Page 2 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
Magnus raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. They would sit here in silence until someone answered him. The young Laird didn’t care if it took the rest of the day, the servants could always keep bringing him whiskey.
One of his younger councilmen squirmed in his seat and quietly said, “The late Laird started a feud with Clan Gunn, and… it’s still ongoing.”
Magnus’s hands threatened to break the glass that sat in front of him, so instead he balled them into harsh fists on the table.
“What are we feudin’ over, exactly?” he bit out between harsh breaths.
The other men in the room looked around at each other and then away, but no one spoke.
Magnus cleared his throat, but still, his councilmen avoided his gaze.
James finally spoke up again. “We are not sure, Me Laird. Yer faither…” The man stumbled over those words when Magnus shot him a dark glare. “Err, apologies. The previous Laird wasnae forthcomin’ about the cause…” he trailed off.
The pressure across Magnus’s forehead threatened to overwhelm him, and he brought his thumbs to the bridge of his nose, steepling his fingers as he hung his head. Several seconds passed as he took a few deep breaths and tried to quell the anger roiling within him.
“Ye mean to tell me…” Magnus paused and took another deep breath, because the words came out harsher than he intended. He tried again. “Ye mean to tell me that we’ve been sending our men to die, over a feud that nay one kens why we started in the first place?”
When he finally finished speaking, he lifted his head to look at James directly. At least he had the decency to bring this matter up.
James nodded slowly, and Magnus let out a harsh curse.
“I’ve been the Laird for nearly a year now, and no one thought to bring this up before now?”
Silence once again met Magnus’s question. He closed his eyes and willed his body not to react to the pounding in his blood. His fury was never fully under control, but at this moment, he could not predict what he might do.
“Me Laird?” James quietly tried to get his attention. Magnus’s eyes snapped open. “To be honest… we all expected ye’d be a lot like yer faither…”
Magnus exhaled, the tension draining slightly. Taking over the Lairdship had been an uphill battle over the last year. He didn’t know which councilmen he could trust and had primarily written them off. But they likely felt the same way about him.
He drew in another ragged breath.
Ye’re a dobber.
He was muddling this all up. How many clansmen had died while he sat here mediating disputes and drinking whiskey?
“We cannae keeping sendin’ our people to fight because of a feud that shouldnae even exist in the first place,” Magnus declared definitively. He hoped to put an end to this feud once and for all.
“Are we just goin’ to let the Gunns attack us without defendin’ ourselves? Laird Gunn doesnae seem too willing to stop the fightin’ either,” the portly councilman chimed in.
Magnus regarded him coolly before he declared, “He will be.”
* * *
“How that man can live with himself is beyond me. He should be ashamed.”
Ciara Doyle studied her father keenly as she listened to his latest gripe against the neighboring Laird MacLeon. There had been another skirmish at the border, and while they had come out victorious, they still lost far too many good men.
Her father was seated at the desk in his study. He ran a hand through his silver, shoulder-length hair and let out a heavy sigh. His blue eyes, which matched Ciara’s, flashed with anger, but there was a weariness in them as well. The feud between their clans weighed heavily on his shoulders. In all these years, he had been unable to make peace with Clan MacLeon.
Ciara looked over to her brother, Alexander, who was sitting in the matching armchair across from her. She could see the same thunderous expression on his face. The clan had lost many strong warriors this last fortnight, including men Alexander grew up and trained with. War was an ugly, brutal thing, and they were all feeling the strain of the years-long conflict.
“He has continued this pointless war that his faither started and has allowed countless of his clansmen to die in the pursuit of what? I dinnae even ken why his faither started this feud, to begin with. Land? Pride? The arrogance of those men,” her father continued with a growl.
Ciara leaned back in the plush armchair. It was one of her favorite spots in the castle, and she often found herself here when she wasn’t in town, working with their clansfolk. It’s how she knew her father wasn’t sharing the full story right now.
She had managed to keep her comments to herself before this moment. She had let her father and brother grieve and lament, but she felt the need to point out, “Ye havenae been willin’ to end this either, Faither.”
Laird Gunn grumbled to himself. “Aye, in defense of our home and our people! Clan MacLeon has increased their attacks lately.”
