“’Til ye return from where?” Sawny called out.
“None of yer affair, and if anyone disturbs us, I’ll kill ye.”
“Ian! Now, all will know what we’re about to do,” Gretna scolded, her cheeks flushing, but her eyes sparkling.
“Good. Then they’ll also know their life is forfeit if they interrupt me loving my wife.”
Epilogue
Glen Nevis, Scotland
August 1703
“Come on, Mallie! Come to me!” Finn held out his hands as he squatted a few feet away from his baby sister, doing his best to be the first brother she chose to walk to.
Gretna helped her almost-year-old daughter maintain her balance. Malina Kirsteen Cameron, wee Mallie for short, had just started walking and was very particular about who she trusted to catch her. She hadn’t quite learned how to stop just yet. Instead, she dove forward with a delighted squeal. But so far, she only walked from her mother to her father. Little Malina preferred her Da above all others, whether walking or not, and Ian reveled in being her favorite.
“I bet the wee minx chooses Evander,” Sutherland said. “She laughs easiest for him.”
“I believe ye’re right,” Ian said from where they stood in the shadows of the covered walkway surrounding the garden. He had to stay out of sight, or Mallie would ignore all the others, and her brothers’ contest would be over. “Dinna let Gretna know the lads have placed bets with each other, aye? She’ll make them wash all the chamber pots as punishment. When she discovered how much they’d won with their racing rats, she decided ’twas time to stop them from fleecing the clan.”
“I dinna ken why,” Sutherland said. “Those three are the shrewdest little buggers I’ve ever met when it comes to gaming, giving odds, and making a profit.” He shook his head. “Hell’s fire, I think we should back them in the opening of a pub with a game room. We’d all be up to our arses in coin in a year.”
“Definitely dinna tell her that.” Ian nodded toward the proceedings. “Finn’s given up. Here comes Rory.”
Sutherland studied the little girl as she cooed and waved her chubby little hands at her brother. “She might pick Rory. She’s already learned he usually has something good to eat in his pockets.”
“I doubt he’s her pick.” Ian tilted his head and pointed toward his daughter. “See the wee scab on her elbow? The little vixen was crawling too close to the hearth, and Rory pulled her back before she got burnt. She’s quick as lighting, and the only way he could stop her in time was by catching hold of her ankles. Skinned her little arm in the process, and ye wouldha thought he was killing her. Never in my life have I heard such howling.” Ian laughed. “I dinna think it really hurt her. I just think she was angry because he’d stopped her.” Which reminded Ian of the latest rumor he’d heard about Sutherland. “By the way, what’s this I hear that Lady Sorcha Greyloch has told her father, the chieftain, that if he allows ye on their land again, she’ll shoot ye herself to protect the women of Clan Greyloch? What did ye do to anger her?”
Sutherland rolled his eyes and sidled a step closer. “I dinna ken what the hell’s wrong with that woman. If her scornful looks dinna turn ye to cinders, the sting of her sharp tongue will. She’s got the temperament of a swarm of bees protecting their hive.” He shrugged. “Lady Sorcha Greyloch just hates me. I couldna begin to tell ye why.”
That statement made Ian bark out a laugh. He thumped Sutherland’s shoulder. “Is this not the same woman ye wagered ye’d bed under her father’s verra own roof when ye delivered the horse he bought? In fact, is that not the reason ye offered to deliver the horse? Because ye’d heard of the lass’s beauty and bragged ye’d have her bedded before Beltane?” Ian thumped him again. “Overplayed yer hand, did ye? She got wind of yer bragging, I’ll wager? Never underestimate the speed of a rumor carried by maidservants.”
Sutherland shot him a disgruntled look. “That damn wager cost me dear—an entire barrel of whisky.”
“Ha!” Ian nudged him and pointed across the way. “Perhaps my sons could help ye when it comes to places bets. Maybe ye should seek their counsel.”
With a delighted crowing, Mallie toddled the few steps across the grass straight into Evander’s arms. He scooped her up, making her laugh even harder as he danced around with her.
“Well done, little sister!” Evander bragged as he jiggled the child until she clapped her hands with glee. “I always knew ye had the good sense to pick me.”
