Page 5 of The Irresistible Warrior
“Irina has agreed freely to this proposal,” Crane said, helping his daughter to her feet and stepping back away from the table.
Irina was quick to agree, nodding her head as she spoke. “You are so very handsome and so very appealing, and I am beautiful and appealing. We would make the perfect match.”
A few women had claimed the same after falling at his feet, and one had already had a husband. His wish had become a nightmare.
“I have only arrived here a short time ago. I have no plans of entertaining the thought of marriage at this time,” Declan said, settling the matter, or so he thought.
“Take your time and think about it. I am sure once you take stock of the situation here, you will see the wisdom of my offer,” Crane said. “And you should know that my daughter is the most beautiful, marriage-age lass in the Highlands. You could do no better.”
“The chieftain will keep that in mind,” Hamish said, raising his walking stick, ready to give Crane another poke. “Now be on your way… like the chieftain said, he just arrived here. He needs time to himself.”
Declan filled his tankard high with ale, then took a hefty swallow.
“There will be more.”
Declan looked at Hamish, knowing he was right.
“A steady stream of them will come.” Hamish scratched at his beard. “It might be wise to just pick one woman and be done with it.”
“Are you deaf, Hamish? Did you not hear me tell Crane that I have no thought of marriage?”
Hamish shook his walking stick at him. “You told me you’d see your duty done. Do you forget that part of that duty is producing an heir? Clan MacCrone has been through some troubling times. The prospect of a bairn to carry on the clan’s name might give the people hope for a brighter future.”
“Repaired cottages, stocked storehouses, wool garments to replace the old ones would be just a few immediate things that the clan might be more grateful for,” Declan argued. “Especially before winter is upon us.”
“And how will you see to all that when the coffers are empty?” Hamish demanded.
“Hard work and trade,” Declan declared. “But first I want to speak with your healer.”
“Are you ill?” Hamish asked, then shook his head. “You want to know if the healer can help you with the curse.”
“Get me the healer, Hamish,” Declan snapped.
“How did you get that curse anyway?” Hamish asked, making no effort to do as Declan ordered.
“That is none of your concern and if you cannot obey my order without question, I will find another to stand by my side to guide me,” Declan cautioned.
Hamish shrugged. “You won’t find many who will rush forward to take on such a chore. Don’t know if I even want the burdensome task myself.”
Declan squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Bring me the healer, Hamish.”
Hamish turned and walked away, mumbling to himself.
Declan downed more ale but didn’t find the sparse food offered appealing. The first thing that needed his attention was stocking the storage sheds with meat for the winter. Though he worried there might not be enough skilled hunters to accomplish that task since if there were, the storage shed would be full.
With his stomach rumbling, he sampled the cabbage soup in front of him and cringed. It was tasteless and not as hot as it should be. He tore off a piece of bread from the flat loaf and could tell before taking a bite that it was stale. He finally chose a quail egg that wasn’t too bad. Something definitely needed to be done about the food.
Hamish returned with a woman who appeared as old as him. Her white hair piled on top of her head but not staying there, thin strands falling where they will. Her dark eyes showed fatigue, and her slim hands were slightly gnarled.
Hamish stopped her from getting too close to Declan and he remained at her side.
“I am pleased to meet you, Chieftain Declan. I am Freyda, the clan healer and I will serve you the best I can.”
“Thank you, Freyda,” Declan said and shot a glance to Hamish. “You may leave us.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hamish said, tossing his chin up definitely.
Before Declan could order otherwise, Freyda spoke up. “Please, sir, forgive Hamish for being rude?—”
