Page 14 of Marry the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #1)

CHAPTER 14

The Great Hall was noisier than usual as Conall made his way to his seat the next morning. He could hear the excitement, the undercurrent of chatter as servants, guards, and councilmen chattered about the upcoming wedding.

He scowled. There was no point in delaying the announcement he knew he must make. Especially when he saw Brigid entering the hall, dressed in a green day dress that in no way resembled proper wedding attire—to say nothing of the fact that tradition dictated that the couple could not see each other until the actual ceremony.

He rose from his seat and cleared his throat. Silence fell over the hall, curious eyes fixed on him.

“I ken ye’re all expectin’ a wedding today,” he began. “But my betrothed has asked me to delay the ceremony until her kinfolk—her sisters, for those of ye who might be thinkin’ otherwise— arrive. I’ve chosen to grant her request, so we’ll be holdin’ the wedding the day after they arrive, whenever that might be.”

He sat back down abruptly as he reached the end of his short speech, resolutely ignoring the whispers that immediately broke out around him.

Ignoring whispers was an old habit by now, and it was made all the easier by the way Brigid smiled and reached across the table to touch his hand in gratitude, her face glowing with happiness.

A cup of strong tea accompanied by thick strips of bacon, sliced bread, and porridge appeared before him, carried by a maid who did not meet his eyes. Conall ate heartily. He was just finishing his third cup and considering a tankard of mead to complete the meal when Oliver approached, his expression thunderous.

“Conall. There are some men at the gates.”

Conall frowned. “Men? Nae women?”

“Nae women.”

Oliver’s hand tightened around the shaft of his favorite axe, and Conall’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew who was at the gates without even having to see them.

“I’m thinkin’ ye should meet them yerself,” his brother added, his hand still clutching the axe.

Conall nodded and rose from his seat. “Stay on guard, Oliver.”

Oliver nodded curtly, but Conall didn’t miss the bitter look his brother sent in Brigid’s direction, and it further confirmed his suspicions as to who his unexpected ‘guests’ might be.

He clenched his jaw and strode toward the front gates of the castle, with Oliver trailing behind.

The gates were open, but the guards all had their weapons drawn and pointed loosely at the men standing just beyond the walls.

The figure at the head of the group, standing there with a cold, snake-like smile on his face, was familiar, and the very sight of him made the blood in Conall’s veins boil.

Eric Holdenson, Laird Auchter, the man who’d sent Brigid here without so much as a second thought.

The guards let him through, and Conall stopped just in front of him but well back. From where he stood, he could see that Laird Auchter and all his men had their sword hilts bound with thongs, signifying peaceful intentions.

Let’s see if they actually mean it.

“What do ye want?” he demanded, taking a step forward and refusing to allow Auchter to approach any further.

“A bit of respect would be a good start,” Auchter replied with a shrug. “Am I nae a laird too, Laird MacKane?”

The man was thin and slightly stooped, with long, graying hair and dark green eyes that glittered coldly in his lined face. Despite his age, he faced Conall with an air of assurance that only served to increase Conall’s hatred.

“Ye may be, but it doesnae explain why ye’re at my gates, uninvited and unannounced,” Conall snarled. “Ye’re nae wanted nor welcome here. So, if I were ye, I’d either state my business or be gone.”

“Is that any way to speak to a man who’s about to become yer kin by marriage?” Auchter sneered, arrogant and far too sure of himself for Conall’s liking. “I’m here for my granddaughter’s wedding, of course. To make sure ye honor the terms of the truce between our clans.”

“Ye werenae invited. An’ ye never would be,” Connor spat, stunned by the sheer arrogance of the man.

“My granddaughter might have requested my presence. It would be only natural, would it nae, for her to want some of her kin at her wedding?”

Conall snorted contemptuously. “I’ve spoken to yer granddaughter, old man—which I’m given to understand is more than ye ever did. Ye dinnae care for her feelings. If ye did, ye would never have sent her here. An’ for tellin’ such a lie, I ought to tak’ yer head and give it to my future wife as a wedding present. And that’s to say nothing of what ye did to my brother.”

“But ye cannae harm me, can ye?” Auchter replied, a mixture of triumph and cold disdain on his weather-beaten face. “Ye took my granddaughter and agreed to wed her. A life for a life. Ye have nay right to draw so much as a drop of my blood. If ye so much as try, ye’ll trigger a war between our clans.”

“Mayhap. But it doesnae mean I have to welcome ye to my home, either,” Conall replied, his voice steady.

“I have a right to attend the wedding, to see that the bond is honored and that my granddaughter is bein’ well looked after.”

Conall’s lip curled in disgust at the audacity of the man in pretending that he cared for a woman he hadn’t even met.

