Authors: Felicia Rogers
By God's Grace (3 page)
“Aye.”
“Some of the men believe yer brother was murdered, and we don't intend for ye to suffer the same fate.”
Duncan edged within inches of Grant's face; between clenched teeth he questioned, “What is this ye say?”
Grant was large and broad. Toe to toe they stood. Some of the men were intimidated by Duncan's reputation, but Grant wasn't one of them. Second-in-command and sure of himself, he leaned back and crossed his arms. “I believe ye heard me. We think yer brother was killed. And we aim to keep ye alive, whether ye like it or not.”
Duncan struck a similar façade. “I like yer alive idea. Ye can stick with me as much as ye like. But I have the elders to see to.” Duncan turned as he walked to the keep door.
Grant yelled out, “Ye aren't going to like what they're about to tell ye.”
Duncan twirled and stalked to Grant's position. Nose to nose he didn't flinch. “And what do ye know about it?”
“I know the elders are expecting ye to produce an heir.”
“They generally do hope the laird will have an heir.”
“Aye, true. But I don't believe they are in the mood to wait overly long this time.”
“Grant Cameron, if ye know something ye wish to share with me, then spit it out. Otherwise, see to the men.”
Grant bowed, a hearty laugh leaving his parted lips. “Aye, my laird.”
Confused by the interaction, Duncan was left standing in the yard as his second went to see to the dispersal of the men.
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“Jamus, I tell you nothing can be done with the girl.”
“I don't understand. Surely under all the grime was a beauty. Her mother was a stunning woman.”
“Aye, there is beauty aplenty, but grace is lacking. The girl can barely stand on her own two feet. She refuses to wear the corset, which helps accentuate â well, ye know, certain parts. And the slippers, well, let's say it isn't going well. I fear Duncan will never notice her as a potential mate.”
“I'll speak with her.”
Jamus headed to Arbella's quarters. The door was opened. With a glance inside, he found the lass pacing. Hands flew through the air as muttered words fell from petulant lips. Slippers lay against the wall in an awkward manner as if flung there. The pins used to hold a perfect chignon in place littered the dressing table.
Jamus waited. With a causal stance, he leaned against the door facing. The minutes ticked by. Arbella spotted him. In stocking feet she ran, skidding to a halt.
“Oh, Jamus, it is hopeless. I tried to tell you,” she cried, accentuating every word with flailing hands.
“Ye did tell me. But it is never hopeless.”
Her gaze shifted downward. “Why would Duncan ever pick me over the others?” She paced, a sigh escaping her parted lips. “I am afraid you must find another maid.”
“Annot and I were just discussing this situation. We have decided not to introduce ye to Duncan.”
Dejected, her head hung. “I understand.”
Jamus's knuckle nudged her chin upward. “Nay, I don't believe ye do. Ye see, there is another way.”
Her hands flew to the air. “What other way? All the ladies are to be paraded in front of Duncan like sheep at an auction. He is sure to pick one of them.”
“There is always the possibility Duncan will be too stubborn to pick a bride. Ye see, if he fails to choose a bride for himself, then one will be chosen for him.”
“But why wouldn't he choose a bride with all those lovely ladies to pick from?”
Jamus laughed at Arbella's innocence. “Ah, lass, ye know as well as I Duncan is a peculiar bird. I am betting he finds something amiss with every lass placed before him.”
“Let's assume you're correct. How will his wife be chosen? I still don't understand.”
“The tournament, of course. Each clan will be allowed to pick one member to represent them at the games. The winner gets to choose an available woman from their clan to be Duncan's bride. That is, if he fails to pick one on his own.”
“I can't see Duncan going along with that.”
“He doesn't have a choice. The elders refuse to risk losing another laird without an heir. Therefore he will receive a wife from this tournament, whether he wishes to or not.”
“This sounds too easy. You can send Tavis or Tavish in to win the tournament, and then they can pick me to wed Duncan.”
“Nay, I have another idea.”
“You do?”
