Page 5 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

AN AWKWARD SILENCE stretched out inside the chieftain’s solar, one that only served to put Kylie further on edge.

From now on, she was to break her fast each morning with the laird of Dounarwyse and his sons. And since Makenna was a guest, she had joined them this morning as well.

Maclean sat at the head of the table, eating his porridge, while his sons toyed with theirs. Both the lads kept shooting their father nervous glances, but the laird ignored them. His gaze was focused on the opposite wall as he ate, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.

However, Kylie noted the laird’s shadowed eyes and tense jaw. There was an air about him that was almost … sad. Meanwhile, his collie, Storm, sat faithfully at Maclean’s side, hopeful that his master might share a morsel with him.

Buttering a wedge of bannock, Kylie met her sister’s eye.

Makenna raised a questioning eyebrow, making it clear that she too had marked the tension at the table .

Is every morning like this?

Shifting her attention across to where Ailean now scowled down at his half-eaten porridge as if it had done him an injustice, and then to where Lyle was stirring his as if it were a bucket of grout, spilling it over the sides of his bowl, Kylie let out a soft sigh.

“Is something amiss, Lady Grant?”

Her chin kicked right. To her consternation, she found Maclean’s attention fixed upon her. Moments earlier, he’d been worlds away, but now, his gaze was sharply focused.

“No,” she replied quickly—too quickly. Heat flushed over her at the lie. “I slept heavily last night and am still a little tired, that is all.”

“Was the bed comfortable enough?”

“Aye … very.”

Cutting his attention away, the laird picked up a cup of the watered-down ale the servants had brought up with the porridge and bannocks and took a sip. “Good … if ye need anything, let me know.”

“I shall … thank ye.”

He took another sip of ale. “Ye will take yer lessons with my lads in the lady’s solar.”

Kylie nodded, even as a sickly sensation washed over her. She had no idea how she was going to approach the laird’s wayward sons.

“Ye will find wooden boards and sticks of charcoal waiting for ye on the table,” he went on, oblivious to her dread. “As well as an abacus.”

“Thank ye. ”

Another ponderous silence settled in the solar, and Kylie was aware then of two sets of eyes observing her from across the table. Lyle and Ailean were both watching her boldly. She’d need her wits about her this morning.

“Maclean,” Makenna spoke up, after swallowing a mouthful of bannock. She then broke off a bit of the large griddle scone and fed it to Storm. The dog wolfed it down in an instant. “It’s been too long since I swung a sword. Might I train with the Dounarwyse Guard this morning?”

That got the laird’s attention. Likewise, his sons’ gazes snapped to Makenna. The lads now stared at her as if she’d just turned into a toad before their eyes.

Kylie clenched her jaw and silently cursed her sister.

She should have known Makenna would make such a request. She lived to fight and had complained on the trip here that she was afraid of getting rusty. Her sister’s ‘mannish ways’ were a bone of contention between them. With her wedding imminent, Kylie felt it was time for Makenna to put down her blades, yet she stubbornly refused.

Kylie cleared her throat, drawing both her sister’s and the laird’s attention. “This isn’t Meggernie, Makenna,” she murmured, censure creeping into her voice. “Jack Maclean and his men might not like having ye training with them.”

This comment made the chieftain’s lips tug into a wry half-smile. “On the contrary, my brother appreciates women with a spine.” He picked up his cup of ale then and drained it. “Nonetheless, I suggest ye ask his permission first.”

Makenna smiled back at him. “Then, I shall.”

“Ye fight with the men?” Ailean asked, his young voice high-pitched with incredulity .

“Aye, lad,” Makenna replied, her moss-green eyes warm. “Back at Meggernie Castle, I proudly serve in my father’s Guard.”

“Do ye have a sword?” Lyle asked.

“Aye … a longsword, as well as a dirk and a bow.”

“Does yer sword have a name?” The wee lad asked, his tone hushed with awe.

Makenna favored him with a wink. “Of course … it’s called ‘Arsebiter’.”

Both boys burst out into peals of laughter at this, while their father snorted.

“Really?” Amusement laced Rae Maclean’s voice. “ That’s its name?”

Makenna nodded, grinning. “And it has pierced many a Campbell hide, I can tell ye.”

“Da’s broadsword is named ‘Honorsteel,” Ailean announced, his chest puffing out.

“Aye … that’s a fine name,” Makenna admitted. “Isn’t that similar to the Maclean motto?”

“Virtue Mine Honor,” Lyle shouted, his apple cheeks flushing.

The enthusiasm of both lads was endearing, yet Kylie wasn’t entertained by this scene. Instead, trepidation had now lodged in her gut like a lump of iron. Hades, how would she ever live up to the impression her sister had just made on Maclean’s sons?

“Is that my name?”

“Aye … A … I … L … E … A … N,” Kylie replied, handing the boy a nub of charcoal. “Now, I want ye to copy it.” A wooden board, made of sanded pine, sat between them.

The lad pulled a mutinous face and put the charcoal down. “This is stupid.” Beside him, Lyle sniggered.

The two brothers exchanged glances, and Kylie’s heart started to thump against the cage of her ribs.

