Once they were all inside and the door closed, Graeme paced to the window and back. “Ye dunnae ken the first thing aboot yer own sister, do ye?”
“Graeme,I’lltell this story. And if either of you start punching each other, I’m going to get that fireplace poker and remind you forcefully that we don’t have time for nonsense.”
“Fine, lass. I like listening to ye talk, anyway.”
Marjorie sat in the chair nearest the fire just to keep the poker close to hand, and she told her brother about how the past months had been for her. Graeme knew the tale, but he listened anyway, his expression an intent fondness that kept distracting her every time she looked over at him. No one looked at her like that—like she was something precious and rare and beautiful. For heaven’s sake, he’d stood toe to toe with her brother, and was still doing so. The man about whom French soldiers had made a rather bloodcurdling song involving the Grim Reaper.
Because she didn’t want a battle between them she left out the shackles and the attempt at a forced marriage and the other, more… personal parts of the tale, but she didn’t spare any details about her second abduction or Graeme’s swift rescue. When she finished that part, Gabriel put up a hand.
“You broke Sir Hamish Paulk’s nose?” he repeated, shifting his attention to Graeme.
“I damned well tried to. Even withoot what he did to Ree, he’s been after my cotters and my place in the clan fer better than seven years. The fact that he touched the lass topped it off.”
Gabriel narrowed one eye. “You know I’m about to marry his niece.”
“Aye. I also know how ye booted him and Dunncraigh off yer land and then exposed all the shite the Maxwell’s been doing to his own fer the past decade or so.”
With a half grin, Gabriel sat back in the old chair again. “And all the armed men outside are because you’re expecting retaliation.”
“Aye. I reckoned ye might be some Sassenach mercenary the Maxwell hired to burn me oot. I aim to object to that.”
Marjorie sat beside him, twining her fingers with his restless ones. “Graeme told me what happened at Lattimer, Gabriel, when Dunncraigh tried to force you out. We promised the tenants here improvements and homes whatever their clan chief attempted, but they’re scared.”
“I dunnae have the men to stand against him in an out-and-out fight. And I’ve cotters afraid of what’ll happen to them if they choose the wrong side—and I’d nae force them to do that.”
Gabriel sat silently for a moment. “Marjorie and I need a word,” he finally said. “In private.”
She didn’t need to look at Graeme to know he didn’t like that. “I refuse to be kidnapped a third time,” she said aloud, freeing her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He stood. “Nae. I need to go check on the lads. Ye stay here.”
Marjorie watched him out the door, splendid in his heavy, dark coat and bright plaid kilt, then turned to find her brother gazing at her. “Are you pregnant?” he asked, with his usual abruptness.
A few weeks ago simply being asked that question would have mortified and offended her. Her world had tipped on its ear since then, and so had her sensibilities. “I don’t know.”
Gabriel cursed. “You were the one I thought was fit for this life we’ve had shoved at us. You’re poised, proper, sophisticated, l—”
“I thought I needed to fit into this new life, too,” she interrupted. “But you don’t, so why should I?”
“I didn’t expect to meet Fiona, you know,” her brother countered. “Or to find anything I cared to fight for here. I expected to be back on the Peninsula by now.”
“And I didn’t expect to meet Graeme, or to see anything of the Highlands except what I viewed through the coach window. I never expected any of this. But it happened, and I want what’s here. More than I ever wanted to be a fine, admired lady in London.”
He blew out his breath. “I’m not a clan chief. I can’t tuck his people beneath my wings.”
“Graeme said they call you Laird MacKittrick. And if I asked those men who rode all this way with you, would they say they’re part of clan Maxwell, or clan MacKittrick?”
“They’re Maxwells in everything but name, Ree.”
“And the name they do use for themselves is…” she prompted.
“MacKittrick. But only because that’s Lattimer Castle’s old name, and the name of the Maxwell chieftain who resided there before one of the old Georges had his head lopped off.”
She’d nearly forgotten how stubborn her older brother could be. “Graeme can provide for these people here. He’s been doing it for the past eight years with almost nothing. I can help him make Garaidh nan Leòmhann profitable, if you don’t get your back up and cut me off. But he needs to be rid of damned Dunncraigh.”
Gabriel gave a surprised laugh, moving over to the couch to hug her and place a kiss on her hair. “Language, Ree.”
The fact that he’d voluntarily embraced her, voluntarily allowed his arms and his attention to become entangled… “Fiona Blackstock has been very good for you, I think.”
