Donal considered. A contest . . . he wished he’d thought of it himself. On the surface at least, it looked like the perfect solution. Thecontestwould decide who won Gillian, not him. It would be up to the lairds to prove which of them was the best man. There’d be no insult, no favoritism, no feuds or bad blood.
And love? Well, surely Gillian couldn’t help but love the man who proved himself most worthy of her. Aye, this could fix everything. Someday, when he was bouncing Gillian’s fine Grant or MacKenzie or Robertson sons on his knee, he’d remind her of her long-ago silliness over a Sassenach, and they’d both laugh.
“A contest,” he murmured. “’Tis a good idea.”
“Aye, Papa,” Meggie said eagerly. “We thought Gilly’s suitors could compete in things like—”
Ah, there it was, the plot, the trick. Warning bells clattered in Donal’s head.
He frowned at them. “No, ye don’t—I’llbe the one to set the challenges.”
Aileen frowned, and Meggie swallowed. Their smug little smiles faded.
“You, Papa?” Meggie murmured.
“I am the laird here, am I not?”
“Of course you are, Papa—the Fearsome MacLeod of Glen Iolair,” Aileen said. “Known as a fair man, just, brave, and clever . . .”
“You won’t make it too hard, will you, Papa?” Isobel asked. “Like combat with claymores, or hunting, or—”
“That’s precisely what I mean to do,” Donal told them. “The kind of challenges all three men would expect, would face with pride—”
“Fourmen, Papa,” Meggie interrupted. “Davy MacKenzie, Cormag Robertson, Padraig Grant and—”
Donal held up his hand. “Nay. Don’t even speak his name. He’s not eligible.”
His daughters cast sideways looks at each other.
“Gillian said ye’d say that, Papa,” Aileen said. “She said to tell you that a contest was the only fair way that she could see to make sure the lairds she didn’t choose would leave happy.”
She understood that? He hid his surprise.
“Gillian says she won’t wed anyone unless you allow John to compete,” Meggie said. “If you do, then she’ll agree to wed the winner—even if it isn’t John Erly. But if it is . . .”
For a moment Donal stood in stunned surprise. His daughter wasnegotiatingwith him? “Gillysaid that? She’s always been the reasonable one, the one biddable lass among ye!”
“That was before she fell in love,” Aileen said. “Love can make a lass very determined. A lass’s heart is—”
He held up his hand. “I’ve had nine wives and twelve daughters. I know all about the hearts of women, thank ye. I know about their stubbornness and how they think they can bat their eyelashes and make a man do anything they wish . . .” He paused. Whether he liked it or not, Gillian was right. There was no way around it, not if he was to get out of this sticky situation with honor and dignity and some measure of control.
“All right—the Sassenach can compete.” He cut through the happy cries of triumph. “ButIwill be the one to set the challenges,” he said again, and sternly. “Ye can go and tell your canny sister that.”
But his daughters stayed where they were. “Will ye make the challenges fair, Papa? For Gillian’s sake?” Meggie asked.
He raised his chin. “The Sassenach is on Scottish soil, among Scots. We have traditions here, manly Highland ways of doing things. He’ll have to keep up—if he can.” Still they stood frowning at him. “Och, if he’s to wed a Scottish lass—andifby chance he wins against three fine Scots—I need to know he can keep her safe. He’ll have to be as good—better—than any Scot. The Englishman must—”
But his daughters weren’t listening. They were grinning again, casting sleekit wee looks between them that always meant they thought they’d bested some poor man. In this case, himself.
“Then youwillgive your blessing for Gilly to marry John if he wins?” Meggie asked.
“I—” But that was exactly what he’d said. He’d as good as given his word. If he’d had a dirk to hand, he’d have cut his traitorous tongue out. He’d been outmaneuvered, fooled He scowled at his daughters. “Since that’s never going to happen, aye, I agree. If the Sassenach wins, proves to me and to Gillian’s other suitors that he’s worthy, he can marry her. Now go find your beds. I’ve got thinking to do.”
And one by one, his daughters kissed his cheek, and he thought how very much he loved his lasses, even if he didn’t trust any of them as far as he could toss the whole pack.
