At The Highlander's Mercy. Terri Brisbin

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СКАЧАТЬ anything to keep from letting his anger and frustration spill out the way he wanted to. Clenching his fists did not help either and finally he could not allow this madness to continue.

      ‘Halt!’ he called out to those bickering before him. ‘Attacking the MacLeries will lead only to our destruction.’ Looking from one to the next, he met their gazes and realised the futility of trying to stop them. If he could not stop them, he must delay them. ‘If we are to do so, we must have a plan and ready ourselves. It cannot be done as quickly as you would like.’ Or as easily as they thought.

      The Matheson clan elders had approved him as chief when his father passed, but it had been a hard-won battle. His cousin, Symon, the son of his father’s older sister, had been in contention and was suited for the warmongers among the councillors. Rob, on the other hand, had a clear understanding of the strength and power and fighting might of the MacLerie clan for he had spent years among them.

      As Connor MacLerie’s foster son.

      Rob had lived for five years with them, learning his own fighting skills from the best of their warriors, learning battle strategies from their tacticians and the ways to prevent battles from their negotiator. Now, he had no intention of leaping into a fight with a clan he could not defeat. Or worse, with a clan who would destroy them and leave not a piece of wood or stone standing on their lands. Though listening to some on the council drone on and on about all the reasons they should and listening to those who knew nothing and understood less made him think about letting them all charge into the fray unprepared.

      Still, his innate loyalty to his family, kith and kin stopped him from goading them into such an act. Glancing at his other cousin, Dougal, the one who did not wish to be laird, he waited for the only person with some sense to speak up and support his plan. Dougal did and though those wanting war did not quiet completely, it did make them listen.

      ‘Robbie is right,’ Dougal called out, gaining their attention. ‘To rush in against such a clan will result in all our deaths.’ Some grumbled at his declaration, but the others quieted and waited on his words. ‘Let the laird study this and make the necessary plans. Hear him out when he does for no one knows the MacLeries as he does. If there is a weakness to be found, he is the one to find it.’ His voice rang out in the silence, but Rob did not know whether to cheer or to strangle him.

      The best way to defeat the MacLerie? The Beast of the Highlands?

      There was none.

      Rob’s actions so far must even be considered a betrayal of their bond by Connor. Attacking would simply be a death warrant for him and the rest of the Mathesons. The only weakness the man had was for his children and, other than that, he was ruthless in weeding out enemies and dealing with betrayal. Breaking his ties with Connor at the behest of the council and currying favour with the MacKenzies had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. He did not doubt there would be hell to pay over it.

      Dougal finished and stepped back, allowing Rob to move to the centre of the dais while the men were yet calm.

      ‘I have been gathering information already,’ he said. ‘Even now, I’ve sent messengers out to determine their weaknesses and vulnerabilities. In a few days or a sennight at the most, we will meet and prepare our plans.’

      He dismissed them with his most imperious wave, hoping they would obey—and they did. All save Dougal left him in peace. He returned to the table and filled his goblet with ale. When Rob turned back, Dougal remained. He poured another goblet and handed it to his cousin, the one who did not wish to be laird.

      ‘You sounded convincing, Rob,’ Dougal said. He drank a couple of mouthfuls and then wiped his mouth with his arm. ‘Do you have a plan?’

      ‘Other than praying to the Almighty for a flood?’

      ‘You had that look in your eyes,’ Dougal said laughing. ‘You never could bluff.’ Dougal met his gaze and all mirth disappeared. ‘What will you do?’

      ‘Stall for more time,’ Rob said. ‘I cannot figure out why they want to go up against the MacLeries. Come now—I cannot be the only one who knows their strength?’

      Rob drank deeply, watching the servants in the hall preparing for the evening meal. It was not as spacious or well appointed a hall as the one at Lairig Dubh, but it was his. He’d sworn an oath to protect his family and if it had to be from themselves, so be it. Something more was going on here, something he could feel, but could not see, and getting the real reason why some in the clan wanted to ally them with the MacKenzies and break all past ties with the MacLeries was critical.

      ‘How can I help?’ Dougal asked, putting the now-empty goblet down on the table.

      They both watched as a comely maid approached and took the goblet and the pitcher to refill it. Unmarried and one of the most beautiful of his cousins, removed by several generations, Ellyn smiled at them and sauntered away, her shapely hips moving in a rhythm meant to entice and draw attention. A moment or two passed before they regained their senses and their subject.

      ‘As I said, how can I help?’ Dougal repeated.

      Rob looked at his closest friend and decided he must trust someone in this matter before everything went out of control. Stepping closer, he lowered his voice.

      ‘Someone is behind this effort to make the MacLeries our enemies. Though not friends or enemies of the MacKenzies, they avoid each other’s areas of concern and properties. So this intentional goading is not something either one wants and not something we can afford to get in the middle of now.’ He paused and checked to see who was near them. Seeing no one, he said, ‘I suspect that my cousin Symon is the one, but without proof, I cannot accuse.’

      Dougal studied him and then nodded. ‘I will see what I can do.’

      Rob smacked his shoulder. ‘I will be in your debt.’

      Dougal strode off, leaving Rob behind to deal with the other matters that faced a clan chief and laird every day. Complaints from villagers. Requests from the clan. Demands from the elders that he marry his betrothed—Symon’s sister—as his bride sooner to unite the two fighting factions. And on and on each day.

      When he had been fostered by Connor, he’d never dreamt of being in this position—chief of his family and in charge of their holdings. The laird, his natural father, was hardy and young enough to produce a male heir in addition to the lasses he’d had with several wives. With his new wife heavily pregnant, the expectation was that a son would be born. A direct, legitimate heir.

      As son of the laird’s older sister, Symon should have had no expectations other than being counsellor to the next laird, or to serve him in some capacity. As the laird’s bastard, Rob’s expectations were lower still. Now, his father and his wife were dead in an accident and Rob, illegitimate or not, had been chosen to lead the clan.

      And his cousin Symon, legitimate or not, was not.

      As Rob watched Dougal make his way out of the hall, he knew Dougal would find out the truth. In the meantime, Rob needed to gather those loyal to him and be ready to head off this foolish attempt—both to usurp his position, a position he’d discovered he truly did want, and to throw the existing treaties with the MacLeries and the MacKenzies into disarray.

      He prayed only that there was time before the disaster he could feel in his bones arrived on his doorstep.

       Chapter Two

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