Bonny pulled the cloth back a bit farther. “Not me. Too curly,” she said, taking a glimpse and then letting go.
“Mine already is curly,” Brenna said, swaying her locks back and forth.
Bonny wrinkled her nose and pushed her sister’s blond mass out of her face. “I know.”
Brenna stopped and leaned forward with her finger pointing to various women in the crowd. “Men like curly hair. Look at Makenna. Look at Mama and Brighid and Mairead.”
“Mairead’s hair is wavy, not curly, and Makenna’s is only slightly curly. Besides, you constantly complain about how it hurts to comb your hair. It doesn’t hurt to comb mine.”
“You are so annoying!” Brenna hissed.
“I’m also bored. We learned nothing from listening to those soldiers, and we still don’t know why Dugan and Lady Adanel got married.”
Brenna rolled her eyes. “I was not listening to learn that. It’s just what he said.” Brenna pointed to Nigel’s lanky back. “They love each other.”
“Nay,” Bonny countered, and pointed to Tybalt. “He said they married because they had to.”
Brenna’s shoulders slumped with frustration. “You just don’t understand love. Just think about how much Mama and Papa argue. And Uncle Conan and Mhàiri.” She puckered her lips and realized there were a lot more examples. “And Uncle Colin and I heard Hamish arguing quite loudly with Mairead just yesterday. That’s proof enough for even you that being mad at someone is a sign of the deepest, most heartfelt type of love.”
Bonny wrinkled her nose. “Seems like a painful, loud kind. You can have that if you want. I’m going to look for the happy kind of love where we smile at each other.”
Brenna shrugged and turned to watch Dugan. He was stealing glances at Adanel when she was not looking, and Brenna had no doubt that he really did love her. “One day after Mama and Papa had a big fight, Aileen asked why Mama was smiling. She told her that passion was a key ingredient to a great marriage. So I’m going to look for that.”
“Maybe,” Bonny semi-conceded. “But I still want to be happy at my wedding.”
Brenna waved her hand. “Shh. Those two men you wanted to listen to are coming this way.”
* * *
Daeron MacCoinnich blatantly stared at Adanel, uncaring how uncomfortable it made her or how furious it was making her new, though temporary husband. Daeron had known since he was a young child that his father planned for him and Adanel to marry. He had accepted his fate at first because he had no choice. When he was older, however, he had come to view his upcoming marriage as a shrewd strategic move that would significantly strengthen the MacCoinnich clan. It would also be personally advantageous. Nothing else would give him equivalent leadership experience as well as the chance to act as a laird decades before his father’s death.
What Daeron had never expected was to actually desire Adanel. And he did. Almost to the point of obsession.
Adanel was more than just beautiful. She had appreciated his memory and admired his intelligence where most women thought him strange and uncomfortable to be around. And yet, he knew she did not love him.
When Adanel had postponed their fall wedding supposedly because she had always longed for a spring wedding, he had been exceedingly unhappy. He had also wondered if it had been really just a ploy for more time. After all, while he very much wanted Adanel to welcome him to their marriage bed, she might not have been as excited about the idea of marrying someone nearly ten years younger than her. So, he had spent the winter in the arms of any woman willing to teach him how to be a good lover. From their moans, he had learned fast and well, and had been ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor with his bride. If only he could learn how to gain people’s trust as easily.
No one knew how often Daeron wished to be not as smart as he was. And he was not alone. He had overheard his father admitting to his mother once that Daeron had a gifted mind beyond anyone he had ever met, but that it continually caused problems because it made him incessantly argumentative. That Daeron was right most of the time did not seem to matter. It was the speed he made his decisions that made his father uncomfortable, for he incorrectly believed there was no way anyone could adequately think through the consequences so quickly.
This week had been no different. If his father had allowed him to speak his mind when he had demanded Adanel’s return, today’s marital outcome would have been a far different one. His father had thought to avert war, but in doing so, the MacCoinnich clan had come across as weak. Now the McTiernays knew they could use his father’s reluctance to fight as leverage. A threat Daeron had hoped to use to his own advantage with Adanel.
