Page 11 of An Allusive Love
“Get something to revive the drunken cow. Quick!” Brodie propped the dead weight against his broad chest and fixed a stern scowl at the young couple. “And this incident is no’ to be repeated.”
Calum accepted a cup from a bystander and tossed it at the limp form.
Craigg spluttered and waved his arms in front of him. Kirstine saw Brodie wink at his grandfather.
“I canna hold ye back much longer, ye sodden hothead. Now promise me ye’ll no’ hurt the lad for accidentally headbutting ye,” Brodie said loud enough for anyone close to hear. “It’s a holiday, and we’ll settle it without violence.”
Craigg blinked and rubbed his jaw. “What happened?”
Kirstine chewed her bottom lip. Would the ruse work? Brodie was clever, and she saw the spark of approval in the MacNaughton’s eyes as he took the lead.
“Dinna play with me, Craigg, and no more whisky for ye tonight.” Calum pointed to the boy, who still held a hand up to his face to staunch the blood. “I’ll let the smashed nose pass, but no more fists. They’re just young and got carried away.”
Craigg scratched his chin and grimaced. “But what about my jaw?”
“What about it? I believe the boy might have given ye a Glasgow kiss in his exuberance to get away.” Calum spread his hands, palm up, and shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunate, but if ye didna drink so much, ye’d ken what happened.”
“I thought—”
“Did ye see anything indecent besides a wee kiss,” prodded Calum.
“No, but—”
“Weel, then it’s just a matter of two disobedient children. Nothing we’ll be needing a shotgun for.” The MacNaughton smiled, and Kirstine saw where Brodie got every bit of his charm. “How old are ye, lad?”
“I’ll be eighteen by Samhain,” he mumbled from beneath his hand.
“And the lass?”
“She’s sixteen,” spit out Craigg. “I’d put a shotgun to my own head before I’d be joined to a MacDunn by marriage.”
Brodie let the man go. “I dinna think such tragedy will be necessary. I’ve been caught in the woods a time or two myself without any harm done.” He slapped Craigg on the shoulder. “Tell me ye’ve no’ forgotten what it’s like to be young?”
Craigg squinted at Brodie then shook his head as if to clear it. “We’re going home,” he grumbled and took his daughter roughly by the elbow. She covered her face in her hands and continued to weep as he pulled her away.
No one liked Ross Craigg. Any witnesses were happy to see him get back what he often gave his wife and daughter. They also knew the girl would pay once the wagon was out of sight.
“That man will get his someday,” Brigid said to Kirstine. “Fate has a way of giving ye back what ye’ve given most to others.”
A chill slithered down Kirstine’s spine. “I hope his wife and daughter survive to see it happen.”
Chapter Four
Pleas and Promises
Ross snapped thereins, and the wagon lurched forward. His jaw ached from grinding his back teeth. A thorn in his side, those MacNaughtons. When Calum had married Peigi Craigg, the two clans had forged a peace, ending a decades-old feud. Then the Craiggs had pledged fealty to the MacNaughton, followed with years of tirades by Ross’s father. Rants about the partiality toward Peigi’s branch of the Craiggs over his own family, the favors given to them, the rewards handed out totheirsons. The only comfort Da found was in the whisky that eventually claimed him. Even on his deathbed, his last words to his son had been to continue the enmity.
Dinna follow them like the rest of the bleatin’ sheep. Keep yer own counsel and bide yer time.
They’d been left destitute. Without any income, he’d been forced to crawl to the man responsible for his father’s death. His jaw clamped again at the memory. Calum had been reluctant to hire him at the mill, citing his family’s penchant for drink. As if the MacNaughton wasn’t known for his own “wee swallows” throughout the day.
Ross’s mother had gone to Peigi, begged and pleaded for a job for her son. She had two more young ones and a bairn to feed. So, Ross had gone to Glasgow and worked the power looms twelve hours a day in a sweltering stone prison. Day after day after day. Who could blame a man for a few nips to pass the time? But some lass had gone blethering to the manager. He’d received a properlaldiefor his misconduct and been sent to the docks. Heavy lifting and sweeping. A Craigg swishing a broom while a woman operated his machine. He brought a bottle every day after that. Until he accidentally knocked that young boy into the river.
It wasn’t his fault the lad couldn’t swim. Ross had tried to pull him out, but the boy wouldn’t stop screaming. He’d only held his head under for a moment. To get the lad to be quiet, but he’d grown too quiet. The manager, a blustery Sassenach, had suspected foul play but couldn’t prove anything. Still, Ross had been sent home in disgrace. That was when he’d found out how much his mother had changed. She refused him hospitalityin his own home. And Calum had supported her, even sent one of his human sheep to guard the house.
Ross had vowed to get his revenge against the MacNaughtons. He’d followed his father’s advice ever since: bided his time and kept his eyes peeled for small victories along the way.
Nessie sniffled beside him.
