Page 7 of Lyon’s Gift (The Highland Brides #2)

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER SIX

“ I think you’ve gone as mad as the wench!” Baldwin leapt up and out of the fray.

“She’s mad as a fox, I wager,” Montgomerie declared, laughing still.

Mad as a fox.

Meghan ceased her struggles suddenly, hearing her grandmother’s voice as though it were a murmur in her ears.

“They think I’m mad,” she’d oft said. “I know they think I’m mad, Meggie dearlin’—and I am. I am! Mad as a fox!” And she’d wink and cackle in amusement. And then more seriously she’d say, with a crook of her long slender finger, “You be the same, Meghan, and with that face of yours you’ll possess the world in the wee palm of your precious hand.”

grammie Fia had certainly had a way with people, as well as animals. Mad as they’d all thought her, she’d always seemed a step ahead of everyone, bending folks to her will. What would Fia do now? she wondered. What would she say to these English boors? How would she deliver herself from a situation such as this?

The little lamb bleated in that instant.

Meghan turned to see that the poor creature had retreated against the brush and was watching them warily. They had yet to accuse her outright of stealing the animal, which told her in truth that they weren’t entirely certain she had.

She peered back at Montgomerie, gauging his expression. He was watching her curiously, waiting.

Mad as a fox… you be the same, she heard Fia say to her.

The little lamb bleated again... and suddenly Meghan knew what to do.

She cast another glance at the lamb, trying not to smirk. So Baldwin thought her mad, did he? Well, it certainly wouldn’t serve her to confirm that notion because he wouldn’t believe her then, but Meghan could certainly prove him right... if she tried.

She had mad auld Fia’s example to follow, after all.

It wasn’t easy to smother her grin, but she did, thinking that surely Montgomerie wouldn’t wish to wed with her... if he truly thought her mad.

She turned to face the wee lammie, and asked, “What did you say?”

“Not a bloody thing, wench,” Montgomerie answered, sounding suddenly bemused.

She cast him a glare. “I was not talkin’ to you,” she snapped and turned again to the lamb.

The glade went utterly silent. It seemed even the wind stilled in the treetops. She felt Montgomerie’s gaze upon her nape—Baldwin’s, as well. Sweet Mary, but she prayed she could pull this off.

She waited for the lamb to bleat once more, and then replied, as though she were in actual conversation with the creature, “I cannot, Fia! I simply cannot. And you cannot make me.”

Oblivious to her spurious indignation, the little lamb cried out once more.

Meghan slumped her shoulders. “Nay,” she said, hoping she sounded perfectly disheartened, but respectful, “you never have.”

She lowered her head in a moment of contemplative silence, and the little lamb bleated once more.

Both men were suddenly very quiet, Meghan noticed, and it was all she could do to strangle the laughter that welled within her.

She straightened, wholly aware of the grip that slackened upon her arms. She thought he might be a little bewildered.

“Well,” she said, sounding utterly resolved as she faced the lamb once more. “If you really think so, I will. But I will not like it.”

Baldwin scratched his head. “Is she talking to that bloody beast?” he asked, sounding quite appalled.

Montgomerie didn’t reply.

Please talk back, she pleaded with the sweet little creature. Say something... anything...

The lamb bleated.

God bless you! she silently lauded the animal.

“I’ll do my best, Fia,” she responded, then peered back at Lyon Montgomerie. “Verra well,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I’ll do it.”

Meghan could have sworn she’d caught him with his mouth agape, but he recovered quickly enough. “What?” he asked, his expression clearly unsettled, though collected. “What is it you will do?”

Meghan rolled her eyes. “Why, I’ll wed with you of course, you silly dolt. What else?”

He blinked, and Meghan felt almost smug over the look of surprise that appeared in his stark blue eyes.

“You will?” Baldwin sounded nonplussed as well.

“Aye! I’ll wed with him—though I will not like it,” she assured them both.

Montgomerie narrowed his eyes at her. “And why the sudden change of heart?”

Meghan lifted a brow. “Who says I’ve had a change of heart, Sassenach?”

“Very well then, why the change of mind?”

“Because she’s mad, I tell you,” Baldwin persisted. “Can you not see that, Lyon?”

Meghan smiled inwardly. Now was the perfect opportunity, she thought, to introduce them to “Fia.” It was all she could do to keep the laughter from her voice as she informed them both, “Because Fia says so, of course.”

Montgomery frowned at her. “Fia?”

She gave him her most guileless look in response. “My grandmother,” she explained, and smiled fondly at the animal, waving at it as though it might wave back. “She never leads me astray. My grammie always knows best.”

His face screwed with what Meghan could only interpret as disbelief, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from giggling-

He blinked. “You are speaking of the lamb?”

Meghan returned a frown, pretending ignorance, and prayed she’d not spoil the effect by laughing out loud. “What lamb?”

He didn’t answer at once. “ That lamb,” he said after a moment, pointing to the beast in question.

Meghan gave him a glower of the sort she usually reserved for Colin. “That’s no lamb, you knave.” She pretended to be insulted. “That’s my grammie.”

