11
“Nay, ye cannae possibly think that we will believe yer word?”
James shifted in his seat, wishing his mug wasn’t empty. He sat on one side of the long table, flanked by his father and Matteau, who was also frowning into his mug. The ale had run out long ago, and no one had dared to approach the table to refill it.
James couldn’t fault the servants for wanting to stay away. The talks between the McGregors and the Wallaces had started out as amicable as possible—if grunting and eye narrowing could be considered as amicable. He imagined that Laird Balckin, their host laird, who provided his own elders and warriors for the council negotiations, was expecting swords to be drawn.
The tension now was palpable to anyone that approached the room. More than once, James had watched Irvine’s vein in his neck bulge as he argued with the Wallace laird, laying down his own set of rules if they were to follow along with the Wallace ones. James found himself picking out the similarities between the Wallace laird and Iris, noting that it wasn’t hard to identify where she got her stubborn streak from.
The Wallace laird paid him no heed, as he wasn’t in any sort of position to offer up anything that the laird would be interested in, but it wasn’t the laird that eyed him with disdain. It was the older Wallace lad, who likely was in line to take his father’s place one day, that had James glaring back at him. He had seen him with Iris before the competition the previous day, and it was clear that she and her brother were close.
Did he know about what James and Iris had experienced together? It was clear by his voice that Ian was the one looking for Iris the day before.
The day that James had her lodged against a tree, tasting her lips for the first time.
Clearing his throat, James adjusted himself in the chair. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time to think about how she had made him feel and how much he wished for the kiss to happen again.
He desperately wanted the kiss to happen again.
“Enough!” Irvine suddenly announced, pushing away from the table. “I need tae piss.”
James stood with his father as their laird stalked out of the room. His father nodded to the Wallace laird before exiting as well, likely to advise the laird on his next words with their enemy.
“Och, ye are familiar tae me.”
James turned to find a smirking Ian a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Aye, ye seen me taeday.”
Ian chuckled, shaking his head. “A smart arse, are ye now?” He took a step closer, his expression hardening. “Ye know wot I mean. I’ve seen the way ye look at mah sister.”
James clenched his fists at his sides, forcing his expression to remain neutral. Inside, however, he was angered that Ian would even consider discussing this with him like he owned his sister’sdecisions. Iris was clearly not the type to need her brother’s words offered to anyone. She could clearly handle herself.
“Yer sister is mah competition,” James growled, stepping forward until there were mere inches between the two Scots. “Of course I’ve looked at her.”
“I think ye misunderstand mah words, Lennox,” Ian shot back, his gaze hard as rocks. “I’m telling ye: Stay away from mah sister or else there will be one less McGregor tae worry aboot.”
“Ye threatening me, Wallace?”
The other Scot grinned. “Aye, ye know I am, Lennox. I dinnae care if ye are just an advisor. I will keep ye from mah sister if ye choose tae ignore mah threats.”
James didn’t like the sneer that the other Scot showed off when he called him an advisor, rage building within his bones. He was so much more than an advisor. He could fight with the best of them!
With an angry roar, he shoved Ian, causing the Scot to stumble back a few feet. Ian was quick to recover, however, and James barely had any time to react before the burly Scot was tackling him around his midsection, sending both of them to the ground.
The fist came out of nowhere, and James felt the bones colliding with his jawline before the yelling commenced and Ian was suddenly pulled off him.
The next face he saw was his father and quickly rose from the floor, seeing that Ian was being restrained by his own father.
“Wot is the meaning of this?” his father demanded, glaring at James. “Wot did ye do?”
“Me?” James shot back, brushing his hands over his breeks. “Why is it mah fault?Heapproachedme!”
James’s father grabbed the back of his tunic and moved him toward the door, forcing him to walk outside of the keep and intothe bright sunshine. There, he let go of his tunic, spinning his son around to face him.
“Wot were ye thinking!” his father exploded, throwing his hands up in the air. “We are here tae talk aboot peace, and I found ye rolling in the floor like some untried lad in his first fistcuffs!”
“I didnae start it,” James argued. “He was the one who came at me, Da!”
