Page 7 of A Bride for the Wicked Highlander (Daring a Highland Laird #2)
“ S ilence!” Oscar bellowed, the babbling noise of the council chamber grating on his ears.
The eight councilmen, one from every major village in Oscar’s territory, immediately clamped their lips. Startled eyes turned toward their laird, everyone sitting rigid in their chairs as if their grandmothers had just threatened them with a hiding.
“Now that I can hear meself think, we’ll begin,” Oscar said, casting a sideways glance at his brother, who stood a step behind Oscar’s chair. Ever the guardian, despite being a head shorter than his older brother, and not nearly so broad.
Ryder drew in a nervous breath, his hand resting on the pommel of his broadsword, prepared to take action if things went sour. Not that any of the councilmen were foolish enough to try and raise so much as a finger against their laird.
“There’ll be a weddin’ here tomorrow,” Oscar announced. “Ye’re all welcome to stay for the proceedings, but there’ll nae be much of a celebration after. A modest feast at most.”
The nearest councilman on the left, Roderick Allan, raised a hand to speak. “Whose weddin’ is it?”
“Mine,” Oscar replied casually.
Chatter exploded up and down the curves of the oval table, the clamor ricocheting across the vaulted ceiling of the council chamber, shooting back down to prickle Oscar’s ears again.
He heard protests and questions and exclamations, the shouts blending into one crashing roar that made him want to drive his fist through the nearest window.
“Have ye forgotten yer manners?” Oscar boomed. “Speak one at a time, else ye’ll nae speak at all.”
From the opposite end of the table, Brodie Robertson’s hand shot up, his voice cutting ahead of everyone else’s. “Who’s the lass? Why are ye gettin’ married in such a rush? Is there to be a bairn?”
“The lass is Lady Madeleine Huxley,” Oscar replied flatly.
“There’s nay bairn, and we’re marryin’ quickly because there’s nay reason to delay.
The sooner I’m married to her, the sooner Laird MacPhee will understand that an alliance with us cannae be bought with his sister.
He’ll be forced to offer what we’ve always said we want: his docks and his shipbuilders, and Lady Isle too. ”
Oscar’s territory ended at the western coast, and he had long desired to have a fleet of his own to patrol the waters at the edges of his lands.
Several generations ago there had been a fleet belonging to Clan Muir, which had been sunk by the MacPhees during an unyielding bloody feud.
That feud had been resolved by Oscar’s grandfather, but the distrust still lingered in Muir blood, and no ships other than fishing vessels had been built in almost a century.
As for the little rocky island of Lady Isle; it might have seemed like a useless piece of nothing to most, but Oscar saw its potential: a guard tower in the middle of the sea to warn those on the coast, and the fleet he might one day have, of pirates and enemies.
And, at present, that little island belonged to Laird MacPhee: a gift for putting an end to the feud, granted by Oscar’s grandfather.
“Laird MacCrawford hasnae ever given us any bother,” another councilman said, pursing his lips. “Why would ye want Lady Isle? It’s nae worth the risk of a feud beginnin’ again.”
Oscar smiled thinly. “I’m nae concerned about Laird MacCrawford. He doesnae trouble us, I willnae trouble him.”
“Aye, but Laird MacPhee is concerned about him,” Roderick pointed out. “Sank two of his ships over these past six months, raided one of his harbors. He willnae give ye Lady Isle so long as the Pirate Laird is out there, nae unless ye agree to wed his sister anyway.”
Banging his fist on the table to ensure he had their full silence, Oscar’s narrowed eyes moved from man to man, watching them shrink under his hard gaze.
“If any one of ye thinks that Laird MacPhee truly wants to be allies, then ye’ve forgotten yer clan history and ye dinnae deserve a place at me table.
” He straightened up. “He wants to take over from the inside, a slow ambush. We saw it with Laird MacRannock. Aye, the former Laird MacRannock failed, but I daresay Laird MacPhee has taken some inspiration.”
He'd heard the tale from Hunter many times through that bloody four-year war, of how the late Laird MacRannock had installed his daughter in Hunter’s castle, seeing them married under the same ruse of alliance.
All the while, Laird MacRannock had just wanted an heir that he could pass his lands and title to, who would also inherit the lands and title of his enemy.
The only trouble was Hunter’s former wife had birthed a girl.
A rumble of consideration made its way around the table, quieter than before, as if each man were, indeed, remembering his clan history.
“This will show us how keen Laird MacPhee actually is to have an alliance,” Oscar continued. “If his intentions are good, he’ll return with alternative terms. If they’re nae, he’ll wail and fuss like a bairn. Either way, I’m marryin’ Lady Madeleine tomorrow.”
The surety with which he declared it bolstered his resolve, his blood rushing a little hotter in his veins as he imagined the satisfaction of claiming her on their wedding night.
Her satisfaction as much as his own, those long, lithe legs wrapping around his waist, his hands able to explore what he could only admire at present, her defiance utterly vanishing at his every instruction and command.
Indeed, he planned to make it so she would long to obey.
“Of course, we’re delighted ye’ve finally sought a wife, but why so soon?” Brodie interjected. “Why now, when ye’ve avoided it for so long?”
A few nods bobbed the heads of the other men.
Oscar sat back in his chair, mulling over the same question he’d been asking himself since he agreed.
It wasn’t a matter of silencing Laird MacPhee; he hadn’t thought of that when he’d consented to Maddie’s proposal.
It wasn’t a matter of finally wanting to be married, when he hadn’t given any serious thought to marriage until he heard Maddie tell her story, explaining her side of it.
He squinted toward the chamber window, blinking as if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
Maddie was out there, like she’d been summoned by his thoughts.
Still dressed in that loose shirt and tight trousers, she wandered the gardens with slow precision, bending at the waist to inspect the plants.
There was nothing in bloom, the west coast winter particularly wet and brutal this year, yet she touched the green stems and bare stalks as if they were putting on their vibrant summer display.
Admiring them, despite their stark appearance.
She straightened up, writing something in the air with her fingertips while her mouth moved and her eyes scrunched shut, as if to commit a note to memory for later. A moment later, she bent again, moving onto the next plant.
Oscar kept watching her, so intrigued he wished he was out there with her. But, to the councilman, he replied with a shrug, “I dinnae ken. It was time and she was there.” He stood up, waving a hand to dismiss the men and then paused. “Och, and another thing...”
The men halted in various states of rising from their chairs, frozen like thieves hearing footsteps.
Oscar smiled, still captivated by her methodical movements, her silent messages to the air, the way she bit her lip in thought.
“What, m’laird?” Roderick prompted.
Oscar glanced at the man, his smile widening. “She’s English.”