Page 63 of Don't Give A Damn About My Plaid Reputation
Well, at least all of those inconveniences involving sheep dyeing, pin-stealing, and flower-picking.
Was it any wonder why Kester was grinning as he pulled Robena to a stop before Ian Murray?
“Laird Murray,” he acknowledged, inclining his head. “Ye’re looking as…lairdlyas ever.”
The older man—who wasn’t just leaning toward fat, but falling, running,leapingtoward fat—scowled. “Andye’relate.” He tugged at his enormous dark beard. “Ye think to insult my men by bringing only two of yers? An ancient grandda and a green lad?”
Behind Kester, Pudge growled something insulting and stepped forward, likely to prove he was as strong and capable as any man half his age, but Kester held up his hand to stop him.
With his lips still curled up at the corners, he jerked his chin. “My right-hand man, Pudge MacBain, who was the one responsible for that clever scheme involving yer chickens. And this is Robbie Oliphant, who’s going to win the piping competition.”
Murray did little more than glance at Pudge, but his scowl focused on the face Kester still held Robena’s hand. “And ye’re parading him about as yer heir, is that it? I cannae think ye’refookingthe lad.”
‘Twas intended to be an insult, of course. But Kester didn’t bother to hide his snort of amusement. The old bastard really thought Robena was a lad? Mayhap hewasblind.
“See,” Robena hissed merrily from the corner of her mouth, as she pulled her hand from his and giving Murray a friendly wave. “I told ye so.”
As Kester shook his head, Murray waved away one of his guards, who ducked into the tent at their back. “Enough with the niceties.”Niceties? “Ye’ve been a thorn in my side for years, MacBain, and although ‘tis been humorous to watch ye try to keep yer tiny clan alive, wouldn't it be so much easier to just accept defeat and join the clans together under my leadership?” His tone changed to mocking. “Ye ken I’ve found a way to make peace between our clans. A marriage alliance, one of which the King approves, and ye’ll gain the meadow ye think is yers.”
Strangely, all of Kester’s good humor had fled. With a growl, he stepped forward. “The meadowisours, auld man, but for yer dishonorable actions. It’ll always be the MacBain’s bane, but we can survive without it.” The way his chin jerked toward Robena was unintended, but true. “We’ll ally with other clans and be strong enough totakeback the meadow—or ignore it altogether.”
“Ye dinnae need to take it back; it’ll be yers again if ye marry my daughter.”
With each moment that passed, Kester knew he was doing the right thing. With a curt shake of his head, he folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ll no’ marry yer daughter, Murray, no’ even to regain that which belongs to my clan.”
The older laird reared back, surprise on his face. “Ye would put yer own wants afore that of yer clan?”
“My clan needs prosperity, aye, but I’m coming to realize there are other ways of gaining it—other clans to ally with—besides pandering to yer spoiled offspring. My people will support my decision.”And I’ll be able to marry the woman I love.
“But the King—“
“The King is a good man,” growled Kester, “and when I explain what ye did after my mother’s death, I hope he’ll understand ye’re no’ the aggrieved party ye’ve been playing.”
Beneath the beard, Murray’s mouth twisted in a scowl, and he opened it—
But was interrupted when the flap to the tent opened behind him and his burly warrior emerged, tugging a female. She was dressed in a cream-colored gown, her dark hair—the same shade as the Murray’s—falling freely down around her shoulders. ‘Twas decorated with a lopsided flower crown, and the bouquet she carried in one hand looked to have been decimated by anger or fear. Aye, she was lovely, and clearly didn’t want to be here.
She also looked to be about seven years old.
“My eldest daughter, Lady Elspeth,” announced Murray sullenly. “Yer bride.”
At Kester’s side, Robena was busy trying to swallow her laughter, and Kester felt his lips twitching once more.
Lady Elspeth Murray was alassie. Barely more than a bairn. And her father wanted to marry her off to an enemy like Kester MacBain to keep the peace?
‘Twas ludicrous.
Almost as ridiculous as the way the lassie wailed and threw her bouquet at her father.
“I’llno’marry him, Da!” she screamed, yanking her arm from her guard’s hold, and stomping her foot. “Ye cannae make me!”
Her father whirled on her, one finger raised, and bellowed right back, “Ye’ll do what I tell ye, ye ungrateful bairn! Ye owe it to yer clan to make peace!”
“I dinnaecareaboutpeace!” She stomped again, her face going red. “I dinnae want tomarryhim!” One skinny arm flung out, a finger pointed at Kester.
He felt the need to defend himself. “For what ‘tis worth, milady, I have nae interest in marrying ye, either. My heart belongs to another.”