He scowled. “You cannot be serious?”

“Of course I am,” Meghan assured him, trying not to laugh at the outrageous lie.

“Of course she is,” Baldwin maintained. “Do you not recall she was talking to the beast when we discovered her?”

The lamb bleated. Perfect timing, Meghan thought.

“Och! Nay! I dinna think I can do it, Fia,” Meghan exclaimed, effecting a tone of defiance.

“Christ,” Montgomerie exploded. “You cannot believe I would fall for such a ludicrous tale? That’s a bloody rotten lamb you’re talking to.”

Meghan didn’t have to pretend outrage now. His very tone vexed her. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Sassenach, but dinna dare speak so rudely of my grammie.”

“You cannot be serious?”

“I can, and I am.”

Lyon studied her face for some indication of her lie.

Her expression revealed only her umbrage.

She was a bloody stinking good actress, he decided.

“You would have me believe...” He pointed at the lamb just to be certain there was no mistake. “... that dumb beast is your grandmother?”

“I would have you believe naught at all, Sassenach! I dinna care what you think. I’d have you let me go. And I take it back.” She tried to shrug free of him again. “I will not wed a mon who is so rude.”

The little lamb bleated.

She turned to the beast, and said vehemently, “You dinna ken what you’re askin’ of me, Fia! I will not wed this brute. Not for Scotland, not for my brothers, not for peace, nor anythin’ else at all.”

Lyon blinked in the face of her ridiculous tirade.

She couldn’t be serious.

She certainly looked serious.

She was talking to the beast as though it could comprehend what she was saying. And the animal turned away, looking for all the world disgusted with her reply. If Lyon didn’t know better, he might have imagined the two were actually communicating.

He frowned as he looked from one to the other.

What the devil was he thinking? They couldn’t possibly be conversing. It was inconceivable.

Unless she truly was mad?

Something about the way she peered up at him then, the shrewd sparkle in those beautiful deep-green eyes, gave him pause. She watched him expectantly, and seemed to be searching his expression. And it struck him of a sudden... she wasn’t talking to the bloody animal at all. She was contriving. Cunning wench. She was using Baldwin’s insult to her gain.

Well, it wasn’t going to work, because he was suddenly resolved to his plan. He wanted peace and was willing to sacrifice for it—particularly so when the sacrifice would make such a lovely bedfellow.

“Very well,” Lyon exclaimed. “The more the merrier. We shall simply bring your grammie along, too.”

It was her turn to blink in stupefaction, and Lyon could but grin at her startled expression.

“We will?”

“Aye,” he said exuberantly. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for having insulted your lovely grandmother. She does indeed know best,” he declared.

She narrowed her eyes, and gave him a look of apprehension that made him smile. “She does?”

He winked at her. “Of course she does. I can tell she’s a very wise woman, besides.”

“You can?”

“Aye! And only consider the good we shall accomplish, you and I, if we follow your sweet grandmother’s counsel.”

“We shall?” Meghan blinked. Somehow, this plan had gone terribly awry.

“If you can but forgive my churlishness,” he continued, “and agree to be my bride... you and I shall put an end to this feud once and for all. Only think of it. No more fighting—peace to all.”

Meghan lifted a brow. She doubted that; men were born to fight. She frowned. Rot and curse him, he didn’t have to present it quite so nobly.

And yet, he spoke true enough. The feuding would indeed be over, her brothers would be safe—and she would be doing Alison a favor besides.

Still, she wasn’t quite willing to give up her yarn. “Fia can come too?” she asked with lifted brows.

He nodded. “I give you my word,” he answered much too soberly. “I shall do my utmost to make your grandmother welcome in my home.”

Meghan’s brows collided. “You will?”

He didn’t have to be so blessed accommodating. It wasn’t so easy to dislike him this way.

Nor was it easy to think when he smiled at her so engagingly.

His blue eyes flickered with amusement.

At her expense?

She thought so, but was unwilling to sound the retreat as yet. Stubborn she might be, but there was much to be said for sheer determination.

“And what of my brothers?” Meghan persisted.

“We shall invite them to the wedding, of course,” he answered blithely.

Meghan winced at the very notion. She could scarcely imagine her brothers being so conciliatory. “They would dine upon your eyes and feast upon your tongue,” she apprised with absolute certainty. “Even were I to agree to such a thing, my brothers would never concede.”

“We shall see,” he said, and then instructed Baldwin to retrieve his mount. Baldwin did as he was told without another word. “And don’t forget grammie,” Montgomerie called after him.

Baldwin gave him a harried glance, but turned and went after the lamb. If Meghan hadn’t been so distressed, she might have had to laugh at Baldwin, clad in his shiny silver mail, chasing after a bald little lamb.

“You cannot simply take me,” she protested, when it seemed he was serious. “Not without giving me the chance to speak to my brothers. They will never agree to this.”

“Then we shall find a way to convince them,” he told her, and spurred his mount, drawing her firmly against him.

“Never,” Meghan vowed, and shoved away from him. “Never!”