“At least ye got that right,” Ian told Sutherland. “Ye said she’d pick Evander.”
An insistent babbling verging on an irritated yell warned Ian he’d been spotted. “I believe I’m being summoned,” he said as he snagged hold of Sutherland’s arm and pulled him along. “Come. ’Tis too fine a day to be spent grumbling about lost bets and women ye canna have.”
Evander handed the squirming toddler over to Ian. “There’s yer Da, ye spoiled minx.”
“Ye’re nay spoiled, are ye my fine wee one?” Ian tickled the babe under her chubby chin until she gurgled out a happy squeal.
“And did my ears deceive me? Did ye say a woman walks this earth that Sutherland canna have?” Gretna asked with a smirk.
“Never ye mind,” Sutherland said, giving Gretna his back as he offered a finger for the babe to hold. “How is my wee Mallie today? Ye still love me, d’ye not?”
Grinning, the child pulled his finger into her mouth and bit it.
Sutherland grunted. “Yer bairn’s got a fine new tooth coming in.” He gently removed his finger and wiped it on his kilt.
Mallie cackled.
“She’s as wicked as ye are,” he said to Gretna, then gave them all a prim nod. “I shall take my leave now. Alexander said he wished to speak with me.”
“Aye.” Ian couldn’t resist a smile. He knew exactly what that meeting was about. Sutherland would soon be fit to be tied. They’d probably be able to hear his roaring out here in the garden. “Godspeed to ye.”
“Godspeed? What the hell do ye mean by that?” Sutherland asked as he headed toward the gate.
Ian just smiled and waved him onward.
“And why are ye grinning like a cat that’s stolen the cream?” Gretna asked.
Hugging her to his side, Ian winked. “Alexander’s sending Sutherland back to Clan Greyloch to negotiate an agreement for land sharing of the horses.” After fluttering kisses into his daughter’s hand until she tired of it, Ian switched to fluttering kisses into the crook of Gretna’s neck.
She laughed, ducking her chin as she pushed him away. “Stop that now and tell me why Sutherland going to Clan Greyloch is so amusing.”
“Because Lady Sorcha Greyloch is the woman Sutherland canna have. Says she hates him and will have him killed if he ever steps foot on Greyloch land again.”
A devious look settled across Gretna as she snuggled up against him in a most inviting way. “I’ll wager they’re married before the year is out.”
“Wager?” Ian hugged her closer, suddenly wishing his wee daughter would take a nap so he might have a bit of time with her mother. “I thought ye said there’s to be no more wagering among the Camerons, or it’ll be a month of cleaning the chamber pots?”
Gretna smiled at her daughter. “That rule is for yer avaricious sons.” She cut her eyes over to him. “And I know about the bet regarding their sister walking to them.” Her look softened. “But I’ll allow that one since they love her so.”
“What else might ye allow if this wee one agrees to take a nap?” Ian slid his hand down her back and cupped her rump.
“I’ll allow anything ye please, dear husband.” She slid her hand beneath his kilt. “Anything ye please.”
Read on for
Excerpt from The Bard – Of Rhyme and Reason – Book Five
Chapter One
Clan Greyloch’s keep
Early March 1704
Three days into the visit, and he still hadn’t been shot. Considering Lady Sorcha’s sincerity when she made the th
reat, Sutherland MacCoinnich thought his lack of injury nothing less than miraculous.
He shifted in the sumptuous depths of the leather armchair. “Quite the library, eh? Rivals Tor Ruadh’s.” The only space in the large cluttered room not covered with overflowing bookshelves was the door and an array of tall windows overlooking a dreary garden struggling to recover from winter.
Magnus de Gray, Sutherland’s long-time friend and brother in arms, slowly nodded while drumming his fingers atop the armrests of a matching chair. “That it is,” he said as he looked around. “Ye still havena seen her or heard anything yet?” He paused and cast a glance over at the room’s closed door. “I’ve nay been able to pull a single hint from any of the servants. Never have I seen such loyalty.” He shot another glance over at the door, then shook his head. “I dinna think she’s even here. Has Greyloch still not said a word about her? The man has to know what happened between the two of ye.”
