“Idinna askfor this,” Alex complained, pacing the length of his father’s solar. The council had gathered in private to discuss the clan’s future with him. “Why do ye think I’d want to be laird?”
“What in God’s name ails ye? Tis the natural order of things. Ye are Laird John’s brother—yer sire’s last son.”
Alex eyed the older man sitting at the head of the table, Mathe MacIver, a lifelong friend and distant kinsman from his mother’s side of the family. “And what great things did my brother accomplish that ye would find it necessary to choose me as the next laird?”
Mathe rubbed his bearded chin, looking to his left and right to get answers from the other men.
“He kept the peace,” one offered.
“Peace?” Alex was tempted to laugh. “Shall I recite the missive my brother sent? Relay the desperation he expressed?”
Mathe slammed his hand down on the aged wood, obviously offended by Alex’s questions. “Did ye ever consider yer brother would do anything to get ye back here because he had the foresight to understand he might not survive a battle against the Sutherlands? That pleading and begging wasn’t beyond him if it meant protecting the clan?”
“I guess we shall never know, my friend. John is dead, And I have a ship waiting.”
“Curse those heathens,” Mathe said. “Blast that damned vessel—may it crash and sink on the first wind—ye with it, if ye dare abandon us again.”
Alex’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. “If ye weren’t a trusted kinsman…”
“What?” Mathe shot up from his chair. “Tell me.”
“I’d drive my blade through yer gullet.”
“Ye speak against yerself, Laird Alex.”
“How?” He locked gazes with his formidable cousin.
“My words should mean nothing if ye doona have interest in this clan’s future success.”
“If I dinna care, old man, I wouldna be here.”
“Good.” Mathe reclaimed his seat. “Have the heathen ways so polluted yer Christian heart?”
Alex relaxed his stance, removing his hand from his sword. “Depends on the man asking.”
Mathe arched his brows. Everyone in the room knew him to be a devout follower of God. Nothing could tempt him away from his steadfast faith, like nothing could force Alex back into it.
“What happened in the desert, Alex? Why do ye shun yer responsibilities so easily?” Jamie asked.
Nothing bad had happened. He’d welcomed the change, perhaps too eagerly, shedding his tartan like a viper shed its skin. “Stop the asking.”
“Is it the lass?” Mathe pressed.
“Return her to Laird Oliphant. He’ll see her punished and wed to the type of man who will lock her up so ye never have to set eyes upon her again,” another council member offered.
The idea of another man touching Keely, bedding her, and filling her belly with his unborn babe made Alex angry. Though he despised the lass for what she’d done, he couldna abide the thought of her being married off to a stranger. But that’s what would happen if he sent her home. No father would keep a daughter that brought shame to her family and clan. Keely had done so by seeking refuge with the Sutherlands.
His only recourse was to find a MacKay to marry her. “The lass isna going home.”
“What?” Mathe asked.
“Ye heard me.”
Jamie pretended to clear his ears of something. “But I dinna.”
Alex met his cousin’s hard stare. “Aye, ye did.”
“The MacKays need an heir,” Mathe said. “And though the lass is treacherous by nature, she is young and beautiful–perhaps worth keeping.”
