Page 38 of Highlander’s Dangerous Gambler

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"I'm here noo, Father, so just keep yer hair on!"

Brodie McLeod swaggered into the main hall, parading his pristine saffron leine and flowing clan plaid. At his side was slung a sgian-dubh, twisted and bejeweled, crafted from the finest clan silver.

Brodie flicked his mouse-blond hair sideways, then back over again fussily, quickly hiding the prominent thin spot that was beginning to appear on his left side. As he posed, his father stared at him closely.

"For God's sake, Brodie, can ye nae make it on time? I called for ye a week ago!"

Laird McLeod's face sullied at the sight of his son, preening and posing in the center of the room. He had only been here a few minutes, and already the place was in an uproar with a trail of jumpy housemaids in his wake.

Nonchalantly, the laird's face went to the tiny serving maid bustling out of the chamber. She seemed in an unusually big hurry to get away. And looking at her, McLeod had a good idea why.

He opened his mouth to ask what had happened to make Nessa take off like that when it occurred to him that perhaps he didn't want to know.

Frowning, McLeod set Brodie in his sights. Never mind. Hopefully, his news would put paid to his troubles.

"Well, dinnae fash. Ye’re here, I suppose," he conceded, backing down from a fight for once. Even self-obsessed Brodie noticed. He looked at his father in concern.

"What is it, Father?" he asked hotly. "Are ye alright? Ye’re nae ill, are ye?"

Nowhe had his son's attention, thought McLeod grimly.

"Dinnae fash, lad!" he said bluntly. Then McLeod stopped and watched Brodie intently. Just for a moment, a flash of irritation entered his son's watery blue eyes. Then it smoothed over.

"Braw," said Brodie, a smile as wide as the Firth of Forth wrapped around his lips. But his eyes failed to smile, remaining limp and pale.

Laird McLeod smiled sadly. Still the same old Brodie. He could see the exasperation trapped on his face. He was bursting with impatience; he just had to hide it. Already, he could see his son asking himself the question of what the big rush was if the old man wasn't on his way out.

McLeod smiled. He knew Brodie better than he knew himself and was wise to all his little games. He should be, as he had pretty much invented them.

"So, if ye’re nae ill, an' we're nae at war....?" began Brodie, a cloud covering his face. He thought for a minute, tossing his streaky blond locks this way and that. McLeod thought he could solve a lot of troubles by simply cutting it.

His son looked at him keenly. "We are nae at war, are we, Father?" Brodie's face peered anxiously into his own. McLeod stifled a laugh.

"No, son, we're nae at war, lest ye've been too friendly wi' the local nobles’ daughters again?"

McLeod looked at Brodie pertinently. He dressed his remark up as a joke, but when he looked into his father's eyes, Brodie could see it was anything but.

"S-So, what is it?" Brodie spluttered. He looked properly worried now.

Good,thought McLeod. Enjoying his son's discombobulation, he turned and paced about, up and down the narrow runner on the edge of the hall.

"Well, Son, ye may want to congratulate yer auld father," said McLeod, with a sneaky glance to Brodie. Brodie looked suitably perplexed. "Because I hear the wee tinkle o' wedding bells!"

Brodie was actively panicked.

"Wait, what are ye saying, Father?" he asked. From the look on his face, someone had set him alight. Brodie's hair almost stood on end, and his father was heartened to see that his thinning patch was showing.

He got that from the other side of the family, thought McLeod smugly. He ran a hand through his own, thickly greased hair.

"That ye’re getting wed?" Brodie asked, panic etched into his face. Thoughts of losing his birthright clearly ran through him. "At yer age?"

"Nae me, ye roaster!" snapped McLeod, exasperated. "Ye, ye wee choob!"

McLeod stared at Brodie. It took a moment for it to sink in.

"Ye, ye’re getting wed. I've found ye, bonny wee lassie!" said McLeod, his whole face contorting into a massive grin. "An' muckle rich too...dinnae ye fash. She's on her way back up to her clan right noo to prepare for yer upcoming nuptials. So then, sonny, dinnae say I didnae do anything for ye!"