“Aye, I do. Duncan will hardly be impressed with a woman if she wins with a man of Tavis and Tavish's stature. We need to impress him. If ye used Tavis or Tavish, it would be like Saul from the Bible slaying his thousands, whereas Duncan is like David slaying his ten thousands. We need a way ye can impress him on yer own, so he will truly want ye for a wife.”
“And?”
Jamus's lips twitched at the corners as he revealed his plan. “We will enter ye into the games.”
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The elders were conversing when they noticed Duncan's presence. It took the group of five several moments to respond. Although Lyall informed them of Duncan's arrival, some of the elders could scarcely believe it. The lad had left five years ago to start his own life. Rumor was he'd told his brother he had better things to do than to rot in some Highland castle. Now he had returned. The question was what kind of attitude would he take toward his new responsibilities? The laird held ultimate say as far as the clan went, but the elders were there to steer the young in the correct direction.
A study of Duncan proved the man to be massive in stature, broad of shoulder, and tall in height. A reputation for being a fierce warrior preceded him, even this far north. The label of hired mercenary floated from lips on more than one occasion. It was said he would work for whoever offered the most gold. The elders believed it. After their first hard look at the boy, it was an obvious choice for a man such as he. They would be fortunate to have one as their laird, if he would take the post of leading the clan in a serious manner.
****
Duncan left Grant and headed to the main hall to face his future. The crooked door was lifted. Once on the opposite side, the rickety barrier was laid back in place. It took a few tries. When satisfied with the door's location, a shiver raced down his spine. People were gazing at him. Pivoting, the council of elders came into focus.
Duncan was intimidated by the old warriors. These five men had seen many battles and survived to tell the tale. They had witnessed more than one laird leading the Sinclair clan. Shoulders rigid, he was determined to be the best laird the clan ever had.
His feet scooted along the uneven floor. During this meeting, what would be expected? The position of laird was thrust upon him by chance. As far as some in the clan were concerned, the title was undeserved. Duncan had deserted them as soon as the opportunity arose. While Cainneach was serious, he was flippant. Most of the clan believed he always looked out for only himself. Therefore the council was sure to be hesitant about the change in leadership.
Not wishing to express fear, Duncan strode into the middle of the room, spread his legs hip width apart, placed his hands on his hips, and faced the group. The tremor was barely held from his voice. “I am here. What do ye need to say to me before I take my rightful place?”
“Now what makes ye think we have anything to say?”
“Lyall hinted at it, as well as Grant. I know something is amiss. Ye might as well tell me now so it will be out in the open, and we can move past it.”
“Verra well, we will get right to it then.”
The men settled themselves in the huge chairs surrounding the table in the great hall. Duncan's stance relaxed. His hands lay down at his side, playing with a pleat in his kilt. A deep conversation ensued.
The leader spoke first. “Perhaps ye should be seated.”
Duncan started to refuse but refrained. It wouldn't do for him to start the meeting off in a bad light. “Aye, perhaps I should. This feels as if it is to be one of those conversations where sitting is a mighty fine idea.”
All parties settled themselves. A serving girl entered and laid the table with tankards of ale within reach of the elders' fingertips. When she left, the head elder spoke. “Duncan, ye are now laird of the Sinclair clan.”
He nodded. “Aye, I know.”
The old man cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Ye will stop interrupting until I finish.”
He fought the urge to squirm under the elder's direct stare.
The old man satisfied, he continued, “Duncan, as laird ye have certain responsibilities. One being ye must produce an heir.”
“Aye, I know.”
A white, bushy eyebrow rose, and Duncan mumbled an apology. Minutes passed before the elder continued. “Of course, ye know. Every laird knows he must produce an heir to lead the clan in case of his demise. Yer brother was warned, but he didn't listen. Now his line is dead, and yer line will lead us.” Duncan started to interject again, but the leader waved away the interruption. “Since ye are now laird, we will no longer concern ourselves with the past. We will look to the future. Ye will marry and produce an heir as soon as possible. The elders have decreed it.”