“Ye dinnae give a wooden farthing for her sake,” he replied tightly. “Ye’d never have sent her to me if ye did—nae without bargainin’ for her safety first.”

“I still have a right to attend the wedding,” Auchter said, unperturbed. “For the sake of my clan.”

Auchter started toward him, but, at a signal from Conall, the guards surrounding him stepped forward at the same time, weapons at the ready.

Auchter stiffened. “Ye cannae deny me entrance. I have a right to be here, MacKane.”

“I can deny ye anything I like,” Conall retorted. “The wedding’s been delayed until my betrothed’s true kinfolk arrive. I dinnae expect that to happen today, and thus I dinnae have to let ye set one foot on the stones of my home.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Go. If ye’re still here within a quarter candlemark, I’ll have my archers send ye on the way with arrows in yer arse… or somewhere else. An’ if I see ye at my gates again, then I’ll consider it an attack.”

“Ye cannae?—”

“Aye, I can. And I will. Appear at my gates again, and I’ll have nay option but to do whatever’s necessary to protect my clan. And then ye’ll be a dead man—peace and kin ties or nae.”

Eric Holdenson—Conall had no desire to consider him a laird at the moment—scowled. But Conall’s men refused to step aside, and Conall himself had no intention of relenting.

Eventually, the older man took a step back. “Ye cannae deny me access to my kinfolk,” he repeated, sounding less sure of himself this time.

“If she wanted to see ye, she’d have already been here, I think,” Conall replied, his hand still on the hilt of his sword.

That wasn’t strictly true, of course. Brigid had no idea who was at the gates, and who was to say how she’d react if she did? However, he saw no reason Holdenson had to know that.

“Now, get ye gone,” Conall told the older man, his eyes narrowed. “Yer time’s almost up.”

Holdenson scowled, but he knew Conall well enough to know that he meant what he said. He took one last step back, then turned and stalked away toward his men, his shoulders rigid with anger.

Conall watched him go, a grim feeling settling over him like a gray cloak.

Whatever he’s plannin’, it isnae over yet.

Brigid wasn’t sure why she felt the need to follow Conall as he made his way out of the Great Hall. Perhaps it was the tension in his shoulders or the grim expression on his face that told her that whoever was at the gates, they weren’t exactly welcome. Whatever the reason, she found herself creeping out the side door of the castle as soon as her betrothed was out of sight, then across the grounds to a vantage point between the stables and the walls, where she could clearly see the front gates.

By the time she got there, Conall was standing in front of the gates, surrounded by guards and facing an older man Brigid had never seen before. The newcomer wore the torc of a laird and the same colors as the men who’d abducted her from her home—a sight that made her body turn cold with fear. His hair was almost the same shade of gray as the slate-colored walls around them, but his eyes…

Brigid sucked in a breath when she saw his eyes. They were the same green shade as her own. And his build… it wasn’t hers, but she could see the similarities to Lily and Megan’s builds. The man’s features were more angular and far more weathered, stamped with a sort of coldness she’d never seen in her sisters. But even there, she could see the faint resemblance.

He must be her grandfather, the man she’d been told she was going to meet almost ten days ago. Laird Auchter.

She crept closer until the low murmur of voices resolved into words. “… life for a life. Ye have nay right to draw so much as a drop of my blood.”

Conall said something in response, but Brigid could barely stand to listen. Even from where she stood, she could see the icy expression on the older man’s face. She understood, with sick certainty, that he was not here for her sake—that he cared nothing for her, despite the tie of blood between them. She was simply a tool with which to secure a truce, however hard he tried to convince Conall otherwise with clever words and a honeyed tongue.

She was so focused on the two men she was watching that she didn’t realize anyone else was there until a strong hand closed about her upper arm with enough force to bruise the tender skin. She gasped as the person turned her roughly around, and she came face to face with Oliver.

The younger man’s face was set in a sharp scowl, his eyes fierce and so dark with anger and suspicion that they looked almost black. “’Tis nae polite nor wise to eavesdrop, lass.” His voice was a low growl, anger and derision thick in every word.

Brigid winced, both at his cutting tone and his tight grip on her arm. “Please. Ye’re hurtin’ me…”

His grip loosened ever so slightly, but he didn’t let her go, and his eyes softened not a whit. Brigid bit her lip with frustration.

She’d only interacted with Oliver Barr a few times since she’d arrived here, even though she and Emily were becoming fast friends. The few times they had spoken, he’d said as little as possible, his words short and clipped and his tone hostile. He seemed angrier every time he saw her—angry and disgusted by her very presence. She understood something of it, after her confrontation with the guards, but even so, his dislike hurt.

