Eoin couldn’t; it was true. His father was doing everything he could to secure a betrothal between him and Lady Barbara Keith.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Eoin. I’d give my left bollock to have the Marischal of Scotland’s daughter as my wife. With your skills and a marital connection to Scotland’s top military commander, you’ll be in a fantastic position if the war resumes.”
Whenthe war resumes, Eoin thought. For despite Edward of England’s intentions, rather than end the Scottish “rebellion” with the brutal killing of William Wallace a few weeks ago, all he’d done was incite it.
That’s why they were here. The great lords and magnates of Scotland had gathered at Stirling to “come together” to see what could be done to respond to this latest act by Edward.
But the likelihood of Bruce and Comyn (who represented his exiled uncle King John Balliol) coming together to agree about anything for any length of time was about as likely as the Mamluk sultan and the pope agreeing to share Jerusalem. Eoin knew the gathering was more about the two temporary allies gathering support and taking stock of potential allies when the next grab for power came. And it would come, there was no doubt about that. Hatred ran too deep between the two branches of the descendants of Prince Fergus to ever be reconciled.
The MacLeans were in a difficult position. Although Eoin’s father had every intention of fighting alongside their kinsman Bruce, he was also trying to avoid more problems from the MacDougalls—the Lord of Argyll was technically their overlord for their lands in Lorn—who were firmly aligned with the Comyns, by appearing undecided.
“Lady Barbara is a lovely lady,” he said. “Any man would be fortunate to have her as a wife.”
The words came out as rote and unthinking as they were. But they were also true. Barbara Keith was pretty, well mannered, demure, and modest. A real lady, and everything he admired in a woman—just like his mother. Were it not for Rignach, daughter of the former Lord of Carrick, his father would never have become one of the most important and respected Highland chiefs. His father liked to jest that without her they’d be just as wild and uncivilized as those backward barbarian MacDowells, who were probably still living with their animals in long houses and worshipping pagan gods.
Having had the misfortune of crossing paths with Dugald MacDowell once, Eoin didn’t doubt it. He could give the Vikings a lesson in ruthlessness and barbarity.
“Aye, I’m sure she’ll make you a perfect wife,” Fin said dryly.
Eoin’s gaze sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Fin shrugged. “You don’t want to be bothered, and she won’t bother you. But you better wear a warm mantle when you bed her.”
He shot him a look of warning. Eoin was used to his friend’s talk about the women he bedded—or wanted to bed. Though distasteful, he usually ignored it. But speculating about the woman who might be Eoin’s future wife was another matter.
Even if he was probably right. Lady Barbara was a bit... frosty.
Fin put his hand up. “Don’t get all prickly. I don’t mean anything by it. One can’t have everything, I suppose. That’s why so many men have lemans. A wife for money, position, alliances, and heirs, and a pretty mistress to fuck and suck your cock. Too bad the two never seem to go together.”
Eoin winced. “Christ, Fin, do you have to talk like that?”
Fin just laughed and shook his head. “You are more of a prude than a nun in a harem, Eoin. If you ever relaxed long enough to sit around the fire at camp with us, rather than hunch over an oil lamp with those maps of yours, you’d know that is how most men talk.”
He was focused, damn it, not prudish. “I’ll relax when the war is over.”
Fin made a sharp sound. “I doubt it. All you ever think about is battle. You’ll just be planning for the next one.”
His friend was probably more right than Eoin wanted to admit. He was saved from a response, however, when they passed from the Great Hall to the solar where he and Bruce were playing and he noticed a wall of men blocking the doorway. They seemed to be gathered around something protectively.
“Wonder what that is all about?” Fin asked.
Eoin frowned. “Let’s find out.”
They pushed past the first few men when Neil Campbell, one of Bruce’s closest friends and advisors, said something to the earl and nodded in their direction. Bruce turned. There was a strange expression on his face; he seemed to be trying to prepare him for something.
“Cousin, I’m afraid...”
Eoin didn’t know whether it was Bruce’s expression or the fact that he called him cousin, which he didn’t usually do, that caused him to turn and look to the left where the game was set up. Or at least where the gamehadbeen set up.
Bruce was saying something, but Eoin was too busy storming across the room to listen. “Bloody hell!” He looked in disbelief at the destroyed game. The pieces had been moved. His eyes narrowed. Not just moved, they’d been purposefully positioned into the design of a heart. He turned in outrage to his kinsmen. “By God, who did this? If this is some kind of joke...”
He’d kill them. Two days, damn it. And he’d been a few moves away from victory. He pictured the pieces in his head, trying to remember where they’d been placed.
“It was an accident,” Bruce said.
“Accident?” Eoin picked up the piece of wood etched with the words Do Not Touch. “Did the idiot not read the sign?”
An uncomfortable silence fell across the room. Vaguely, Eoin was aware that someone had come up beside Bruce.