“Nay. Not a bloody word about her nor that damned bet.” Sutherland rose, angled his chair to better face the library’s entrance, then sat back down. “And that is why I’ll nay be exposing my back to any door until this feud between the lovely Lady Sorcha and myself is settled.”
The chieftain of Clan Greyloch had been agreeable enough at the prospect of a meeting to discuss business between the two clans. The congenial man had even welcomed them as though no undercurrent of hostility existed. Still, the first three days at Castle Greyloch had been strange indeed. The chief had seemed too busy for them at every turn, barely sparing a moment for a few words even during oddly rushed meals. Sutherland had mixed feelings about this visit that his brother, Chieftain MacCoinnich, had insisted upon.
In all honesty, he truly regretted his badly handled visit during the past summer. His careless wager had somehow reached the lady’s ears and not set well with her. It hadn’t pleased him when it ended up costing him a barrel of whisky. Lady Sorcha’s promise to shoot him if he ever darkened Castle Greyloch’s gates again was disappointing, too. He couldn’t believe the woman had gotten so angry about his betting he’d have her bedded on his first night at their keep. Could she not see it as a compliment to her beauty?
A narrow section of bookshelves behind the massive mahogany desk in front of them shifted with a low, groaning creak like the opening of a tomb. It slowly swung open.
Sutherland took to his feet and stepped behind the broad back of his chair but stopped at drawing a weapon. Instinct bade him wait until he knew who approached, while at the same time, his sense of survival tensed.
Magnus remained seated, giving Sutherland a side-eyed look as though he thought him mad. “Ye look a fool, ye ken?”
Sutherland ignored him, keeping his focus locked on the opening panel.
Chieftain Robert Greyloch sidled his hulking frame into the room, giving the bookcase a critical up and down scowl as he shoved it back in place. “Damn thing. Sticking again.” His irritation disappeared as he turned and lumbered over to a chair large enough for three men. He pulled it back from the desk. With his hand still resting on its back, he gave an apologetic nod. “Forgive the delay in our sitting down to discuss business, gentlemen. It’s calving time. A verra busy season for our clan to ensure the continued success and growth of our prized cattle.” His apologetic gaze shifted to Magnus, then returned to Sutherland. “As curators of the finest breed of horses in all of Scotland, I’m sure ye understand.” He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat and chuckled at Sutherland. “Ye’d do better to turn the chair back this way, lad.” He jerked a thumb toward the wall of books behind him. “When Sorcha returns from the village today, she’ll enter the library the same way I did. But ye do well to take cover. I feel sure she’s intent on keeping her oath to ye.”
So, Magnus had been correct. Lady Sorcha had been away all this time. But she returned today. Sutherland found himself looking forward to it more than fearing it. “I appreciate the warning, chieftain.” He returned the chair to its original position, thankful the Greyloch’s good humor appeared to be as massive as his size. While Sutherland matched the chief in both height and build, he’d never seen a man with hands so large. The old warrior’s fists were as broad as shields.
Determined to ensure there was, in fact, no ill will between them, Sutherland extended his hand. “Since we are finally speaking openly about the matter, allow me to extend my apologies regarding my behavior last summer.” He twitched a shoulder, feeling a bit like a lad confessing about something he knew he shouldn’t have done. “I meant no harm or insult to the Lady Sorcha, but I do regret behaving in such an ungentlemanly manner.”
Greyloch rumbled out an even deeper chuckle as he grabbed hold of Sutherland’s hand and squeezed hard enough to nearly crush his bones. “I accept yer apology, sir, but dinna fash yerself.” He winked, still holding tight to Sutherland’s hand. “My daughter can take care of herself quite well, and when it comes to the lasses, I’ve been known to throw down a wager or two myself regarding a challenging conquest.” Releasing Sutherland and taking his seat, he settled back and stroked his closely cropped beard. “But all jests aside, ye would do well to tread lightly around her when she arrives. I fear she possesses her mother’s fire and tendency to foster a grudge—forever.” All levity left him as his silvery head tipped forward. “God rest her soul,” he added quietly.
