Page 30 of The Scot Beds His Wife

“To the Queen’s High Court, I suppose.”

“It says in this summons here that I have to first arguein front of the Magistrate’s Bench that the Ross bill of sale trumps the lease Thorne found. But the magistrateisThorne. How is that just or fair?”

“Did you say the Magistrate’s Bench?”

Samantha looked up from her rotisserie at the note of disbelief that crept into Callum’s tone.

“Yes.”

His genuine smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and flashed shockingly clean teeth. “What Thorne neglected to tell you is that though he’s the main justice of the peace, three men sit the quarterly Magistrate’s Bench, and their jurisdiction reaches from the Isle of Mull all the way north to Lochinver.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the majority rules. You only need two out of three of the magistrates to rule in your favor.”

The breath rushed from her. “Who else sits the bench?”

“An English earl who replaced Hamish, the younger, after he was killed for treason. The Earl of Northwalk, I believe?”

“The Blackheart of Ben More, ye mean,” Locryn corrected, adding another peat brick to the fire.

“‘The Blackheart of Ben More’?” she echoed. “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

“He owns yon Ben More Castle on the Isle of Mull. Don’t worry, lass. He’s known to be a reasonable justice,” Callum soothed. “If a bit unscrupulous. ’Tis rumored he’s a Mackenzie bastard; however, he generally takes his cues from the Laird.”

“The Laird?” Samantha was beginning to feel like a rather traumatized parrot. “You don’t mean…”

“The Demon Highlander,” Locryn announced dramatically.

“The Laird Mackenzie.” Callum shot him a censuringlook while Calybrid simultaneously elbowed him in the guts. “Also known as the Marquess Ravencroft. He’s claimed the third seat since his return from his adventures abroad.”

Sam’s flying hopes plummeted. “Then we’re well and truly buggered.” She blew a lock of hair away that had fallen in front of her eye.

“Not necessarily,” Callum supplied. “Ravencroft and Thorne rarely agree on anything.”

“Because Thorne slept with his first wife?”

The Mac Tíre shifted away from the uncomfortable subject, and Samantha was again reminded that he did owe his friend, Lord Thorne, more fealty than to herself. “Well… I’m sure that didn’t help,” he muttered.

Something the scoundrel Thorne had said against her ear produced unwelcome waves of gooseflesh, despite the heat of the cook fire.

Isna the enemy of my enemy my friend?

“Do you think this Laird Mackenzie would be swayed by my plight?” she fretted. “Do you know him very well?”

Calybrid peeled a charred piece of skin from one of the grouse and crunched it before Samantha could swat his hand away. “Everyone from Dorset to Cape Wrath knows if ye want in good with the Demon Highlander, ye’ll get his wife to champion ye,” the old ranch hand stated sagely.

“Aye,” Locryn readily agreed. “If ye want my opinion, it’s on account of her large—” He held his arms away from his chest, curving them as though to support a hefty bosom.

“Heart.” Calybrid seized Locryn’s wrists and pulled them down. “She’s reputed to be unceasingly kind.”

“Aye, that she is.” Locryn attempted to grapple his wrists away from his wiry counterpart. “But also, she is blessed with an uncommonly generous—”

Calybrid slapped his hand over Locryn’s mouth.“Spirit,” he crowed. “Ye’d like her, generous asyeare with yer home and land and supper and whatnot.”

“Nay!” Locryn succeeded in peeling Calybrid’s hand from his beard while simultaneously shimmying his shoulders like a bawdy saloon dancer. “I’m referring to her big—”

Abandoning all pretense, Calybrid just slapped him upside the head.