Page 2 of Kidnapped By her Highland Enemy
“Nay,” Maisie shrugged. “But when is it ever all right with Faither and me? Especially since we keep losing to the Barclays, he’s turned on me as if I were a part of their camp.”
“I’m sorry,” Heather said while brushing a hand over her mahogany brown hair.
“There’s nothing for ye to be sorry for,” Maisie said as she went to a table to find one of her scrolls about medicinal plants. As she rifled through the pile, she caught sight of her face on her polished brass mirror. Her thick brown hair was fixed in a braid and her light golden eyes glimmered with unhappiness.
At two-and-twenty, Maisie had more interest in becoming the healer her mother once was instead of marrying like her father wanted. There were a fair number of Lairds and noblemen in the countryside she had met who could put in an offer, but Maisie was not interested in any of them.
Nae to mention, there are few men who have interest in an educated woman like I am. If Faither willnae listen to me, why will anyone else?
“I daenae mind,” Maisie added while finding a chair. “I’m better off without his attention, anyway.”
Barclay Castle
Resounding cheers of delight met Lucas McCormack as he and his fellow fighters entered the great hall of his home. He glanced up to see his father, Cinead, the protector of the castle, with a pleased face, sitting in the middle of the high table. Though Lucas was the Laird of the clan, his father shared control over the castle and Lucas did not mind.
Barely tempering his grin, Lucas stopped and with a with a flick of his wrist, he spun the claymore sword around and tossed it hilt-first to his shield bearer, Peter. The lad caught it easily but stumbled when Lucas handed off his halberd. Made of sturdy ash wood, the haft of the great axe was more than four and a half feet long with a wicked blade.
His father stood, lifting his goblet high, “Welcome victorious warriors, led by me son, Lucas, and his man-at-arms, Oliver Jamieson. Ye havemade Clan Barclay proud in routing those flea-bitten dogs of the Gunn’s clan back into the mutt pit they had crawled out of. Hear, hear!”
A resounding cheer, mixed with stomping feet and the clang of swords on shields made the sturdy hall tremble down to its ancient foundation.
“And to me son,” Cinead added. “Might and brave is he to have led five victories in a row. Let there be a sixth!”
Another cry of victory went up and minstrels began to play while women wove between the crowd bearing tankards and goblets of spiced wine.
Oliver, a man of two-and-thirty, five years Lucas’s senior, stood at his leader’s side and clapped a hand on Lucas’s arm. “Well done, me laird.”
Raking a hand through his blond hair, Lucas grinned, “Aye, thank ye.”
“This victory deserves a hearty meal, a long bath and a lusty wench in yer bed,” Oliver grinned, then cocked a brow. “But I daenae ken ye’ll be without company tonight, will ye? There are lasses forming lines to get in your bed.”
“All in good time, Oliver,” Lucas said as he mounted the steps to the high table.
Taking his seat beside his father, Lucas felt the rush of power, which had possessed his veins three hours before, in the heat of the battle, begin to fade. Seated, he reached for his goblet and sipped the heady wine.
“Did those mangy mutts give you any trouble?” his father asked.
“Nay,” Lucas shrugged. “We had them trapped against the same snare they had set for us. From there, it was easy to scatter them as they were as confused as headless fowls.”
“That is their natural state,” his father chuckled.
As Lucas gazed around the room, he felt the tiredness of seven hours of marching and fighting begin to settle in his bones. Heloved the skirmish, he loved seeing the fear on the faces of his enemies and he loved the sweet taste of victory.
Lucas, like his father before him, had trained alongside the rest of the warriors and made his way up the ranks to leader, just as he had to work his way to the Lairdship. No one got a free pass in the McCormack Clan, not by wealth and certainly not by birthright. He had to earn his place, just like the rest of his brothers.
“I reckon its time ye start looking for a wife, son,” Cinead said while sipping his wine. “Eight-and-twenty is a good age to start yer family. I ken ye love the fight, the rush, the spoils of war, but more pleasures come from having a wife and a slew of bairns too. We have enough resources to provide for them all.”
“Och,” Lucas grunted. “I daenae want more than two bairns. A slew is too much.”
“Daenae discount yerself, son. Our bloodline is strong and produces great sons,” Cinead replied. “Ye are proof of that.”
“Aye,” Lucas allowed just as a maid sat a trencher of roast fowl and boiled turnips and potatoes, basted with butter. “But what ladies are here who willnae run knowing that I prize the fight more than their notions of romance?”
“A smart one,” Cinead said. “One who will understand her place as yer helpmate and give ye an heir.”
Hearing the terms explained so frankly in black and white, Lucas flattened his lips. “That doesnae sound too right either.”
“It’s one or the other, son,” Cinead said with a shrug. “Ye can marry for love or ye can marry for convenience.”
