Page 41
His own regime, slightly more stringent than his younger brother’s, was indeed predictable.
But not today.
“I’m waiting for Agnes.”
Aidan’s brows lifted.
“To ensure she understands the meaning of ‘being on her way in the morn.’”
Aidan crossed his legs in front of him. “I’m surprised at your foul mood.”
The implication of why Graeme should be in a better mood hung in the air. He’d not discuss his relationship with Gillian, so he changed the subject instead.
“I worry over recent events,” he said, which was true enough. Light began to peek through the closed shutters just next to the hearth on the outer wall.
“There have been more attacks recently, but none of them have had any fatalities since the attack on Lord Clave and Lady Emma. We know the man’s uncle was responsible.”
“Aye,” Graeme said. Garrick was an earl in both England and Scotland, and his uncle had become covetous of his Scottish earldom.
“Inverglen was punished for his involvement in that attack, proving once again the effectiveness of the current system. The offenders will be punished,” Aidan continued.
“They will,” Graeme said, crossing his arms, “especially since we have Kenshire on our side. “But it makes no sense. For Blackburn to be so careless . . .”
His brother said nothing.
Though Lord Blackburn’s only loyalty was to his own coin, something did not make sense. He had never made such an outrageous raid before.
“Do you think he intends to start a clan war?”
Aidan looked up, his eyes sharp. “For what purpose?”
“If March Law falls apart and the Days of Truce become a thing of the past, who benefits?”
Aidan thought for a moment. “Those who would take advantage of the instability for their own gain. But March Law has held for thirty years, Graeme. Despite setbacks like this one.”
“Grace is more than a setback.”
Aidan took a long swig of ale.
Graeme should apologize for that. His brother had not meant to be unkind. He was not the only one who cared about Grace. But he couldn’t get the words out.
“Chief?” The word was delivered in a quavering voice.
Both he and Aidan turned, and he immediately understood the source of the young man’s concern. Agnes stood in the entranceway, her arms crossed.
“She refuses my escort.”
His brother’s smile was too much. Graeme stood so fast the heavy chair nearly toppled on its side. He strode to the woman who’d caused him a sleepless night and confronted her.
“Agnes. We discussed this. You will accept his escort, or you may go alone. But you will leave my hall. Immediately.”
“Graeme,” she pouted. How could he ever have thought this woman appealing? She was so different from Gillian . . .
“Now,” he repeated. The servants were beginning to stare, but he ignored them.
“I—” Her lip quivered. “Can we not speak alone, just for one moment?”
He was about to say nay when she stopped him.
