed me help, and I’ve offered her me protection. And dinnae ask me why, I dinnae ken meself.”
