Page 4 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

THE TWO LADS rolled around on the floor, their squeals and shouts lifting to the rafters.

“Cease this!” the laird shouted, his voice slicing through their play-fighting.

Immediately, the boys obeyed, springing apart as if someone had just emptied a bucket of cold water over them. Entering the room behind Maclean, Kylie abruptly halted.

Meanwhile, a thin, pale lass with wispy blonde hair and a cowed expression stood behind the bairns. “I’m sorry, Maclean,” she gasped, wringing her hands together. “I tried to get them to stop … but they wouldn’t listen. They—”

“Don’t fash yerself, Esme,” he cut the lass off, his gaze never leaving the bairns, who now exchanged guilty looks. “The entire broch could hear ye two. It sounded as if two cats were being skinned in here.”

The harshness of his tone made Kylie wince. It was as if he were addressing his warriors, rather than his sons .

The taller boy—a handsome lad with a mop of auburn hair, mischievous green eyes, and an impish face—lowered his gaze. “I was just teaching Lyle his place, Da,” he muttered.

“Ye aren’t the laird of me,” the smaller lad retorted, wiping his sleeve at his runny nose. Lyle was of a stockier build than his brother, his hair walnut brown, his eyes blue.

“Aye, I am!” Ailean dug him hard in the side with an elbow.

Lyle let out a squawk before stomping his foot down upon his brother’s, and Ailean retaliated by putting his younger brother into a headlock.

“Enough!” Maclean snarled, and the lads sprang apart once more. “Any more squabbling and I’ll bash yer heads together.” They both flushed red at this, but their father plowed on. “Is this how ye behave in the presence of a lady?”

Both boys looked Kylie’s way then, marking her presence for the first time. In return, she nodded to them, not sure whether to smile or school her features into a stern expression. One look at these two and she could see they were trouble; it was clear they ran rings around the hapless lass, Esme, who’d been trying to marshal them.

All the same, Maclean didn’t need to roar at them like a bull. She could tell he was exasperated, and likely on edge after the incident in the barmkin, but that was no excuse.

“Lady Grant will be yer duenna from now on,” the laird announced then, ignorant of her misgivings.

“Duenna?” Ailean frowned, while his younger brother stared at Kylie with unabashed curiosity.

“Aye, it a bit like a companion … for older bairns,” Kylie explained, relieved to be able to move on from scolding. Ba ck at Moy Castle, Kylie’s sisters had teased Maclean that he needed an Iberian ‘duenna’—a stern older lady who usually chaperoned lasses—to take his wayward sons in hand. Their mother, who hailed from Iberia, had told them of such women. It was then that Kylie had offered him her services.

“And I’ve given her permission to take a birch wand to yer arses if ye play up,” Maclean added.

Both lads paled at this, and Esme made an anguished noise in the back of her throat, while Kylie stiffened. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” she assured him.

“Well, if they disrespect ye, let me know,” he replied curtly, “and I will tan their hides.”

Kylie pursed her lips. She had little experience with fathers and sons, for she’d grown up with four sisters and had no bairns of her own, but she couldn’t imagine her father speaking to any of his children this way.

Maclean had done a fine job during supper of appearing calm and collected; however, the man was clearly still riled, and his sons had unwittingly stoked his temper.

Her breathing grew shallow then. Had she misjudged him? When they’d met at Moy, she’d found him a tolerant, even-tempered man. But she’d only just arrived, and he’d already shattered the illusion. Did she really want to work for him?

Another, awkward, silence settled in the chamber then, before Kylie realized that Lyle was gazing, wide-eyed, at her. “Ye are bonnie,” he blurted out.

“Milksop,” Ailean sneered at his brother.

“I am not,” Lyle answered, pushing his lower lip out. Suddenly, the wee lad looked as if he might burst into tears .

Kylie’s chest constricted. The bairn was only four summers old and motherless. Couldn’t his brother and father be gentler with him?

“Lady Grant is to be listened to and respected,” the laird replied, his tone clipped now. “She will teach ye letters and numbers … and French .”

Both lads looked nonplussed by this announcement, although Esme’s blue eyes went as round as moons.

“I don’t want to study,” Ailean muttered under his breath. “I want to learn to fight and ride a horse.”

“I don’t care what ye want.” Maclean took a menacing step toward his son then, and Ailean visibly wilted under his father’s censure. “By God’s rood, ye and Lyle will learn some manners. By Yuletide, ye shall both read, write, and do basic sums. I also expect ye to greet and have an exchange with me in francais .”

Neither of the lads argued with this, although the tears in Lyle’s eyes now glistened, and Ailean’s jaw had set.

