Claiming His Highland Bride. Terri Brisbin

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      ‘Uncle, I came as soon as I received word,’ Alan said, walking forward. A few who yet remained nodded at him, careful not to let his uncle see their greeting. When he reached the place where his uncle sat, at a long table and in the high chair of the chieftain, Alan stopped and bowed. ‘My lord.’

      Alan detested his uncle, though he’d made a vow that not through word or deed or curses whispered under his breath would anyone know. The curses now were aimed at his own stupidity for, indeed, delaying before answering the call when it did come. No encounter between them ended well and probably never would. Not since his uncle had become chieftain. Truly though, not since Agneis had married Gilbert Cameron.

      ‘Did The Mackintosh have you dancing to his tune then, Nephew?’ Gilbert sneered out the words. ‘So that you could not answer the call of your kin and chief in a timely manner?’ A few snorts and chuckles echoed around them as some of his kin joined in his uncle’s scorn.

      ‘I was not in Glenlui, Uncle,’ he explained in a half-truth. ‘As soon as I received your message, I rode.’ Alan watched his uncle’s reaction to his softened and almost respectful tone and saw the moment that the man decided to move on from scorn to...

      ‘I require your presence,’ he said, tilting his head towards the small chamber near the corridor. ‘Come.’

      Alan followed his uncle and two others into the chamber used by the steward of Achnacarry Castle and waited for his uncle to sit. From the continued silence, he suspected the subject would not be to his liking.

      ‘I need you to accompany me south towards MacMillan lands.’

      ‘Knapdale is about four days’ ride, when I travel alone.’ He always travelled faster and better alone. Several questions sat on the edge of his tongue but he held them back, waiting for more about the task. Then Alan realised his uncle’s words—towards MacMillan lands. ‘Towards their lands or to them?’

      ‘It seems I must go to meet my betrothed,’ Gilbert said. Alan let out a breath and shook his head.

      ‘Betrothed, Uncle? I did not ken you were marrying again.’

      The thought of it roiled in his gut. Another woman put to the not-so-tender mercies of a cruel man who ruled with cold regard for anyone but himself. The icy gaze that felt upon Alan then told him he had overstepped once more. The only thing he could do was draw Gilbert’s attention from his anger or sense of insult to the matter before them. ‘As I said, four days.’

      ‘Then, since I had to wait on your arrival, ’tis a good thing we will meet them halfway.’ Gilbert nodded at the others. ‘They should be near Ballachulish now and we can reach there in two days.’ Gilbert paused when someone knocked on the closed door. ‘Come.’

      ‘My lord, they are ready.’ The servant delivered his message and tugged the door closed behind his interruption.

      ‘We leave now,’ his uncle declared. ‘Fill your skin and get some food.’ With nothing else to say, Gilbert left the chamber. Alan stood for a moment as the surprising news sank in.

      His uncle, the widower of two very young and now dead wives, had sought yet another. In secret. For, if The Mackintosh had known this news, he would have shared it or asked after it with Alan. And that sent a shiver of foreboding down Alan’s spine. The old laird had been fierce and ruthless, but never had Alan not trusted him or his word. As he left the chamber and walked to the kitchen to replenish his supplies, he realised that was the problem now.

      He did not trust his uncle.

      Not for a moment.

      Not to keep the clan’s interests placed before his own.

      Nor did he trust any young woman to his care.

      Alan had not known Gilbert’s first wife, Beatha, but he had known Agneis. They’d run the forests and swam the lochs together as children when she would not be left behind by the lads seeking childhood adventures. Mimicking their every action, she boldly claimed her place among them...until she reached the time when it was clear she was a young woman.

      As she’d blossomed in body, Alan had even had a wee dream of marrying her, but their bond was too deep to allow him to think of her as anything but a friend. When news came that she was to be Gilbert’s second wife, he was forbidden to speak to her again.

      Agneis had not wanted to marry Gilbert, but since he was high in the esteem of the clan elders and his brother the chieftain, her father forced her to it. Two years, she’d lasted. The subtle marks of abuse became more blatant but no one took her husband to task for it. Alan had not been here, had not been here for her, and he blamed himself even now for her eventual death.

      Turning the corner into the corridor that led to the kitchen, Alan nodded to several people along the way, trying to make the grim smile he kenned he wore into something less threatening. He yet had many friends among the kith and kin of Achnacarry Castle and did not wish to frighten them away during this short and rushed visit.

      With his uncle waiting for him, Alan did not dawdle too long in the kitchen or in the chamber he used when here.

      * * *

      A scant quarter-hour later, he mounted a horse and rode out with the chieftain and his men. All were warriors and accomplished at travelling hard and fast and Alan’s estimate of his own travelling time was not increased by much by their company.

      * * *

      Alan kept to himself during the two days on the road, as he always did around his uncle. His father’s presence could have a moderating effect on the animosity between them, but Gilbert had made certain his father was away from Achnacarry as much as Alan was. By placing him in charge of Tor Castle in the southern part of their lands, it kept his father out of sight. As they crossed out of Cameron lands his uncle approached him.

      ‘You will speak of this to no one,’ Gilbert said. ‘Nothing you hear or see. To no one. Unless I give you leave to do so.’

      ‘Certainly, Uncle,’ Alan said, nodding in agreement, still not sure of his purpose here. He was not high enough in the clan to need as a witness and not liked at all by his uncle. So, why had he been summoned then?

      ‘Not even your beloved Mackintoshes.’ There was so much more than disdain and dislike in his tone. Something else deeper and darker echoed there.

      Alan nodded again. His uncle turned and walked away as quickly as he’d approached. Clearly, his task was done and he felt no need to speak to Alan otherwise. The comment, or command as it more felt to him, about the Mackintoshes worried him.

      Something about this whole situation—a secret betrothal to the MacMillan heiress—did not feel right to him. There was no love lost between the MacMillans and the Mackintoshes or others in the Chattan Confederation. Or with the Camerons for that matter. So, why would his uncle tie himself and their clan to them? There had to be some benefit, even if just for himself and not the clan. Right now, Alan could not see it.

      His father had been banished to Tor Castle though his uncle couched it in terms of loyalty and defence. When they passed by Tor without pause, Alan knew there was no one to question or from whom he could seek counsel. So, he would have to wait and see what happened when his uncle met with his betrothed. Would they return to Achnacarry or travel back to Knapdale? Would the marriage occur soon? He had many questions he dare not speak.

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