Page 99 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Taken out of context, her words may have seemed like a challenge. Or even a threat. But they were spoken warmly. All the same, the weight of responsibility swirled around. Nora gulped.

"An' stop him from invading England," added Grace. For a moment, her face was cool and blank.

Nora watched, overawed. Then she laughed.

"Och, nae, just do yer best. Heaven kens we couldnae stop him." Grace laughed, as she pulled on Fiona's arm.

Fiona looked a little put out. "Och, ye'll scare the lass off," she murmured, before looking at Nora straight on.

"An' ye wilnae?" said Grace. "By expecting her to keep him straight?"

Finding her voice, Nora smiled. "It's braw. I will take it on. I will do my best."

It was the right thing to say, so why did it feel so hard? Every word seemed to get stuck up in her throat before being spat out. Perhaps she looked nervous. Maybe the sisters sensed something because Fiona looked at her warmly.

"I ken ye will, lassie," she said, coming over and unexpectedly patting her arm. "We ken ye will."

Nora tried to smile but found her eyes filling with tears. What she had not expected was a full-on coordinated act of love.

Beside her, Grace smiled. "Welcome to the family, hen. Ye cannae get rid of us noo."

Nora smiled, panicked. Something sharp pricked her from the inside.

A deep ache was taking her, making her shiver. These lasses loved their brother.

How on earth can I murder him in cold blood?

5

"An' soon, the Douglas-Duncan unity will be underway," Laird Douglas raised a cup and slurred merrily as William smiled slowly.

"Aye, aye, as soon as the wedding is solidified—I mean, och, solemnitied."

William was having trouble pushing the words out. In fact, he was just having trouble. Around him, the room grew warm and vague. He had been drinking for what felt like hours, and the half-light penetrated his thoughts and dreams.

He was still here in the main hall of Duncan Castle. And there they all were—the Douglas clan, plus, of course, his own men—doubling down on the whiskey drams before them. So many men, so much noise, far too much whiskey.

William's head swam, and the sounds in the room became amplified, banging like a drum in the wind. Next to him, a voice was booming loudly and boastfully.

"Of course, we razed them to the ground, too."

William looked around to find Laird Douglas, his head and beard ensconced in a cask of whiskey, red-faced and shouting.

"An' o' course, we took 'em, an' their lands, an' their womenfolk too. What hoo!"

The laird crowed uproariously, setting off a chain of shouts from around him. All around, men growled, banging their feet and baring their fists.

"But dinnae ye fash, Laird William. Noo ye are wi' us, ye are quite safe—for noo!"

The laird's voice came teasingly, but when William looked, there was a spark in his eye. Slowly, his meaning became clear. Through his fug, William began to realize. Opening up his blue eyes further, he took in his future father-in-law.

Laird Douglas was like a boulder in a chair. A huge, hulking brute of a man, encroaching middle age had done little to soften him—only turned his bronzed hair a shade of monochrome gray. And his beard, running in black-and-white stripes, made him curiously resemble some furry rodent.

Douglas's eye wandered ominously across the Duncan hall.

"I mean, aye, ye have a bonnie castle an' hall," said the laird magnanimously. "An' a fair an' beauteous clan."

Here the Douglas chief's frazzled eye met some young serving lass, briefly clearing the tables.