Page 6 of The Laird's Wicked Game
The warrior’s ice-blue eyes glittered, his handsome face taut with pain. “Macquarie cheated me.”
“Liar,” Bryce wheezed, pushing himself onto his knees. “Ye are a poor loser … and off yer head to boot!”
MacDougall spat a curse, only to go rigid when the laird yanked his head back further.
“A game of knucklebones got out of hand last night, Maclean,” one of the other men spoke up, his tone subdued. “Tormod’s been in a vile temper ever since.”
“That turd took five silver pennies that belonged to me,” MacDougall growled, fury still vibrating off him. “He’s a dog-humping thief!”
“I’ve no interest in yer petty grievances,” Maclean countered. His own voice had lowered to a rasp now, his face set into forbidding lines. “But if I catch ye fighting like a mad dog in my barmkin again, I shall take a horsewhip to ye. Do ye understand?”
Kylie shifted uncomfortably upon her garron’s back and cast a sidelong glance at where Makenna had pulled up her pony alongside. Her sister’s expression was veiled. It was likely she’d seen many scenes like this one, for she served in the Meggernie Guard. But Kylie hadn’t. The hostility that crackled like lightning and the violence shivering in the air made her skin prickle. She now felt a little queasy.
“Answer the laird, Tormod,” Jack said, his tone equally dangerous. “Before I choke the words out of ye.”
A nerve ticked in MacDougall’s cheek, his internal battle plain to see, before he ground out, “Aye, Maclean. I understand.”
“Apologies for the ugly scene.” Rae flexed his hands by his sides as he approached the two ladies who’d dismounted from their garrons and were waiting for him by the stables. Anger still boiled in his gut in the aftermath, although witnessing Lady Grant’s pale, tense face made it settle to a simmer. He then kicked himself.
That wasn’t how he’d planned to welcome her to Dounarwyse.
“There’s no need to excuse yerself,” Makenna replied, with an approving nod. “Behavior like that can’t be tolerated.”
“No,” Rae agreed. “It can’t.”
His attention flicked back to Lady Grant. She was frowning now. His chest constricted. Cods, she likely thought the Macleans of Dounarwyse were brutes.
He’d been struggling all day though. The journey from Craignure had been awkward, and he’d often been at a loss for what to say to the woman he’d hired.He hadn’t even been able to meet her eye when they talked—but now, she’d seen him lose control.
He really wasn’t himself at the moment. Ever since the Ghost Raiders had attacked Lochbuie earlier in the year, he’d been like a cat on a hot bake-stone. Over the past months, his worry about when they’d resume their reiving had grown. The Mackinnons’ siege of Dounarwyse three years earlier had left a deep scar on his broch and lands, and they’d only recently rallied. He wanted to shield those under his protection from harm yet feared he couldn’t.
Aye, it was bad enough that his lands and those who farmed them were at risk from attack—but arriving home to find one of his men trying to kill another had just pushed him over the edge.
At least the situation had been resolved swiftly, for the moment. Bryce had retreated into the barracks, and Tormod had disappeared into the stables, no doubt to cool off. Meanwhile, Jack was upbraiding his men for abandoning their posts and not stepping in to stop the brawl. “Ye left the walls undefended and the gates wide open!” he roared at the shamefaced guards lined up before him. “Anyone could have ridden in here!”
“Come,” Rae said tersely, gesturing to where stable hands approached. It was best the women didn’t witness any more of this. Makenna might be used to it, but her sister wouldn’t be. “The lads will take care of our mounts, while we go inside.” He paused then, forcing himself to meet Lady Grant’s eye. Curse him, he needed to pull himself together. Ever since greeting her by the dock in Craignure, he’d battled shyness and self-consciousness around the woman.Every time she focused on him, he felt like a gauche lad. “Ye will be hungry and tired after yer journey. I instructed the cook to have a meal ready for ye in my solar.”
“Thank ye,” Lady Grant replied, her oak-brown gaze shuttered. “Although, I am keen to meet yer sons.”
“Aye … and ye will.” He grimaced then. “Brace yerself.”
Makenna snorted. “Careful, or ye shall frighten my sister off.”
Lady Grant’s expression tensed at this, and she cast her sister a quelling look. However, Makenna merely winked at her.
Meanwhile, Rae’s gut hardened. He wouldn’t be surprised if the lady was already reconsidering her life choices.
They made their way across the barmkin then, skirting around where Jack was still upbraiding his Guard—Rae would speak to his brother about the disorder among their ranks later, in private—and headed toward the steps that led into the broch. And as they climbed, a large shaggy dog bounded out of the tower house through the open door.
Tail wagging, the Highland collie arrowed straight for the laird.
“Oof, Storm!” Rae braced himself as his dog barreled into him. “Careful, or ye’ll knock me over.”
Storm started to bark then, bouncing in a circle around the three of them, as if he was attempting to round them up like sheep.
“Someone didn’t like being left behind,” Makenna noted with a laugh.
“I remember this collie from Moy Castle,” her sister added.