Page 11 of The Laird's Wicked Game
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.”
5: RIVALRY
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 notlikehaving 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.