“God rest her soul, indeed.” Sutherland took his seat. He wasn’t quite certain what to say next. When last they’d visited, he’d realized that the rumors about the great love Chieftain Greyloch and his wife had shared were not rumors but truth. The man still seemed as stricken with grief as he had last summer.
“It’s been well over two years now since that damned accident robbed me of my lady love.” Greyloch shifted with a deep sigh, then scrubbed a hand across his face. He sat taller and looked at each of them with a forced smile. “But we must try and move on, aye?”
Sutherland wished he could ease the man’s lingering pain, but all he could do was provide a distraction. “Aye, and while Clan MacCoinnich’s losses canna begin to compare with yer own, we’re attempting to move on from our own sorrows as well.”
“I heard of the Neal uprising.” The chief leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Shameful ungratefulness after all the MacCoinnich did for that clan. Prospered it well beyond what old Neal couldha ever done.” The intensity of the man’s stare tightened like an arrow about to be released. Chieftain Greyloch might be getting on in years, but nothing about the man appeared diminished in any way. “Why did the MacCoinnich release them so easily? Along with half the lands? He actually gave them the glens to the south? The fine glens abutting the Campbells?”
“Aye, sir. But it was a complicated matter, ye ken?” Sutherland wasn’t about to lay out his brother Alexander’s choices and the why’s of them to the chieftain.
The ending of the feud with the Neals had come at great cost, but the decisions made had been necessary. Not only for the good of the clan but for the protection of the MacCoinnichs politically. Sutherland gave Chieftain Greyloch a look he hoped the man would understand and not take offense. “Such a story is better left for yerself and the MacCoinnich to share over a dram or two.”
“Speaking of which.” Greyloch thumped both hands on his desk, then pushed to his feet. “It appears I have forgotten my manners. I’m sure yer throats are dry, and yer bones are cold from this dreary day. ’Tis still bitter cold considering this be early March.” He went to an amply stocked sideboard and filled three glasses. Waving them forward, he held one up. “Come, gentlemen. I’ll not risk spilling this fine whisky by toting it over to ye.”
Sutherland and Magnus didn’t have to be invited twice. Both joined Greyloch and gladly accepted their drinks. Sutherland relished the rich burn down his gullet while the heady fumes filled his nose. Nothing warmed a man’s soul, nor relaxed his mind quite like a good whisky.
The creaking of the bookcase door behind him and the click of a pistol abruptly interr
upted his appreciation of the Greyloch’s fine blend.
“Ye will do me the courtesy of turning, Master MacCoinnich. I prefer to look a man in the eyes when I shoot him.”
Lady Sorcha’s melodious voice held more venom than any adder. Sutherland suppressed the urge to rub at the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Instead, he downed the rest of his whisky in one gulp and placed the glass back on the sideboard. He’d been warned more than once that his womanizing ways would be the death of him. He reckoned death by the hand of a beautiful lass was as good as any.
As he turned, he stretched both arms opened wide. Might as well provide the lady with a broader target.
Heaven help him, the woman was still lovely as hell, even with a pistol aimed at his chest. Tall and slender as a graceful willow with long hair and the tawny coloring of a red deer’s fawn. Eyes a startling greenish-gold, narrowed. Lady Sorcha Greyloch was a fierce, untamed beauty. A thrilling fearlessness emanated from her, and Sutherland found her more intoxicating than the finest drink.
“Would ye grant me one last request, dear lady?”
“Why should I?”
Fire and fury flashed from her. What passion this bonnie lass possessed. Damnation, he wished she didn’t feel so ill toward him. What he wouldn’t do for a chance to win her over.
He gave a contrite dip of his chin but kept his arms extended. “Aye, my dearest lady, ye speak the truth of it. Ye’re in no way bound to grant me a last request, but still, I beg ye to search what I’m certain is yer generous nature and choose to do so, even though I’m so undeserving.”
“Come now, daughter,” Chieftain Greyloch urged, utterly failing at hiding his amusement. “It wouldna be Christian to shoot the man without hearing him out.” He moved to stand beside Sutherland. “Be a good lass, now, and let the man speak his piece, aye?”
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