Page 12 of The Laird's Wicked Game

“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’sits 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 andwiseas yer Da, ye will need to learn yer letters and numbers,” she replied triumphantly. She shifted her attention to his brother then. “Doyewish 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?”