“Drink this and calm down.”
Daeron glanced down at the mug being shoved into his hands before leveling an angry stare at his father.
“You consider yourself to be a brilliant man, Daeron, but you have yet to realize that to have trust, there must first be respect.”
“Both of which I constantly need to re-earn with you.”
“And you will continue to have to do so until you stop letting yourself be controlled by your emotions.”
Daeron tightened the grip on his mug. “If I were controlled by my anger, I would not be here pretending to agree with every concession you have made over the past few days.”
“I did not concede. I am proving a point and doing so in a way that will not incur half of Scotland or King Robert’s wrath. In a year, the McTiernays will fail, and when they do, they’ve agreed to turn over control of the port to the western seas to us.”
“But meanwhile these McTiernays think they can just take whatever they want without repercussions. They took Mackbaythe’s head, his port, his clan, and now they’ve taken Adanel. She was to be my bride, Father, mine,” Daeron gritted out, and pounded his chest.
Willemus shook his head. “The McTiernays took headaches and nightmares, nothing more. Bàgh Fìon has been poorly run for the last two decades. Both it, the castle, and its defense towers are in need of major, and more importantly costly, repairs. Most Mackbaythe clansmen did not care for their laird and many might actually be glad that he is dead, but that does not mean they will welcome another clan’s rule. Leading a hostile clan is going to work against the McTiernays, not for them. And remember, all agreed that Dugan had to have the port open and running before the winter months.”
“And what about Adanel?” Daeron challenged. “You practically shoved her in Dugan McTiernay’s lap when Lady McTiernay suggested that a wedding would be the best way to merge the clans and build immediate loyalty.”
Laird MacCoinnich took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. “Whether you accept it or not, Adanel was never going to marry you, Daeron. The woman was going to fake her death. And if you had married her, she would have made you miserable. Now, she is going to make trouble for her new husband. Who knows? Maybe in a year she will welcome your suit when she shrugs off his. Just have patience, and all that you think is lost will be ours,” he finished, and then briefly squeezed Daeron’s shoulder before leaving him to continue brooding.
* * *
Brenna tugged on Bonny’s sleeve and waved for her to follow her. Bonny shifted and was about to join her sister to wherever Brenna wanted to go next when she heard Daeron talking to himself. She stopped in her tracks.
“A year and a day,” Daeron murmured. “The moment that Adanel terminates her handfast she will be mine. If not, the McTiernays will learn never to take from a MacCoinnich again. Even if I have to wait until I am laird, they . . . will . . . pay.”
Bonny shivered. The young MacCoinnich meant what he said. And she suspected he was the kind of man who never forgot about such a vow. Even if he had to wait years to get his revenge, he would have it.
Chapter Ten
Dugan floated on his back and stared up into the early morning sky, letting the cool water of the river flow around him. It was the most peace he had felt in what seemed like months. A few weeks ago, he had been clapping Conan on the ba
ck telling him that he was glad to take over the soon-to-be vacated role of eternal bachelor. And he had meant those words. And yet, here he was, married to a woman whom he both deeply desired and wished never to see again.
He was also a laird—a responsibility he had long ago given up desiring. Being Cole’s commander, he knew that being a laird was not just hard, it meant one lived with a constant headache. There was always something or someone demanding attention, pleas from clansmen who lived both near and far, never-ending castle maintenance, the burden of defending decisions with those few who disparaged them out of ignorance, and the financial burden of balancing defense and economic priorities. And those were the easy challenges for they were expected. He was facing all of that as well as much more.
He was essentially conducting a hostile takeover of a clan where corruption, cruelty, and deceit were commonplace, and most of its tiny army was incompetent. And to make the situation personally more difficult, it was not just any clan, but one in which a seaport was at its heart—something he knew infinitely more about than anyone realized. Only Conor and Cole knew where he came from and how he had come to live in the Highlands.
