Page 50 of Kilty as Sin
“I got lost there,” muttered Craig.
Payton snorted. “Aye, but ye got lost on yer way to the privy yesterday.”
“’Twas dark and I was half-asleep,” the ox defended.
“More like half-drunk.”
Drummond’s growl and slash of his hand cut off the bickering. “As it happens…” He sighed and slapped the scroll with Barclay’s report onto the table. “Aye, His Majesty agrees with ye. He’d heard rumors of MacGill’s actions but assumed ‘twas only disgruntled enemies. Having it confirmed—both by the MacDonalds and by yer visit to MacGill lands—set his mind at ease that the clan willnae suffer from their laird’s death.”
Barclay shook his head. “If aught, the clan was grateful to be released from his rule.”
“Aye, but now the King has a conundrum. With no obvious heir, the MacGills are vulnerable to attack and manipulation.”
“Aye,” sighed Barclay, rolling his shoulders, hating this feeling of uncertainty.
Apparently feeling the same way, Grace stepped up to his side and slid her small hand into his. When he glanced over, she smiled.
And the band around his chest loosened as a feeling of contentment slid over him. She was beautiful today, wearing a gown of blue, which seemed perfect for court, her blonde curls cascading down her back. He knew she’d taken extra care in her appearance today, and he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and rumple her.
“And…the other request?” she asked Drummond hesitantly, even while smiling softly at Barclay. “Is His Majesty willing to grant our petition to marry?”
Drummond didn’t immediately reply, and his silence was telling. Dread pooling in his stomach once more, Barclay turned to his commander.
The somber man appeared even more serious than usual. His arms were folded across his chest, his lips pulled into a frown. He was wearing his hair longer these days, but it did nothing to soften his fierceness.
“Drum?” Barclay prompted softly, already dreading the reply.
His commander shook his head. “What have I told ye about missions involving women?”
“Dinnae fook ‘em,” Craig replied promptly, repeating an oft-heard lesson.
“Dinnae trust ‘em,” Peyton said with a sigh and a pitying look as he dropped his hands to the table.
“Dinnae get involved,” Barclay whispered, shifting his gaze to Grace, knowing he was beyond a doubt involved. Involved in her life, involved in her heart.
Drummond growled, “And what did ye do?”
“I got involved.”
Craig leaned toward Peyton and whispered loudly, “Did he fook her?”
His friend nodded. “Looks like he went and fell in love.”
“If we’re no’ allowed to fook ‘em, we likely cannae fall in love, aye?” whispered Craig.
Before Peyton could answer—thank God—Drummond cut off their banter with another slash of his hand.
“Yegot involved. ‘Twas a simple assignment, Barclay! Ye were supposed to fetch a runaway daughter of His Majesty’s supporter. How hard was that?”
Barclay had asked himself the same question time and again as he’d been trying to fight his attraction to Grace. But once he’d given in, his heart had been so much happier.
Her hand was gripped tightly in his, and now he caught her gaze. “’Twas much harder than ye might think,” he murmured.
Payton whispered to Craig, “’Tis what she said.”
But Barclay concentrated on Grace, offering her a sad smile. If the King denied their chance to marry, he’d still love her until his dying day.
“Christ, Barclay,” sighed Drummond. “Itoldye missions with women were dangerous!”
