Page 159 of Claimed Highland Brides

A rumble of laughter emanating from his chest made her shake beneath him, and she strained to see his face in curiosity. “Am I alrigh’, she asks!” he said, still laughing.

She pouted a bit, pushing at him so that he could get off her. He was rather heavy. He moved to the side with a murmured apology even as he continued laughing. “I take it I was being ridiculous.”

His eyes met hers, warm as a winter sky with the sun peeking from behind the clouds. “Aye. Perhaps a little.”

Then he reached for her, gathering her close to him, holding her tight. She could not muster enough emotion to be annoyed.

* * *

The carriage ride to the chieftain’s townhouse was mostly achieved in silence. Everyone harbored their own share of nerves. Being in proximity to his grandfather after all these years made Barclay feel like a child again. It brought the loss of his parents closer and the rejection by the rest of his family.

Aileen watched him protectively, her eyes dark with worry. She sat close to him. Both of his cousins had their eyes on him, vigilant, as if ready to catch him should he collapse. Only Euan had a modicum of calm about him, but no doubt as a lawyer, he had cultivated that trait.

“We should have a plan.”

“We cannot really do that. We are simply presenting the chieftain with a fait accompli, and all we can do is wait and see what he chooses to do about it,” Euan said.

Barclay nodded, his mouth too dry for words. Aileen’s hand crept into his, and he folded his own on top of it. “We shall play it by ear,” he declared.

A butler stood waiting for them as they arrived, and he led them to a richly appointed parlor, where the chieftain sat, smoking on a cheroot.

“Grandson. Welcome to my home. Be seated.”

Barclay took Aileen’s hand and seated her on the bench before sitting by her side. Diego and Antonio stood behind their bench while Euan took a chair by the window.

“We have come here to entreat ye once again, Grandfaither, to help me get my sire’s land back. It is my right, and I demand recognition.”

“Only after ye’ve fulfilled the terms of the will.”

“I have.” Barclay took Aileen’s hand. “Miss Douglass is not Mistress MacFarland. We were handfasted this morning.”

Ewen cocked an eyebrow. “Handfast, ye say? That isnae the same as marrit.”

Barclay squeezed Aileen’s hand. “We have consummated the union.”

Aileen blushed bright red as the chieftain contemplated. Finally, he put his cheroot out in a tray, straightened up, and faced Barclay.

“Ye’ve made yer home in Barcelona these nigh on ten years⁠—”

“Eleven,” Barclay interrupted.

Ewen waved his hand, “Aye, so…instead of evicting yer uncle Gilroy who is well established where he is, instead, I propose ye sell the land t’me.”

Barclay lifted an eyebrow. “I beg yer pardon?”

“Sell me the land. Ye can return to Barcelona wi’ a clear conscience.”

Barclay blinked at him, disbelief rising within him. “No!” he snapped.

“Why not? Ye have no real connection, no family left here. At least in Spain, ye do.”

Despite everything, the chieftain’s words hurt, as they were meant to. He shook his head. “I’m no’ selling.”

“Perhaps ye should think it over before making such a definitive answer.”

Barclay got to his feet. “I dinnae need to think it over. My answer is final.”

He reached out for Aileen’s hand, and she took it, getting to her feet as well. “Thank ‘e for yer time.” She curtsied before putting her hand in Barclay’s.