Angus looked around him, struggling to put Colin out of his mind. If he could focus on the clan’s accomplishments under his stewardship, he might yet get through this day. They’d made a great deal of progress, thanks in part to a lowlander mason who’d remained with them once the army’s defeat sent most of the survivors running south. Most families now had their own dwellings, and the smiths had places to work. The great hall, built in the style of a Viking longhouse, was the last structure still unfinished. But with the advent of spring, the elders insisted it was time to confirm a new laird, even though the structure that should have been their meeting-place was only half done. The council felt they’d gone long enough without the decision being made. With the growing season upon them, someone recognized as having the clan’s backing should be in charge.
“What’s done is done.” Angus pressed his lips into a thin white line, then shrugged and blew out a breath. “I did what I could to pull the clan together and rebuild. I’ll no’ fight Colin for the job, no matter how he got it. The Council has decided, so the clan has decided.” Aye, he was angry and disappointed—or his pride was—but he’d get over that, eventually.
“Bugger them. We’ll split another bottle once thisceilidhis over. Whisky will improve yer outlook—if ye have no’ already had too much ale today.”
Angus was about to protest that while he’d had plenty to drink, he’d also stumbled into a pool of it, when several more men approached. Their condolences and expressions of support helped soothe his ravaged pride…somewhat. Brodric stood by, arms folded over his chest, keeping an eye on the crowd as Angus responded to teasing and sincere comments alike. Brodric had supported Angus since the lowlander invasion—working, drinking, and fighting just as fiercely as Angus to get the clan through the winter. Angus appreciated the way Brodric still stood with him, even in his defeat.
But this time, his suggestion of drowning their disappointment in more whisky would not help. Angus wanted a different distraction from this setback. One with blazing hair, deep brown eyes, and lips he longed to taste. He spotted Shona in the crowd. Her uncle seemed to be urging, nay, pulling her toward Colin, and Angus suddenly realized what she’d meant when she said he would not suit her uncle’s plans for her.
Seamus meant to marry her off to the new laird. He hadn’t cared who got the job, only what wedding his niece to the laird would gain him.
Of course, she could not have known then who Angus was…or who he might have become.
He kept cutting his gaze to her even as he acknowledged his well-wishers’ greetings. He fought to conceal his dismay. Not over the election, nor, if Seamus had his way, over losing Shona before he had a chance to win her. A swirl of breeze carried the tang that reminded him how he’d embarrassed himself with spirits this day.
He kept up a brave face, certain his people must be relieved Colin had won. He would carry the smell of the puddle Shona had pitched him into until he stripped and jumped in the loch. Not that he hadn’t deserved getting flattened—he just couldn’t fathom how she’d accomplished that feat. He had to outweigh her by several stone. The puddle lay a number of feet behind where he’d stood. For him to stumble back so far, the whisky and ale he’d consumed must have made his head swim, even if only for a moment.
So here he stood with a host of disappointments. He was not the laird. That hurt the most—for the moment, at least. He reeked from ale he had not consumed, and eyed a lass he’d not kissed, outside a structure he had not finished. Six months of hard work, and he had nothing to show for it.
Not the way he expected this day to go, not at all.
On the other hand, Shona’s arrival might yet become a boon he’d not foreseen. Not that he would forgive Seamus’s lack of support for his candidacy. But if Seamus’s plan to betroth her to Colin fell apart, Shona could be his. Thoughts of stealing the lass ran through his mind, and he nearly chuckled aloud. Bride stealing usually meant carrying off a lass from another clan, not one’s own. He shook his head at the impracticality of hiding a bride from the very people they both lived among. Nay, he must pursue her. But to do that before her uncle betrothed her to Colin or one of his cronies, Angus had better sober up. And quickly.
The crowd around Angus finally cleared as Colin climbed onto the stone old Luthais had used as a platform. He started his acceptance speech. Angus ignored him, suddenly aware Shona and her uncle had moved—where? He had no chance to look before he heard Colin mentioning his name. He straightened his spine, cleared his throat, and stood his ground. Despite wanting to put a good face on his loss, he could not climb the rock to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the new laird. Not yet. Maybe never. Using Shona’s economy of words, he managed to choke out a brief concession speech. It was not quite limited to three words like her initial replies to his questions, but he couldn’t manage many more than that.
He’d been certain he would win.
When he finished speaking, he searched the crowd, not to see the effect of his words, but to find the lass, counting on the sight of her face to remind him some good might yet come of this day. Ah, there. He spotted her as Colin resumed droning on. Seamus loomed over her, making short, terse gestures, his expression fierce. Shona’s seemed equally determined as she backed away from him. Clearly, she was not interested in whatever her uncle wanted her to do. But Seamus was not touching her, and their disagreement had not become loud enough to attract anyone’s attention, so Angus had no excuse to intervene.
Given how he’d parted from her, he’d probably berate her, too, for pushing him, arsy-versy, into a puddle of ale just before the most important moment of his life—and his biggest disappointment. Given what followed, she might as well have shoved him into alochfull of the stuff. How many smelled the ale on him, saw him being teased for it, decided Colin was right—he was too immature and out of control, and so voted against him?
Nay, his indignation was unwarranted. He should not have indulged himself as he had, tossing back both ale and whisky offered by well-meaning supporters. Nor should he have indulged himself with Shona. He’d given her every reason to push him away. It was his bad luck he’d landed as he had and where he had. Added to the credence many gave to Colin’s half-truths about Gregor, Angus had lost the election as much as Colin had won it.
Besides, there were other things he’d rather do than shout at Shona. Like kiss her senseless, which had been his first inclination, one that remained with him. He couldn’t explain why, but he’d craved her the moment he first saw her.
He knew he was staring, but when she caught Angus’s gaze on her, she paled.
He saluted her with a brief nod, promising much with his smile, then fought back a wider grin when she turned and ran into the woods. Aye, she was worried, as well she should be. Not that he had any plans to harm her. Quite the opposite. He would enjoy pursuing her. And he would figure out how she’d pitched him into a puddle of ale several feet behind him.
Angus sympathized with her uncle, who stared after her, hands on hips, obviously exasperated. She promised to be an exasperating, fascinating challenge.