Kylie’s belly clenched as her gaze flicked between the bairns and their stone-faced father.

Mother Mary, what have I done?

“Still no regrets about accepting this position?”

Kylie glanced up from where she was hanging the last of her kirtles upon a peg on the wall. In truth, she did, but pride meant she wouldn’t admit such to her sister. “Not yet,” she replied lightly, even as a queasiness rolled over her. Liar .

“Ye don’t sound convinced.” Makenna, who’d just finished bathing behind a screen in the corner of the chamber, now sat upon the bed they’d share. Her legs were tucked underneath her as she sat in her night-rail, combing out her wet hair.

“That’s because it’s too early to tell.”

“How did meeting his sons go?”

“A little awkward.” Hades, that was an understatement. “It will take a while for my charges to warm to me … to trust me.” She paused then, swallowing a grimace. “Unfortunately, their father seems exasperated by them.”

Makenna’s brows raised. “Aye?”

Immediately, Kylie wished she hadn’t made such an admission. Her sister’s moss-green eyes were now bright with curiosity.

“He’s probably still on edge after breaking up that fight earlier,” she said, brushing lint off the kirtles now hanging from the wall.

“Aye, although there might be more to it than that,” Makenna replied. “He was widowed not too long ago, remember? Perhaps he still grieves.” She paused then, eyes narrowing slightly. “Ye two chatted a little on the way up from Craignure. Did he speak of his wife?”

Kylie stilled at this. She hadn’t considered that sorrow might be the reason for Maclean’s volatile temper. “No … and I wouldn’t expect him to.” In her experience, love matches were rare. Her parents were still blissfully content, even after nearly four decades together, but most unions amongst the high-born were contracts made to strengthen clan alliances and gain lands.

“I’m surprised he isn’t looking for another wife,” Makenna replied before giving a jaw-cracking yawn. “A man in his position needs one. ”

Kylie cut her sister a sharp look. “We shouldn’t gossip about Maclean,” she said, her tone clipped now. “Such matters are his business, not ours.”

Makenna made a rude noise in the back of her throat. “Ye are tetchy this eve, sister … are ye sure ye want to remain at Dounarwyse?”

“Of course … I’m not going to let a grumpy laird and his rowdy sons cow me.” Kylie’s stomach clenched. Lord, for all her fighting talk, she was intimidated. Avoiding her sister’s eye, she crossed to the bed then, throwing back the covers, and climbing in. The bed ropes creaked under her weight as she settled herself.

Makenna finished combing out her hair and climbed into bed too. She then lowered the cover over the lantern, plunging the chamber into darkness.

Silence fell between the sisters, and fatigue dragged at Kylie’s limbs. She let out a long, deep sigh. It had been an exhausting day.

“Did Maclean give ye a tour of the broch?” Makenna asked finally, wisely changing course.

“Aye … he showed me all three levels of the tower house,” Kylie answered, “and then we took a walk around the ramparts together.” A little of the tension in her chest unknotted. It was a relief to talk about the things that had gone well today. “I also met Tara, the laird’s sister-by-marriage.”

Jack’s flame-haired wife, and their wee daughters, didn’t reside in the broch with the laird; instead, their quarters were in the largest of the guard towers.

“And did ye warm to her? ”

“Very much so,” Kylie replied honestly. “She appeared friendly … and it will be good to have another woman my own age to spend time with when I’m not looking after the laird’s bairns.”

“So, the first lesson is tomorrow?”

“Aye.”

Makenna nudged her with an elbow. “Nervous?”

Kylie snorted, even as her chest tightened. Curse her, why had her sister turned the conversation back to uncomfortable matters? She’d never tutored anyone before, let alone two naughty lads. Until now, she hadn’t given the lessons much thought, but after meeting Ailean and Lyle, she dreaded teaching them. “Not at all.”

Makenna made an irritated sound in the back of her throat. “Ye don’t have to always appear so stoic, ye know? I saw yer face when ye watched the brawl downstairs. I won’t think any less of ye, if ye admit ye’re scared.”

“I’m not!”

Her sister huffed an exasperated sigh. “Christ’s bones, ye have such a tough shell.”

Heat rolled over Kylie. “And ye don’t?”

“We aren’t talking about me .”

Kylie pulled a face, knowing Makenna couldn’t see her in the darkness. “Maybe we should discuss yer situation, instead,” she replied, adopting the ‘elder sister’ voice she knew vexed Makenna. “I asked ye two days ago if Da had settled a wedding date for ye, but ye pretended not to hear me.”