Aye, they’d already decided they wouldn’t cooperate. Kylie had spoken to Esme before the lesson, and the maid had regaled her with tales about what terrors the laird’s sons were; how they never listened to her and often became rebellious the moment she asked something of them. The relief in the lass’s eyes—that they were someone else’s problem now—had been palpable. Esme usually worked as the broch’s chambermaid and seemed to prefer emptying privies and cleaning out hearths to marshaling the laird’s rumbunctious sons.

Kylie didn’t blame her. Right now, she too would rather be scrubbing floors than playing cat and mouse with these two. “Why is it stupid?” she asked finally, silently uttering a prayer to the Virgin Mary for patience.

“I don’t need to write my name,” Ailean replied, his jaw tightening. “I only need to learn how to wield a sword and fight.”

“And ride a horse,” his brother piped up, eyes shining as his elder brother led the charge.

“Aye,” Ailean replied, his manner smug now. “Only monks need to learn their letters.”

“Really?”

“Aye. ”

Kylie drew in a deep breath, silently counting to ten, before an idea came to her. “Yer father writes.”

Ailean shrugged. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t ye want to be like him?”

The lad’s expression shadowed then, and Kylie swallowed a smile. She had him there. Rae Maclean might be growly with his sons, but they both clearly adored him.

“Well, if ye want to grow up to be as strong and wise as yer Da, ye will need to learn yer letters and numbers,” she replied triumphantly. She shifted her attention to his brother then. “Do ye wish to be like the laird, Lyle?”

The cherub-faced lad’s blue eyes glinted. “Aye.”

“Well … since yer brother isn’t interested in following yer Da’s lead, do ye wish to learn how to spell yer name?”

Lyle nodded eagerly.

Another jolt of victory thrilled through Kylie. She’d hit the mark in two areas this morning. The first was the love the lads had for their father, and the second was the competitiveness between them. She’d had little experience with bairns yet followed her instincts now. If she had to use the rivalry between the two boys as a weapon, she would.

“Very well, shall we—”

“Ye asked me first,” Ailean burst out, pink spots of indignation rising to his cheeks.

“I did,” she replied. “But ye weren’t interested, so—”

“I am!”

Kylie inclined her head, careful to keep her expression inscrutable. She had the wee imp. She then gestured to the nub of charcoal Ailean had set down earlier. “Go on then, let’s see ye write yer name. ”

Standing by the window of the lady’s solar, enjoying the warm breeze that feathered across her face, Kylie looked on as her charges copied out the alphabet.

Neither lad looked overly happy about the chore. However, their faces were now screwed up in concentration, their fingers clenching around the sticks of charcoal as they wrote. A smile tugged at the edges of her mouth as she watched them. Maybe she could handle these two, after all. After a slow start, the morning had flown, and the rumbling of Kylie’s belly warned her that the noon meal was approaching.

Frankly, despite that there was a glimmer of hope now, she was looking forward to the morning’s lessons ending. She felt wrung out. Both lads had questioned every instruction she gave, but she’d held fast. She couldn’t let them think that their ‘duenna’ was going to burst into tears and run from the room if they played up.

The rough shouts of men drew her attention then, and she glanced away from her charges, out the window, her gaze traveling down to the barmkin. Captain Maclean was taking his men through drills.

Kylie stiffened.

Makenna was amongst them.

Standing tall—despite that she was actually the shortest of all five MacGregor sisters—the morning sun catching the red highlights in her long braided hair, her sister held a bound blade in her right hand while she listened to Jack’s instructions. Unlike the other warriors, who were all dressed in fighting leathers, Makenna cut an incongruous sight in her finely made kirtle, with its long skirt slit at the sides. Her only other concession to practicality was that she wasn’t wearing a restrictive surcote this morning; instead, she’d donned a tight-fitting leather vest, laced at the front, and wore leather bracers to protect her wrists and forearms.

And, unsurprisingly, most of the guards were gaping at her.

As Kylie looked on, her sister leaped forward and began sparring with an opponent. The rhythmic thud of the bound blades colliding echoed through the yard.

“God’s bones.” The oath burst out of Kylie before she could stop it. “Why does she need to draw such attention to herself?” The sisters were so different. Whereas Kylie went through life trying to fit in, Makenna went out of her way to stand out. And it didn’t matter how many times Kylie viewed her behavior with a jaundiced eye, or murmured a reproach, Makenna did what she liked without a thought to how it might impact others.

Selfish .

Resentment arrowed through her then. Soon, Makenna would depart Dounarwyse, but Kylie would remain; it was she who would have to put up with the whispers and smirks.

“What is it?” Ailean cast aside his charcoal nub and leaped up. Lyle swiftly followed, his expression eager.

“Nothing,” Kylie muttered, cursing herself for voicing her thoughts aloud. “Return to yer work.”

However, the lads both knew it wasn’t ‘nothing’, and so they rushed to the window, squeezing in next to her to look down upon the training men.

And it wasn’t long before they realized who was currently sparring.

“Lady Makenna can fight!” Lyle exclaimed as he leaned forward, his fingers digging into stone. “Look!”