Connor took the proffered scroll. “If mac Lutin accepts the terms.” And of course he would accept the terms. What man wouldn’t want to rid himself of a daughter past her prime, a daughter with a reputation that would repel most suitors? A daughter who, far from spending the rest of her life as a drain on his resources, would give him legitimate reason to call on the Scots as allies in time of war? “Do you want the marriage undertaken at Ce?”
Among heathens. But since he had nothing but loyalty for his king invested in this marriage, what did it matter where the ceremony took place?
A frown slashed the king’s brow. “How the hell can it be undertaken in Ce? Your task is to win mac Lutin’s favor, secure the princess as our bride and bring the entire royal family back with you. I’ll not trust the Picts to supervise a marriage of this import.”
“The entire royal family?”
“Aye.” The king’s sharp-eyed gaze bored into him. “We’ll be celebrating more than a wedding. It will also be the ideal opportunity to discuss my coronation at Fortriu. I doubt any of the minor kings will want to miss that.”
A politically sensitive wedding, a potentially contentious coronation and obviously MacAlpin was inviting the other Pictish royal clans as witnesses. A suffocating weight compressed his lungs. Far from serving out the remainder of his days fighting for his country’s freedom and receiving comfort from the arms of an undemanding mistress, he was to become a stud for his king’s machinations.
“When do you want us to leave?” He hoped his revulsion wasn’t apparent in either his expression or voice but the king’s eyes narrowed.
“You disapprove the plan?”
“No, my liege.” Just because he personally found it abhorrent didn’t blind him to the potential gains they could make in forging such strong connections with the mighty clan of Ce. “In principle we stand to gain a great deal by such an alliance.” And then he chanced voicing his dissent. “But I have reservations the King of Ce will accept my offer.”
Seconds passed, the air thick with distrust. Then the king’s frown faded and he laughed, a short bark of amusement that appeared to flummox his advisers as much as Connor.
“God Almighty, boy,” the king said, flattening his palms on the map and leaning across the desk. “You didn’t think I had you in mind for this marriage, did you?”
It had been many years since anyone had dared call Connor boy without risking a bloodied nose. MacAlpin might be seventeen years his senior but that hardly qualified him to utter such term of abuse.
His status, however, gave him the authority to say whatever he wished.
Connor mentally gritted his teeth and ignored the scarcely concealed sneers crawling across the advisers’ smug faces. His king was above censure. The same couldn’t be said for the fawning minions he now surrounded himself with.
“So that was the reason for your reticence.” It wasn’t a question. It sounded like a revelation, and a welcome one at that. Connor glowered, yet instead of striking him for such insolence it only made the king laugh again. “And what of you, Ewan?” The king finally transferred his attention to the other man. “Did you think you might have been chosen for a royal bride?”
Connor didn’t have to look at his friend to know compressed anger simmered beneath his surface. He could feel it vibrating in tightly repressed waves.
“My liege,” Ewan said. It sounded as though he forced the words between gritted teeth.
The king shoved himself upright. “I have no doubt either one of you could charm even Princess Devorgilla into your bed if you so much as smiled at her. Alas, it takes more than the famed Scots charm and a hard warrior body to tempt a king to part with a daughter.” Again amusement flared across his face. Amusement and…something else. Something so fleeting, so bizarre he had to be mistaken.
Relief?
“To hook a king,” MacAlpin said, “we have to offer royal blood.” Once more his attention focused on Connor. “Your half brother, Fergus.”
“Fergus?” He’d watched his brother escape matrimony countless times over the years. But no amount of charm or bargaining would release him from this duty.
His brother could be a bastard but he didn’t deserve to be shackled to a heathen shrew. Then again, Fergus didn’t believe in fidelity. It was unlikely this marriage would change his mind.
“His mother’s connection to me through our grandfather gives him enough royal prestige.” The king let out a breath. “And by God, he’s sired enough bastards to prove his virility.”
Connor ignored the dull ache that knotted his chest at the king’s careless comment. Fergus produced brats as easily as he changed bed partners, and didn’t give a shit about any of them.
If nothing else, he would soon ensure the Pictish princess was with child.
Her Savage Scot - The Highland Warrior Chronicles 1
Her Vengeful Scot - The Highland Warrior Chronicles 2
About the Author
Christina Phillips is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia with her high school sweetheart and their family. She enjoys writing paranormal, historical and contemporary romance where the stories sizzle and the heroine brings her hero to his knees.
She is addicted to good coffee, expensive chocolate and bad boy heroes. She is also owned by three gorgeous cats who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.
Also by Christina Phillips
The Highland Warrior Chronicles - Also in KU
Her Savage Scot
Her Vengeful Scot
Bloodlust Denied
Foretaste of Forever
Touch of the Demon
“Taken” Box Sets - Also in KU
Taken by the Sheikh
Taken by the Billionaire
Taken by the Desert Sheikh
Also by Christina Phillips
Contemporary Romance
British Bad Boys
Cinderella and the Geek
Once Upon a Player
Not So Happily Ever After
Viking Bastards MC
Hooked
Payback
Burned
Grayson Brothers
Hold Me Until Midnight
Hold Me Until Morning
Hold Me Until Forever
Every Breath You Take
Secret Confessions: Willow
The Druid Chronicles: Mystical Historical Romance Page 116