Page 52 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“Not if he wishes to remain under my roof,” the laird said.
“Da,” James said quietly, “perhaps ye should—”
“Silence!” the laird roared, clipping him over the head. “Don’t be such a milkmaid.”
“Murdo?” Clara whispered, but he still wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Why didn’t ye tell me, Clara?” he said.
Clara’s mother caught her hand. “Come along, daughter, we’re leaving.”
“No fight in ye,Duchess?” the laird sneered. “Ye had plenty of fight when I spread yer—”
“Da, that’s enough!” Murdo roared.
“What would be the point?” Mama said. “I could shoot you dead, but death’s too good for you. You deserve to live out the rest of your pathetic life knowing that you’ve deprived your family of the brightest jewel in the world—my daughter.”
She drew Clara close. “I’m only thankful that my daughter has been saved from making a terrible mistake. My dearest wish is that she’ll have the happiness she deserves. I wish the same for you, Lord McTavish—that you have the happinessyoudeserve.”
“Yer Grace, I…” Murdo began, then he lifted his gaze to Clara’s. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Mama said. “I’m sorry for being so mistaken in my opinion of you. Please send for your carriage to take us to the nearest inn.”
“At least stay until the morning,” he said. “Da will have slept off the whisky. I’ll speak to him.”
“And say what?” Clara asked. “Beg forgiveness for offering your hand to a whore’s brat?”
“Don’t say that, Clara.”
She laughed bitterly. “You were content to call my mother a whore.”
“Aye,” the laird said. “That’s because she is.”
“Da, stop it!”
Murdo’s brother let out a cry and leaped to his feet. He swept his plate off the table, and it shattered on the floor in an explosion of crockery and stew.
The laird approached him, fists raised. “I’ll beat ye raw!”
“Go on, then, Da—Idareye!”
“Miserable lad!”
“Sweet heaven, what kind of a place is this?” Clara’s mother cried. “I’ve no wish to stay here a moment longer.”
“Then get ye gone,” the laird said.
“With pleasure.”
“Murdo?” Clara said, but he remained still.
Her heart breaking, she let her mother steer her into the main hall, where the housekeeper and ghillie were approaching the dining room, followed by a young man.
“What the devil’s happening?” the ghillie asked.
“As if ye need to ask, Duncan!” the housekeeper said as the angry voices continued from inside the dining room. “Ye ken what happens when the laird comes home after a bout of drinking.”
“We’re leaving this instant,” Mama said.
