“I want to explain tae ye why ye cannae say those things tae our leader,” his father said after a moment, a frown on his face. “We are tae advise him, not accuse him of not leading the clan.”
James swallowed his anger, knowing that his rage was not going to be accepted by his father or anyone else for that matter.
“If the laird cannae accept yer advice, then perhaps he doesnae need an advisor tae begin with.”
“Enough!” his father growled, hitting his fist against the scarred wooden table. “I wilnae have ye disrespecting the Scot who has put food in yer belly and a roof over yer head since yer ma birthed ye!”
“’Tis fine,” Irvine’s voice came from behind, causing both men to stand abruptly. “James is right. I should listen tae ye both.” James could still feel the angered gaze from his father as the laird placed his hand on James’s shoulder. “Trust me, James. I have the best interests of the clan in mah mind and heart. I cannae just readily have mah warriors leave the keep and ourpeople unprotected. There is more than one way tae beat an opponent. Trust me.”
The laird dropped his hand from James’s shoulder as others from the family started to make their way to the table, giving James the opportunity to make a quick escape back outdoors, away from the tension of the room. While he appreciated Irvine’s gesture, he still couldn’t understand why the laird was choosing this path instead of the obvious one. Actions always spoke louder than any words. His own father had taught that to James at a young age, and that was what he was trying to have them see now.
Blowing out a breath, James forced himself to walk. He would take his meal at the tavern tonight instead of with his family and think about ways to change the laird’s mind because his father wasn’t going to do it.
The right answer was to go after the bastards, and if it meant doing so at the gathering, then so be it. Perhaps it was time for his parents to see that James could handle himself well, and handle a sword better than most.
After all, actions did speak louder.
2
Iris picked up the dagger and admired the steel in the midafternoon light, looking for any imperfection that might have been left on the blade. The handle carved out of bone was one of her favorites and had been her grandfather’s when he was a lad. She had gotten it in her fifteenth year, and it went with her everywhere she went.
Sliding it into her satchel, Iris selected another knife to pack amongst her things. Her father would laugh if he could see the number of weapons she was choosing to take to the gathering, but considering that many of those in attendance were their enemies, Iris wasn’t taking any chances.
There was a knock at her open chamber door, and Iris turned to see her sister, Gretna, standing in the doorway, her hands clutching a bundle of fabric.
“I cannae believe ye are leaving yet again,” Lena started as she stepped inside. “Ye just got back.”
“Och, ye wilnae miss me tae long,” Iris told her sister, nodding to the bundle. “Wot do ye have there?”
Lena handed it to Iris. “’Tis for ye. For the gathering.”
Curious, Iris took the bundle and shook it out, revealing a moss-green gown with lovely embroidered roses along the square neckline.
“’Tis lovely, Gretna,” Iris replied, thrusting the gown back to her sister. “But I cannae accept such a gift. Ye keep it.”
She had no need for a gown at all, far more comfortable in her tunics and leggings than a gown that would only get in her way. Her sisters much preferred the gowns, but they also didn’t like to swing a sword or go into battle.
Iris, on the other hand, enjoyed both.
“Nay!” Gretna replied, refusing to take the gown from Iris’s grasp. “Ye need a gown, Iris. There will be dancing and who knows wot ye may find.”
Iris let out a chuckle as she laid the gown on the bed. “Gretna, I’m not interested in finding anything or anyone.”
Her sister frowned, her hands trailing over the gown. “But ye cannae want tae be a warrior all yer days, Iris. Wot aboot yer own family one day?”
“I dinnae need a family,” Iris replied as she gathered up a few articles of clothing and shoved them into the satchel. “I have all I need. Ye should be thinking aboot yer future, not mine.”
Iris never had designs on finding a lad that was worthy of marrying and having bairns with. The only thing in her life that was of importance was her place in her father’s warriors. That was all she had ever wished for.
Other lasses her age already had a passel of bairns clinging to their skirts, but not Iris. She was not a lass who wished to be dependent on a Scot and tend to her own home.
Not at all.
“I have thought aboot mah future,” her sister said dreamily, her eyes growing soft. “I am going tae find a Scot who is brawny and handsome, one that will pick me off mah feet and give me everything I wish for.”
Iris took a seat next to her sister, nudging her just a little. “Wot aboot love and affection? Dinnae ye not wish for that?”
“Of course,” Gretna snapped, her pale green eyes flashing. “That is a given, Iris. I will marry for love and love only.”
