Page 3 of Highlander's Wild Lass
“The chief?” Auralia asked, brows coming together in confusion.
Celestia nodded.
“And…ye shut the door in his face?” Hugo asked incredulously.
“Oh, aye,” Celestia said pleasantly, nodding her head and grabbing up two plates to bring them to the back garden. “Auralia will ye grab up a couple and follow—”
Chester shoved into Celestia as he pushed passed her and made his way to the door. “Ye cannae shut the door in our chief’s face, Celestia. Are ye mad?”
Celestia tried to block his path, but he was more agile than her balancing two plates of food in her hands. “Leave it be, Chester. He has no business with us.”
“He must if he’s here, Cellie,” Chester retorted.
Hugo followed closely behind, forgetting that they were supposed to be helping their father out of bed. “I daenae ken why ye hate the man, woman. He’s nice enough.”
“A bit of a know-it-all though. At least that’s what Da says,” Auralia said only loud enough for Celestia to hear.
Celestia mashed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Chester ripped the door open to find Anthony Moore standing with his fist lifted to bang on the door again. “What a pleasure—”
“Yer sister said the same thing before she slammed the door in my face,” Anthony said, placing a large hand against the wood panels so that it couldn’t be shut again.
“I dinnae slam the door. I simply shut it,” Celestia said, now standing behind her brothers. She had left the lunch plates behind on the kitchen table.
“How can we be of service, m’laird?” Hugo asked.
Anthony took off his bonnet and stepped into the doorway, a distrusting hand remained on the door. “I’ve come to see yer faither. I’ve been away on clan business for nearly two months, and I heard he’s not been well.”
“Oh, aye,” Chester said solemnly, bowing his head to hide his grin. “He hasn’t, but ye’re too late.”
Anthony’s face fell. “I dinnae ken. My condolences, he was a good man who made good whisky.”
Celestia smacked the back of Chester’s head. “How dare ye talk of Da that way, ye wee fool.”
Chester grasped the back of his head, rubbing it viciously.
“Brannan McLean is nae dead, then?” Anthony asked, his eyes looking from one sibling to the other until he held Celestia’s gaze at last.
“Aye,” Celestia said seriously. “He still lives and breathes. We’re about to have lunch though, so, please come back at a more convenient time.”
* * *
“Please, lass, can I see yer faither? I have important business with him,” he said with a heavy sigh. Celestia had a way about her that always got on his last nerve.
“He hasnae had much to do with his business these last couple of months and he—”
“I ken, woman. The castle didnae receive its monthly whisky order. Nor has there been the usual delivery of goat’s milk to old Mrs. Duncan, the castle’s housekeeper.” Anthony took a step closer to Celestia. He gave credit to the woman, she held her ground and was glaring up at him.
“I ken who the woman is, Anthony. She practically raised us when our faithers were too busy with business and drink. But we sold all but one of the goats. Apologies for nae sendin’ word to yer housekeeper, but I daenae love airin’ my troubles.”
Anthony could feel the frustration growing in his body. He clenched his fists and exhaled. “Can I speak to yer faither? I willnae ask again, Celestia.”
“Oh, fine, come on,” she said, turning abruptly and leading him down the hallway. “Mind ye, be quick. His energy doesnae last long these days.”
“Aye, ye have my word. I’ll be as quick as I can,” he said, giving her a brief smirk before knocking on Mr. McLean’s bedroom door.
Celestia grimaced. “Da!” she called, “Lunch needs to be postponed a wee bit. Cheif Moore wishes to speak to ye.”
