Page 49 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
Murdo’s brother carried a secret sorrow, and her heart ached for him.
His eyes flared, as if he acknowledged her recognition, then they hardened, and he resumed his attention on his supper.
“Answer her, James,” Murdo growled.
“There’s no need,” Clara said. “Why don’t you tell me about the festival—the one Mrs. Grant mentioned. Lunar, was it?”
The man opposite snorted. “It’sLughnasadh,” he sneered.
“What type of festival is it?” Mama asked. Her quiet dignity seemed to temper James’s incivility.
“It celebrates the harvest.”
“So it’s in the autumn?” Clara asked.
He rolled his eyes, and muttered something under his breath that sounded very likedamned Sassenachs.
“It’s in late summer, to mark the beginning of the harvest,” he said. “Everyone works the land, so I doubtye’llenjoy it.”
Before Clara could reply, hoofbeats echoed outside. James stiffened and his fork clattered onto the table.
Heavy footsteps and a booming voice approached. Then the door was flung open to reveal a man, as wide as he was tall, with thinning silver hair and reddened, fleshy cheeks. His bright-green gaze, red rimmed and glistening in the candlelight, focused on Clara, then swept across the room.
“Ha!” he cried, droplets of spittle flying from his mouth. “So ye’re back, Murdo, and ye’ve brought yer woman!” He gestured to Murdo’s brother. “Not like this one here, who wouldn’t take a woman unless I kicked him up the arse all the way to the altar! But ye’re in luck, James. Old McCallum’s willing to give ye his daughter—and a lucky lass she’ll be, to birth a McTavish laird.”
“Da,” James said, “I don’t—”
“Be quiet, son!” The laird’s voice boomed around the room. “Ye’ll fulfil yer duty or I’ll have yer ballocks. I’ll have no weak-bellied lassie for a son.”
“Da, take some supper,” Murdo said.
“I will as soon as I can get my arse on a seat. Been riding all evening, I have, all for a young man who doesn’t know his good fortune.” The laird glared at James.
“Da, we have guests,” Murdo said, taking Clara’s hand.
The laird chuckled. “That we do. At least one of my sons is a man.” He approached Clara, and her stomach churned at the stench of liquor on his breath. “Stand up, then, lass. Let me take a good look at ye.”
How dare he!
Clara tilted her chin. “I’m not an animal to be inspected, Mr. McTavish.”
Murdo raised his eyebrows, but James drew in a sharp breath.
Mama met her gaze and frowned.
The laird’s eyes darkened and fear rippled through Clara as she recognized the expression she’d seen often enough as a child, one that was usually the precursor to a beating. She flinched as he grasped her chin.
Then he grinned, revealing a row of yellowing teeth.
“A feisty lassie, ye are,” he said, “but ye’ll learn. We McTavishes know how to keep our women obedient. Isn’t that right, son?”
“Da, I think—” Murdo began.
“Ye’d better not have gone soft, lad, like yer fool of a brother.”
Clara winced as the laird dug his fingers into her flesh and forced her face upward.
“That’s better. I can see ye now,” he said. “Aye, ye’re bonny enough. Murdo always took after his da with the lasses. Though if he’s anything like his da, he’d rut them from behind if they weren’t bonny enough.”