“What?” Oliver snapped. “Why are ye starin’ at me like that? Disappointed I caught ye spyin’ on my brother, are ye?”

“Nay. It isnae that.” Brigid took a breath. “It’s just that I dinnae understand why ye seem to hate me so much? I ken there’s bad blood between ye and my grandfather, but?—”

“Ye ken nothing, or ye’d nae have to ask,” Oliver snarled.

Brigid would have quailed at the venom in his voice, had he not been holding her so tightly.

“Yer grandfather murdered my younger brother in cold blood, for nay reason other than the pleasure of fightin’. And now he throws ye to us like a man throwin’ a dog he’s beaten a bone and expects ye to tame us. It may work on Conall, but I’m nae so easily swayed. And I’ll never forgive him for what he did.”

“I… I dinnae…” Brigid swallowed hard. “I ken ye’re angry. But I dinnae even ken that man. ’Tis the first time I’ve ever so much as laid eyes on him. ’Tis nae as if I have any loyalty to him—nay more than he’s ever shown to me. And I didnae choose this fate, nor do I intend to help him. So, why must ye continue to hate me so much?”

“Because ye’re Auchter’s blood,” Oliver replied simply. “I dinnae need any other reason. But if I did, my brother’s death would be reason enough for me to hate ye and every last one of yer bloody-minded kin.”

Tears stung Brigid’s eyes. First her father, now her grandfather.

Will I always be judged by the sins of others? By things I have nay control over? My father, I almost understand, for he had some say in our upbringing afore his death, even though he was gone much of the time, voyagin’. But I dinnae even ken my grandfather! He might be my kin, but I dinnae ken him from a seventh cousin three times removed. He’s a perfect stranger, and one I have neither love for nor loyalty towards, seein’ how he abandoned us to the hardships of bein’ clanless, even after my father died!

“Stop.” Oliver shook her slightly. “I’ll nae be softened or fooled by false tears any more than I will by yer pretty face.”

“I—”

“Oliver,” a new voice interrupted, and both of them looked around to see Emily glaring at her husband, her arms folded. “Let go of her this instant,” she said in an icy tone that Brigid had never heard from her before. “There’s nay call for ye to be terrorizin’ poor Brigid so.”

Oliver’s scowl deepened, but he did at least obey his wife and let go of Brigid’s arm—albeit reluctantly. Emily came and put a soothing arm around her friend’s shoulders.

“Never mind my husband,” she said gently. “He’s been in a temper—nae unfairly, mind, for ’tis how some men mourn—since his brother passed. And havin’ that man at the gates willnae improve his mood.”

Something had happened while they were talking, because even as Brigid, Emily, and Oliver watched, Laird Auchter turned and strode away, his steps hard and heavy like those of someone who had failed to achieve whatever it was he had come for.

Brigid found herself somewhat amused by the man’s petulance.

Emily made an approving noise. “There. Ye see now, Laird MacKane has sent him off, and well he should. So there’s nay more need for snarlin’ and snappin’.”

She cast a warning glance in her husband’s direction, before waving him off.

“Go on,” she said in a tone that allowed no argument. “Go and commiserate with yer brother. Help him make the necessary plans, for ’tis certain the snake will be back before long, since he seems to think he has a right to be here. In the meantime, I need to speak to Brigid. In private, Oliver.”

Brigid bit her lip again. She wanted to go to Conall and ask if that had really been her grandfather, and what he had wanted if so. However, she was also reluctant to approach him with her questions.

Oliver’s fierce temper had reminded her that Conall had a temper of his own, and one that was likely to be little better than his brother’s after the encounter he just had with his sworn enemy. Under the circumstances, it was probably best not to approach him just yet.

However, no sooner had the thought entered her head than she shook it sharply, berating herself. Had she not promised to give Conall the benefit of the doubt just the night before? A poor showing, it was, if she was too afraid to approach him now simply because he might be angered by someone else’s actions.

She might not be as brave as Megan, who hunted wild boar on occasion, or Valerie, who had sailed the seas with their father, but she had courage enough to brave the stares and whispers of the townsfolk at home. She could risk Conall’s temperament, she was sure.

She gave Emily a smile and freed herself from her embrace.

“Actually, Emily, it might be best if ye speak with yer husband and I speak with my betrothed. After all, this is a matter that involves me, and I should get used to speakin’ to him if my grand—if Laird Auchter is determined to disturb us on my account.”

Emily smiled. “There’s a bonny plan. Aye. I’ll speak with ye later about the questions I have.”

Without further ado, she took her husband’s arm and began to steer him toward the castle.

Brigid watched them go, then took a deep breath and went to speak to Conall about the man whose face she’d just seen for the very first time in her life.