No one moved until the baron was out the door. In a low voice, Alex asked, “What provoked him, Jamie?”
“I did. I did not like that he brought her down a dark passageway, so I came to investigate.” He gave Gracie a furtive glance. “‘Twas a hunch—my intuition told me not to trust the man.”
Alex turned to Gracie.
“Was the baron inappropriate with you?”
Gracie did not know what to say. If she said aye, the issue with the baron would be over. But did she want it to be over? Her world had always been small and simple since she’d joined the Grants, but now it seemed as if every decision she made would have an enormous impact.
“Papa, why are you putting her through this?” Jamie pressed. “Leave her be. She does not wish to leave our clan. Marrying the baron would require her to go.”
The words were kind and caring, but he did not even look at her as he said it.
“You came here to tell us that the baron has petitioned the king for her hand,” Alex said, his voice loud and sonorous. “You know that if the king orders the marriage, refusing him would be considered an act of treason. Torrian went through this.”
Her hands shook as she reached up to brush a stray hair from her face. Dear Lord, she was doomed. She wished to tear down the passageway screaming loud enough for all to hear. She wanted no part of any of this. The only thought in her mind was that she wished to return to the safety and tranquility of the loch, her parents’ home. It had been a mistake to want more.
“Can you not petition the king to refuse him?” Jamie asked, his cheeks turning red. “I do not think they suit each other. Grandmama said that we should all have a say in our marriages. Uncle Robbie may be Gracie’s stepsire, but she is still a Grant.”
Gracie held her breath, waiting to hear Uncle Alex’s response.
“This seems to be more about what you want than about what Gracie wants.”
Jamie threw his arms up in the air. “I do not know what you expect me to do, Papa. You taught me to protect the innocent, but now you’ve changed your mind.”
“I do not think Gracie is an innocent. She’s a woman grown.”
Jamie’s expression changed from one of anger to one of acquiescence. He bowed to Gracie. “Forgive me. I’ll not intrude on your life again.” He spun on his heel and stalked away without saying another word to his sire.
A moment later, Alex shouted after his son, “Jamie, in the stables at high sun on the morrow. Be there, or I’ll come and find you.” He said it without looking at him.
Chapter Twelve
Jamie knows enough to watch out for that tic in his father’s jaw. So here I reprint the entire chapter. Why? Because this is Alexander Grant. Enjoy!
Jamie strode toward the stables, tipping his head back to check the sun. He hadn’t found Gracie last night, so he’d vowed to find her sometime later today. If he survived this meeting with his sire, he’d find her right away and explain his foolishness to her. He’d go with her if she had to go to the baron’s land—of course he would. Staying behind was just unacceptable. What the hell had he been thinking?
His sire’s voice called out to him as soon as he entered the stable. Jamie sighed. From the sound of his da’s voice, he knew exactly where he was—Mac’s stall.
That’s what he’d called it for as long as he could remember. Mac had chosen a stall for himself. He’d had a storage closet built into it so he could keep all his tools there for when he groomed the horses. He always kept sweet treats for the wee ones and the horses in his special closet. It was a place where Jamie had spent a great deal of time as a lad.
“Why here, Papa?” He noticed all the stable lads were gone, not a good sign.
His father stood from the bale of hay where he’d been seated. “Why not? You are acting like a horse’s arse, just as you did shortly after Mac passed on. Do you not recall?”
Jamie did not want to look at his sire. That time had been so painful for him, but he had not let himself cry. Instead, he’d become so furious with the world, he’d sniped at each and every person who crossed his path.
“Aye, I recall. But I was young, Papa. Every time I came here ‘twas painful for me. Why mention it now? No one has died.”
“Your mother and I believe the way you’re acting now is exactly the same way you were acting then.”
“So your plan is to fight me until I start crying? If I recall, ‘twas what happened the first time. You swung your sword at me until I was so upset that I cried and cried. I was a lad then. You’ll not be able to make me cry now. I tell you, the two situations have naught to do with each other.”
“I think they do,” his sire’s voice came out in a whisper, and he stood there as he always did—calm and controlled.
Telling Jamie what he thought.
Telling Jamie what to do.
