“And here I’ve been thinking I was a woman now and you a grown man. With the both of us making plans to turn this life into a future.” She spread her hands wide, giving him a view of more than her full breasts and strong body. He also saw the callouses on her hands and the chatelaine keys bound about her waist. “I’ve been here minding it all while you found the money.”
“I’m working on it,” he said.
“With her.”
“Yes.”
“And with me?”
What could he say to that? She was the logical choice, and indeed if she’d had any money of her own, they’d have married years ago. But she hadn’t, so he’d left to gain English money. He’d also gained perspective and wisdom. She was not the woman for him, and he had to make that clear now.
“I’ll always favor you.”
“But not love?” Trust her to see the truth behind his words.
“Aye,” he answered. “You’re beautiful and intelligent, Mairi. You’ll make someone a fine wife—”
“Och, be done,” she snapped as she shoved her way past him. “You were useless to me these last five years, and you’re useless now.”
He wanted to call her back. Indeed, he turned to say something, but no words formed. She was the reason he’d survived his childhood in this place, and now she wouldn’t even look at him. She did pause long enough to throw words over her shoulder at him.
“Leave the Sassenach alone. They need their beauty rest, and you need to see to your father before he’s too drunk to be handled.”
He would have ignored her. He had spent most of the day sitting up top with the coachman and had missed conversation with Clara. But then Mairi opened the lower door. It brought sounds from the main hall beginning with his father’s bellow and followed by raucous cheers. It sounded like a full battalion of men in their cups.
“How many are down there?”
Predictably, Mairi didn’t answer. If he wanted an answer—and the ability to manage his father to his liking—then he would have to see for himself. He could already tell that the crowd was growing rowdy. He had fifteen minutes at most before some became mean. He needed to find out where his father landed on that scale and make sure any extra emotions were not directed at the English. Or at himself, for that matter. He was here to lead the clan now, and he couldn’t do that if his father turned them all against him before he’d even begun.
After one last look at Clara’s bedroom door, he went back down the tower stairs, though his thoughts remained with her. What did Clara think of her first stay in a castle? Did she see the strong bones of the place? Or did she feel the damp, even in early summer? Did she fancy herself a princess as she gazed out the turret window? Or was she already nose deep in one of the books she’d brought along, having dismissed the entire place as dreary?
He was thinking of ways to change her mind when his father’s favorite crony called out to him.
“Liam, my boy! A drink for the man who brings us the Sassenach money.”
Oh hell. The last thing he needed was for everyone to applaud that before anything was settled. Especially with Aaron somewhere in the castle. He held up his hand in greeting and forced himself to smile. Then he allowed his father’s friends to surround him and club him on the back as if beating him was an appropriate greeting. It was a game, he knew, said to make a boy manly. And though he had the size and stamina to withstand the blows, that hadn’t been the case when he was ten.
Nevertheless, he wended his way through the crowd—a dozen men—and made it to the high table where his father sat like a chieftain of old. The man shoved a tankard of whisky into Liam’s hand and grinned from ear to ear.
“What do we spend the bitch’s money on first?” he asked. “I say we double the distillery! We’ve got fine wheat growing and copper pipes from the Aberbeag. Next year we’ll be swimming in it!”
There was a great cheer from everyone as Liam held up his goblet and drained it. Fire burned down his throat and he knew he’d need food soon or he’d be as mutton-headed as his clansmen. But after he slammed down the tankard, he held up his hand.
“Easy, friends,” he said. “I’ve not caught the lady yet. That’s why we’re showing her the best of the Highland tomorrow.”
“Bah!” his father said once he’d drained his own tankard. “Go bed ’er now and be done with it.”
Liam felt his smile strain, but he knew better than to show his temper to his father, especially when the man was in front of his men. “She’s a fine lady,” he said. “She’ll take some courting yet.”
“Says a man with a small stump,” his father scoffed. Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I’d do it,” he cried, “but I like a woman wi’ some fire to wet her box.” Then he grabbed a woman who’d just brought a plate of bread and cheese for Liam.
The woman—whom Liam did not recognize—squealed with laughter before slamming her mouth down on his father’s face. She got a slap on the rump for her troubles, while the entire room grunted or bellowed encouragement.
Must be his father’s new mistress. At least she was large enough not to break under his coarse attention. Meanwhile, Liam laughed in a good-natured way though the sound came through a tight chest. “I’ll be bedding the woman in my own time, thank you verra much.”
There was a great deal of ribald comments from that, thankfully the situation wasn’t out of control. His father had a saucy woman in his lap and free flowing whisky. That meant the man wouldn’t move from the table until he was carried out. Assuming, of course, that Liam stayed close to make sure no one got a wild idea. Meanwhile, he had time to take the measure of men he hadn’t seen in a year.
He remembered most of them. Farmers, herders, and the like, all good men but with a bad example leading them. He noted that Brian—the man who ran the distillery—wasn’t here. He was probably protecting the stock from drunken revelers. And none of their neighbors—the Aberbeag clan—filled the hall. They would come tomorrow.
