“Is it always like that?” Ainslee asked, breaking the silence of the room.
“Like wot?”
“What we did.”
Arran smiled, pulling back to look into her eyes. She was blushing, and he felt the stirrings of desire low in his belly.
“Nay. It gets better with time.” Arran imagined it would grow with Ainslee, to where they would start to anticipate each other’s needs, their wants.
She gave him a soft smile, and Arran knew he would be lost to his wife. It was only a matter of time.
“Then, can we see?”
Though his heart pounded loudly in his ears, he found himself hesitating. “Ye will be sore.”
“I dinnae care,” she replied evenly, sliding her arms around his neck. “Please, Husband.”
He couldn’t deny her.
The next morning, Arran sat with his uncle and brother in his study. The meeting had been hastily called, and in a few moments, they would have another with the council in general, but Arran wished to hear the concerns of his closest family first.
“Ye think they are ready?”
Turning toward Uncle Fergus, Arran chuckled. “Nay, but they will never be ready in time.”
“I agree with Arran,” Malcolm replied, his brow furrowed. “We dinnae have much time. McDougal could be marching this way as we speak.”
“Have the scouts not returned?” Arran asked his brother. The day that he had returned, Malcolm had sent scouts out to watch the border and report any movement of McDougal toward the Mcaiwn land. It would at least give them a day’s notice if their keep were to be attacked.
“Nay,” Malcolm replied. “All the more reason tae move forward with our revenge. If McDougal is not moving, then we could catch him unaware.”
“I dinnae like it,” Uncle Fergus grumbled. “Do either of ye not remember what happened the last time? That was with seasoned warriors. What we have are bairns compared to them!”
Arran knew more than anyone what had happened the last time he had gone up against McDougal. The blood was still etched in his mind, the sound of the swords slicing through the throats of his brethren.
But he could not let that deter him for what needed to happen. It was his responsibility as laird to ensure that his clan was avenged. He was also concerned that they would be going against a formidable foe with inexperienced warriors, but what choice did he have?
As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.
“Enter,” Arran growled, ceasing the conversation for now.
The door opened, and a dirt-streaked man stood in the doorway. “Mah lord,” he replied, placing a fist over his heart. “I have returned.”
“What say ye, scout?” Malcolm asked before Arran had the opportunity to do so.
“McDougal and his warriors have left their keep,” he replied, his eyes flashing. “They are coming this way.”
Arran stood. “Sound the alarm,” he told his uncle, his first thoughts to the members of his clan that were on the outskirts of the village. “Ensure that those who wish for shelter have it.”
“Aye,” Uncle Fergus said wearily.
“He’s moving slow,” the scout continued, his shoulders slumping. “He has large groups of warriors. At this pace, they will be here in less than two days’ time.”
Two days. Arran had two days to rally his warriors and protect his clan. Suddenly it didn’t seem like enough time. “Call the council. ’Tis time we talk about war.”
The council agreed with him. While they needed to move quickly to stop the invaders from getting close to the keep, they also argued the fact that the warriors were not ready.
“Our swords are sharp,” Cameron said. “Our minds are ready. We can leave this afternoon.”