“Verra well.” Duncan would never have agreed to such presumption five years ago. But after spending time with little Thomas Duncan, the desire to settle down and start a family of his own weighed upon him. At this time in his life, he was more than ready to share himself and his newfound faith with a lifelong companion.
Lyall stepped forward and whispered to one of the elders. The elder in turn whispered down the line to the spokesman. When the leader received the message, his head lifted, directing a questioning stare at Lyall. She nodded. The elder hesitated.
Wrinkled hands worried one another atop the table as the man spoke. “Lyall has suggested she marry ye and provide an heir.”
Duncan laughed, the loud noise echoed off the high ceiling. “Why would I marry a woman who is either barren or doesn't wish to satisfy a man? I have no need for a woman such as her.”
The impressed elder smiled. “Duncan is correct. Ye have had five years to produce an heir, and ye have failed. The council and I believe it would be a detriment to the clan to force Duncan to wed ye.”
Lyall bowed and backed out of the room. Relief filled him to see the strumpet leave. The woman's presence made him uncomfortable.
Marry her indeed! The woman had denied Cainneach marital relations for the whole of their marriage. There was no way Duncan would be stupid enough to place himself in a similar situation.
“Now that Lyall has left, let us discuss our plan.”
“Ye have a plan? Since when do I need a plan to acquire a woman?”
The elder laughed. “Yer prowess is duly noted, Duncan, but we have a plan ye shall follow nonetheless.”
Duncan's shoulders shrugged with feigned indifference while waiting for the elder to continue.
“It is good ye have no objections. Our plan for ye will take place at the feast of St. Michael. We will have a tournament inviting all the neighboring clans. Each clan will bring their best females, and ye will choose one for a wife.”
Duncan considered refusing the elders' method of wife hunting, but decided it might be more interesting to play their game and see what happened. Who knows? He might meet someone to love.
“Aye. It will be as ye say.”
Duncan attempted to leave, but one of the council yelled, “Stop!”
Duncan swiveled. “Aye?”
“We weren't exactly finished. If for some reason ye fail to choose a wife from those offered to ye, then the winning clan at the tournament will gain the honor of choosing a wife for ye.”
Now Duncan was upset. The elders were determined he have no say in the matter of his bride. These same five elders had helped choose Lyall for Cainneach, and as far as he was concerned, their choice left a lot to be desired. Their meddling would be allowed for now, but in the end he would do as he wished.
A fake smile tugged the corner of his full lips as he walked backward out of the room. “Verra well.”
Congratulations permeated the air.
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“Mistress Lyall, the parade of single ladies is about to begin.”
Lyall nodded in acknowledgement.
She had never been so embarrassed in her whole life. The day Duncan arrived at the keep and shunned her in front of the elders still rankled.
In the dark corner of the room, Lyall had listened. What would Duncan do when the council announced their plans? No doubt a rage would ensue. Enough rumors of Duncan's temper had flowed over the grapevine and reached her ears. The man was notorious for fits of righteous indignation.
But all she heard were words of agreement. Taking this as her chance, she rose off the wall and stepped forward. Everything had been laid on the line. It took audacity to present one to the council in such a forthright manner. The only response they could give to such a bold move would be yes. Then came the denial. The opportunity she offered was refused. Head held high, Lyall had left the room, ran to her quarters, and fell on the bed. Sobs racked her body.
Now days later, it was time for the tournament. She smoothed a wayward strand of hair and pinched her cheeks to add color. Using the looking glass, she surveyed herself. What was wrong with her?
Cainneach was physically attracted to her, but the feeling wasn't mutual. Their marriage was one of convenience. As a young daughter of a powerful Scottish laird, the choice for her husband came from others. The elders picked her to marry Cainneach purely to increase Sinclair lands and to produce an heir. Whatever their intent in the end, all Cainneach received was a piece of paper promising land at her father's demise. The heir never came. The servants believed Lyall kept to herself because Cainneach had a mistress, but this wasn't the way of things. She was the one who loved another. Never would she betray him with Cainneach.
