Nicole Locke - The Highland Laird's Bride

‘Is that what this is?’ She couldn’t imagine Bram apologising. This had to be more of his famed diplomacy and negotiation. Perhaps he expected her to let down her guard with his generosity. Ha! Generosity! More like strategy.

‘He’s doing this here, but also down in the village.’

She gasped. There was more food?

‘You need to let the villagers know whether you accept his apology.’

The villagers had looked to her for leadership since her father’s death. She tried to lead them, but failed, and when the English had ravaged, ordered, stripped away every—

She clamped down on her anger and helplessness. The English were gone now, just as the Colquhouns would be soon enough.

Aindreas’s expression darkened and she knew Bram approached from behind her. She wouldn’t have the strength to stop a fight.

‘Go, tell them to accept the food and see what Donaldo has baked,’ she said.

There would be precious little bread, but there would be some. They couldn’t have the Colquhouns controlling the entire feast. The Fergussons might be poor, but they had their pride.

With a look over her shoulder, Aindreas headed out of the gates.

‘Tell them what?’ Bram said.

She turned. He was closer than she thought and she barely stopped herself from stepping back. This close she was all too aware of his height, the way he held himself, the way he was just...there. She shook herself. ‘That your apology is accepted.’

‘I am grateful,’ he said, but there was an undercurrent, some hidden meaning she didn’t want to think about. He was always hiding something and resentment roiled within her.

She wasn’t used to being around people, wasn’t used to hiding her feelings or emotions, but if it kept her clan protected from the Colquhoun, she’d learn fast.

‘It’s easier that way, isn’t it?’ she said.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Aye, easy.’

So he didn’t like her reply. She didn’t like anything about this. She didn’t like that this close, and in the sunlight, his features weren’t glaring, but vibrant. Alive. This close she heard, but also felt, the low timbre of his voice.

The Colquhoun laird was handsome. No, more than that. Aindreas was handsome. Bram was more. It was the way he held his powerful body and those unearthly eyes that pierced right through her skin. Like now. She felt that fluttering again and knew it had nothing to do with hunger and weakness.

It was him.

‘Do you need to talk to your council?’ Bram pointed over her shoulder. ‘You couldn’t have had time to do so before now.’

Lioslath glanced behind her. Everyone from the keep was standing in little groups. Bram was gazing at the group of elders.

‘I’ll take care of your siblings,’ he said. ‘While you go and talk.’

‘My siblings?’

‘Aye, your brothers, who are already grabbing food, and your sister, admonishing them as she usually does.’

Despite the tension in the courtyard, and her men pointing arrows at his heart, he noticed the children. She felt a pang and knew it had nothing to do with hunger. In the mere moments he’d spent with her brothers and sister, he knew them better than she. Even after all these months, she still didn’t know how to approach or talk to them.

Chuckling as Gillean barely missed Fyfa’s reach, Bram answered, ‘I’ll make sure they get enough before they scamper outside the gates.’

Was that what they wanted to do, to scamper? Maybe so. They had run into her room and they’d never done that before. But she couldn’t blame them.

The keep and the courtyard weren’t large. Hardly enough space for adults, let alone children used to running where they pleased. In fact, the children were almost frantic now, as they worked their way along the tables and towards the gates.

‘There is nae council,’ she said absently, contemplating Eoin’s feet shuffling in barely restrained elation.

‘Since when?’ he asked.

Bram’s sharp question pulled Lioslath’s thoughts from her siblings. At Bram’s assessing gaze, she cursed herself for admitting any weakness to him.

Clan Fergusson didn’t have a council. A council meant order, trades and barters. It meant a keep that was well-run and fair. They’d had a council in her youth, but her stepmother, Irman, wouldn’t allow any opposing opinions. The elders had been ignored or shamed until none came forward any more to offer advice.

It didn’t matter. No council would have been able to steer her father away from his follies. And she didn’t need a council to steer her away from getting rid of the Colquhouns.

‘In matters regarding this clan, you’ll deal with me.’

For a moment, Bram stilled and she felt as if he laid a trap she couldn’t see. Foolishly, she might have opened the gates to him, but it didn’t mean she agreed to anything more.

‘Shall we eat?’

She didn’t want to sit. She wasn’t the clan’s mistress. He probably expected traditions and courtly manners. But she never sat with her clan and she didn’t know what to do. ‘Nae.’

‘A walk, perhaps?’ Bram said.

A walk would get them outside, where she could breathe. Once he said what he was here for, perhaps he’d leave her alone and she could have peace in the forest.

‘Aye, a walk.’

Chapter Six

He’d done it. Satisfaction brimmed through Bram. The wait was over and the plan could be implemented. In the meantime, the obvious reparations to the keep and land could begin. Either something had happened here that Lioslath wasn’t telling him or the Fergussons lacked decent farming and carpentry skills. The houses were riddled with overlapping patches, the roofs covered in thinning thatch. The keep was in worse shape.

There were many improvements to make before winter. They would need cooperation between the clans to get them done and getting the clans to cooperate would take time.

He knew this visit would not be a welcome one, but this clan’s anger had an edge to it. Since they arrived, they’d kept extra guard to prevent bloodshed. Lioslath barring the gates for weeks had imbedded the animosity between the clans. Even now with the feast beginning, it was there. Beneath the sounds of scraping and tearing of food, and the adjusting of elbows and shuffling of legs, there was the air of anticipated battle.

He needed to come to some agreement with the clan’s mistress. But would she be agreeable if she was hungry and fainting? Even more so, could he remain reasonable when she was so breathtakingly beautiful to him?

In the sunlight, her hair was raven black and just as incandescent. If it had been long, he knew its darkness would have consumed even the brightest of summer skies.

But its chopped length surprisingly pleased him. It didn’t hide any of the womanly figure underneath. So he saw the graceful arch of her neck, the creamy texture along her nape. He could so clearly see the intimate spot where he might hover with his lips, where he might graze with his teeth, where he might kiss.

He’d teased her about a kiss. But what had started as calculated flirting, now, in sunlight, became something more like a truth.

It was a complicated attraction and one he didn’t want, and which she didn’t reciprocate. She wasn’t accepting his food and she didn’t raise her eyes to his. In fact, she kept looking outside the gates.

‘We can take food with us,’ he offered.

‘With us?’

‘I want to know the extent of the necessary repairs to be done before winter.’

‘Are you expecting me to show you around the...my clan?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Doona you have responsibilities here?’

He shrugged. ‘Doona you need to eat before we go?’

‘Aindreas brought me food while I dressed.’