Because he understood the full scope of what was being asked, it had been insane to agree to become chieftain of the McTiernays of Gerloch. And Dugan might never have done so if it had not been for Adanel—a woman he neither wanted nor could bear to have belonging to someone else.
Dugan held his breath and went under the water and rubbed his scalp brusquely. They had been traveling for four days, mostly in the rain. Yesterday afternoon, when the clouds parted and looked like they were going to stay away, he had ordered everyone to stop and take time to eat well, bathe, and sleep. No one had argued.
Traveling with almost two hundred soldiers was aggravatingly slow through the mountains. Everyone had been filthy when they had boisterously stripped and made their way into the cold water. Mud had swirled in the waist-high deep stream for hours, and Dugan had decided that he would rather endure a few more hours of grime and bathe in the morning, by himself, in clean water.
It had been the right decision. He needed these few minutes alone to think about all that had occurred and mentally ready himself for the rest of the day. By midafternoon, he would enter Bàgh Fìon as its new leader. How he was greeted would tell him a great deal, including if his first decisions as laird had been the right ones.
When it came to the overall fate of the Mackbaythes, Dugan had agreed with Conor, his brothers, and the McTiernay allies—all of whom had not been shy about voicing their opinion. There was disagreement, however, on how to handle Faden, Nigel, Tybalt, Brùid, and Garrett.
When he had first arrived with them, Dugan had asked Finn, the leader of Conor’s elite guard, to ensure their safety during their stay on McTiernay lands. Finn had not been happy about the ballsy request, but with hundreds of angry soldiers camped near and around the training fields, Finn also knew that only under his elite guard’s protection they would remain unharmed.
The elite guard had kept them safe, but they had also tested the five Mackbaythes to assess their worth and competency as soldiers. Watching the men train had given Dugan a headache even before he had accepted the role as their laird. All but Garrett seriously lacked fighting skills.
Brùid was big, but he knew nothing about handling a weapon. Tybalt was fast and surprisingly accurate, but lacked knowledge of many defensive techniques that were geared for small, but strong men. Nigel was a novice with potential. Faden, Adanel’s uncle, had at one time been probably very good with a sword, but lack of regular training had made him slow and weak. Garrett was the only one who had been able to hold his own and admittedly learned a few new tricks from the McTiernay guards while teaching a couple of his own.
So when it was time to select a commander, Dugan had no qualms about choosing Garrett. Others did, which caused grousing among the McTiernay brothers and their allies. Conor and Cole, thankfully, had recognized his reasons and supported his decision.
Dugan would have considered either of his fellow commanders, Donald or Jaime, as he knew them well and trusted them, but then Cole would have lost two of his three commanders. Something Dugan not only did not want to do, but did not think was necessary. Garrett already knew many of the Mackbaythe guards. He knew which ones to keep and who were corrupt. As a familiar face, Garrett also had the best chance of recruiting clansmen—a high priority as Dugan had only a year to build an army to the size needed to support the clan’s lands as well as the port. But most importantly, he trusted Garrett. The man had saved his life numerous times, already knew about Dugan’s past, and had proven he could keep it a secret.
The only real problem had been convincing the mercenary to give up his lucrative job for a more noble one. Garrett had a restless soul and a reluctance to set down physical or emotional roots. Plagued by his past, he allowed it to shape his future—something that Dugan understood. Dugan also knew that his friend needed to be part of something that did not involve the constant threat of death. He needed to help build a person’s spirit, not end it. In the end, Garrett had reluctantly agreed to be his commander, but only for the same year and a day Dugan was handfasted to Adanel.
Dugan had wished it was for longer, but then he was not even sure if he would still be laird next year. He had no doubts about his ability to eventually gain the clan’s support, build an army, or even get the port running with a profit. But his marriage to Adanel? Would he want to remain married to her in a year’s time? Would she? And if the answer was no, what would that mean? All were good questions that unfortunately would not have answers for another twelve months.