Makenna muttered an oath under her breath. “I should have known ye’d bring that up again.”

“And?” Kylie pressed. “Has he? ”

“He’s sent Bran Mackinnon a missive … inviting him to travel to Meggernie at Bealtunn,” her sister finally replied, her tone cooling. “The wedding will take place then.”

“That sounds like progress.”

“Is it? I’m hoping Mackinnon won’t answer him.”

Kylie scowled. Sometimes her sister could be vexingly argumentative. “He will respond … and ye will become his wife.”

Makenna made a stubborn noise in the back of her throat. “On the contrary, when he discovers Da has tricked him, he’ll refuse to honor the agreement his father struck.”

“No, he won’t.”

“Well, I don’t want to wed him,” Makenna shot back, her ire rising now. “I’m needed at Meggernie. Ye haven’t visited in a long while … ye don’t know how bad things have gotten with the Campbells of late.”

Kylie heaved a sigh, even as worry curdled her belly. She’d grown up under the shadow of feuding between the two clans, yet hadn’t realized the situation had worsened. Nonetheless, she wouldn’t let this news distract her. “All the more reason why ye must wed Mackinnon,” she said firmly. “They’re a powerful clan, and Da needs allies more than ever.”

“I thought ye of all people would understand how I feel,” Makenna ground out. “Ye hate the idea of ever marrying again.”

“Hate is a strong word. I never—”

“Yer mouth purses like ye just supped vinegar every time anyone suggests ye take another husband,” Makenna cut her off. “Ye wish to choose yer own path, but I’m not allowed to. ”

Kylie glared at her sister in the darkness, forcing herself to swallow her anger as if it were a lump of gristle. Makenna truly tried her patience at times. Seven years separated the sisters, as did much life experience. Kylie had dedicated a decade to a bad marriage while so far Makenna had avoided any such commitment.

Kylie had earned her freedom. Her sister had not.

Her chest started to ache then as ire pulsed under her breastbone. Just once, she’d have liked to let herself go. Other people lost their temper when provoked, but Kylie didn’t. Instead, she merely swallowed it, choosing to simmer in silence. And it cost her—every time.

And so, Makenna didn’t receive the sharp edge of her tongue, just silent judgment.

“Ye didn’t tell me MacDougall has become a problem.”

Jack screwed up his face. “He hasn’t been … until today.”

The brothers stood together in the solar, the fire crackling behind them

“Really?” Rae flashed Jack a skeptical look and handed him a cup of wine before carrying his own to one of the high-backed chairs before the fire. Storm had sat down by the laird’s chair and was now scratching. Rae nudged him with his toe, and he halted before leaning into his master .

And when Rae glanced Jack’s way once more, he noted the deep groove that had etched between his eyebrows. “Aye, he’s gotten a trifle mouthy of late,” his brother admitted after a pause, “And I’d noted he could be hot-tempered … but I didn’t think he’d try and throttle anyone.”

Rae scowled. The scene that had greeted them upon their return home had been unacceptable, and he was still stewing over it—among other things.

What a terrible first impression Kylie Grant must have had of Dounarwyse. Certainly, his sons’ feral behavior hadn’t helped either.

Or yer vile temper.

Shame prickled his skin. No, he hadn’t shown the best side of himself when he’d introduced Ailean and Lyle to their tutor. His blood had still been up, after dealing with MacDougall, but that wasn’t any excuse. In truth, his sons had embarrassed him, and he’d lashed out.

He wouldn’t be surprised if, the next time he saw her, Lady Grant announced she wished to leave.

His breathing grew shallow at the thought. Cods . He’d made a mess of things.

Raising his cup to his lips, he took a deep draft, welcoming the burn in the back of his throat. However, it wasn’t enough. Right now, he felt like flinging the cup across his solar and watching it bounce against the wall.

It was all getting too much.

“Discipline is vital,” he said finally, dragging his attention back to the conversation at hand. Storm nudged him with his nose, and he absently reached down, stroking the Highland collie’s thick, wiry coat. “Dounarwyse is only as strong as the men defending it. ”

Jack nodded, even if faint spots of color rose upon his high cheekbones. He thought Rae was criticizing him, but he wasn’t. It was himself he was angry with. If there was a problem with discipline within his broch, he had to deal with it.

Considering the situation, he swirled the dregs of his wine absently in his cup. Before them, the fire glowed in the hearth. It was getting late, and despite that it was still summer, the air was cool this eve. “MacDougall’s a troublemaker,” he said finally before taking another large swallow. “If ye catch him misbehaving again, haul him up to see me.”