“Laird!” each bellowed as he stood.
“Bring us game for the table. A great stag—”
“Wolves!” cried a young man from the back. “Kill the wolves that menace our sheep!”
“Aye!” others responded. “Kill the wolves!”
Soon the whole place was cheering. Good lord, there were a lot of people here. Clara distracted herself from the whole thing by counting the throng. She thought thirty-five at most, but then the little ones were hiding or running about, so it was hard to tell. Either way, they made a great lot of noise.
“A hunt is for a younger man,” the Laird said. And one with a leaner waist. Clara doubted this man had been away from his bed in a decade.
Liam’s brows rose. “Do you retire your sword then?” he asked sotto voice, but not so quiet that the nearest men couldn’t hear. Indeed, they were the very ones who had stood up a moment ago. Barrel-chested with arms as thick as their beards, they were of an age with the laird and would not take well to being put to pasture. “Do we cancel the hunt?” Liam asked. “I must remain here to collect my wife’s dowry.”
Everyone saw the wisdom of that. They needed her coin in their hands, and if that required Liam at home, then they would bar the door to him if he tried to leave. But a hunt was clearly an exciting thing. A needful thing too if their sheep were menaced by wolves.
“You want to stay laird?” Liam challenged, this time quiet enough that only she and his father could hear. “You’ll need to prove your worth at something other than drinking and rutting with a willing woman.”
His father turned to him, his expression hardening. And as he glared at his son, the great hall slowly grew quiet. In the end, the MacCleal spoke four words.
“I am laird here.”
In response, Liam smiled. “Do you remember the warning I gave you ten years ago when I left for England?”
All around them, people drew breath. Some in a gasp, others in a slow shudder. Clara was the only one to be entirely clueless on what had transpired between father and son.
The MacCleal curled his lip in scorn. “You were a boy, wet behind the ears, that I could best with one hand.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Obviously, Liam wasn’t giving his father any quarter. “But I told you then that I would return here with money and a plan.” He looked around at those gathered. “I have both now—”
“A woman ain’t a plan, boy,” his father said.
“This woman has the plans,” Liam countered as he smiled at Clara.
A shock went through her body as she began to see the magnitude of what she had just agreed to do. He was putting all his faith in her ability to do what? Feed and educate his people? Turn poverty into sustainable wealth? He couldn’t be serious, and yet the challenge in his eyes told her he was.
“I told you then,” Liam continued, “that you would have to prove your worth to the clan or step aside.”
“I’m not—”
“Think carefully, Father. Every MacCleal works for his bread.” The challenge was clear as was the implication that Liam’s father did nothing for his own people. Clara could see a few of the younger faces were on Liam’s side. They clearly resented shouldering the burden while the elders grew fat and lazy. “Why not go hunt a wolf with your cronies?” Liam pressed.
“And leave you to the running of the clan?” The MacCleal snorted. “The castle thrives because I set it that way. Once the rock is set upon the hill, even a lackwit can keep it here.”
“It’s summer,” Liam challenged. “Food is everywhere, and the grass is soft. Do you say you canna hunt a wolf who menaces our sheep? That the heath is too cruel for your old bones?”
“Summer is for boys to learn.”
“Then take them! Teach them!” Liam folded his arms. “Show them how to be men of Scotland.”
Mothers and boys cheered that statement. The boys because they wanted to leave, the women because they had plenty of work without the youth underfoot. And worse, the Laird’s men also cheered. It was something they wanted to do. Which meant the MacCleal was caught.
Typically, he made a show of it. He planted his fists upon his hips and strode forward. “We go hunt!” he bellowed as if it were his own idea. Everyone cheered, and the man grinned. “And when we return with meat for all, I will show my son his place.”
There was a whole lot of commotion then as plans were made. Liam led her to the head table where he held the chair for her, then sat down beside her. Mairi brought them food with a dark look. “You should have warned me of your plans,” she said as she thumped down a pitcher in front of Liam. “The women and I are run ragged for your fair day, and now we’re packing them up? We’re run off our feet, already.”
Liam frowned as he looked over the room. When he spoke, his tone wasn’t exactly loud, but it could be heard if one cared to listen. “Are the MacCleal men cripples then that they canna pack up their own gear?”
“Can and will are two different things,” Mairi groused. “You know it’s the women who—”