After the commander issue had been resolved, the next long and heated debate had been about who and how many soldiers should be lent to Dugan so that he could build a trustworthy and capable army of his own. Crawford and MacInnes had cautioned against going in with a massive force, believing it would only cause more resentment and greater resistance. Cole and Hamish disagreed. Both had experience assimilating other clans and believed Dugan would face opposition regardless his approach.
After weighing all the input, Dugan had decided he needed almost two hundred trained soldiers. He also suggested that the men come from not just McTiernay armies, but from their allies. It was a substantial request, but it gave him enough men to guard the towers, the castle, and the port as well as adequately oversee and protect the lands that extended to MacCoinnich borders. More importantly, it meant Dugan would not have to depend on the trustworthiness or skill of a single Mackbaythe guard. In a few months, Dugan hoped to have enough men recruited and trained to start shadowing the McTiernay guards. When his men were ready, they would permanently assume those responsibilities. Hopefully in a year’s time, all soldiers from the borrowed army would have returned to their lairds, clans, and homes.
Conor had thought it a brilliant plan for it discouraged MacCoinnich from even considering raising a sword prematurely, for retaliation would come from not just the McTiernays but every ally who had loaned Dugan soldiers. Such a battle would also be bloody, costly, and undoubtedly catch the ire of King Robert, who was in constant need of men to support his campaign in Ireland.
MacCoinnich had also volunteered a dozen of his own guard. When his offer had been quickly and definitively rejected, he had taken the blatant refusal as an insult, and for a while the entire agreement was in jeopardy. MacCoinnich had decided to use the situation to his advantage and gain some additional concessions. Dugan, however, had called MacCoinnich’s bluff by agreeing to his offer, as he had from all the other McTiernay allies. Dugan also explained that as a new McTiernay ally, MacCoinnich would be first expected to exchange a handful of guards with every laird present—a practice McTiernays and their allies had followed for years. MacCoinnich quickly clarified that he was not offering an alliance and that his offer of guards to Dugan had simply been a gesture of good faith.
Then five grueling days followed discussing and selecting just who would go from eac
h clan. The soldiers had to be single men who were not leaving any families behind. They had to be highly capable as well as physically present. Dugan was not waiting for another two or more weeks for runners to be sent and for ideal soldiers to arrive.
In the end, it had been a difficult process, but they had eventually been able to make the selections, one of which was from Conor’s own elite personal guard. Loman was placed in charge of the motley temporary army. Dugan knew very little about the elite guardsman, but those he trusted held Loman in high regard, both as an honorable man and as a skilled soldier. Dugan never doubted the latter, but several times over the course of the trip, he had wondered about the former.
Single, good-humored, and too full of charisma with his sandy hair and smiling blue eyes, Loman had no problems beguiling women. And with only one woman riding with their large group, all that nauseating charm had fallen solely onto Adanel. Every time Dugan looked up, the man was helping Adanel saddle her horse, giving her water, or answering a question. Unfortunately, it was never enough to enable Dugan to say anything without sounding like a jealous fool—which he was neither. Still, Loman’s supportive antics were annoying, which were made even more so because they shouldn’t be.
When Conor offered Adanel and Dugan the option of marrying, both had looked at the other and after several long seconds, gave a single nod, agreeing to the proposal. Adanel’s other option had been to walk away from her life just as she had planned to do a month ago. Adanel had even told Conor and the rest of the lairds that Dugan had been the wise choice. He knew the area, had the right temperament, and already had relationships with Garrett, Tybalt, and her guards.
It should have pacified any qualms Dugan had in agreeing to marry her as none of her reasons had anything to do with an emotional attachment to him. And while it should have eased his mind, it had not. Instead, it had irked him far more than it should have. That was because his true reason for accepting the lairdship had not been based on the challenge, the honor of being chosen, or even the logic that he was the best qualified; it had been almost purely emotionally driven.
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