James didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. He knew very well that his father was going to attempt to dissuade him from participating in the games, even if he had to appeal to his laird, which was probably what he was doing right now behind James’s back.
Well, he wasn’t going to allow it to happen. Either he would participate, or he would leave. It was as simple as that.
The rest of the clans’ participants were revealed before the laird took his place on the platform once more.
“Each laird will have a few moments with their participants before the first challenge is announced.”
James drew in a breath before he turned, finding his father glaring at him and the rest of the clan watching him warily.
“James,” he said, his voice tight with anger. “A word.”
James refused to back down, lifting his chin. “Aye, a word.”
The clan members parted as his father stalked back until they were out of sight from the other clans before he rounded on James.
“Wot are ye thinking?” he exploded. “Ye are not participating in these games!”
“Aye, I am,” James replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have been training, Da. I can do this.”
“Nay ye cannae!” his father interrupted. “Ye came here for negotiations, James, not tae make an arse out of yerself and get yerself killed! Yer ma?—”
“Ye both have been protecting me all mah life,” James blurted out, allowing some of the anger come through with his words. “For wot? For me tae be the laughingstock of our clan? I dinnae wish tae be ye, Da!”
His father reared back as if James had hit him. James regretted his rash words.
“Ye arenae a laughingstock,” he said after a moment. “Ye are mah son, and mah son is tae be the advisor tae the laird one day, tae take on the tradition of wot I have built for this family.”
James swallowed some of his anger. “I dinnae wish tae be an advisor. I have told ye before.” He had said dozens of times what he wanted in his life. His father had just chosen not to listen to him each and every time, thinking he knew what was best for James.
It was James’s life, not anyone else’s.
His father stalked closer, his eyes flashing anger and a bit of hurt.
“Wot do ye think ye are going tae achieve by this?” he asked, his words soft. “Do ye think that just because ye win these games that ye will gain the respect ye crave? That ye are going tae just be able tae become a warrior?”
That was exactly what James was thinking.
“’Tis a start,” he finally said. “Tae wot I want.”
“Let him participate.”
Both men turned to find Irvine standing a few feet away, his hands clasped behind him.
“M-Mah laird,” James’s father sputtered as he laid his eyes on his oldest friend. “I cannae let him do this.”
Irvine’s gaze was focused on James.
“Is this wot ye want, James?” he asked, arching a brow. “Because if it is, then I will expect ye tae represent this clan tae the fullest. Do ye understand that?”
James bowed his head respectively, his heart hammering in his chest.
“Aye, mah laird. I understand.”
Irvine cleared his throat. “Then he shall be one of mah participants.”
“Mah lair—” his father started, but Irvine held up his hand, silencing him.
“’Tis mah word, Malcolm. Trust me.”
