The Lass and the Laird

by Hildie McQueen

  It was not just the difference in lifestyle that kept him away. The fact his remaining family here shunned him made it easier to live away.

  "Avail me of more ale," his father, Laird Angus Gordon, bellowed to a serving wench who scurried to do his bidding. Once it was filled, he took a long draw from the tankard and slammed it onto the table. Moraine, the laird's current wife, jumped at the sound, but didn't utter a sound. Throughout the meal, she kept her gaze down, her shaky hand reaching for food and on occasion the goblet of wine. Studying her, Carrick caught sight of fresh bruising on the woman's jaw.

  Carrick looked to his father, who in turn observed the meek woman's movements with an interest that could only be described as satisfaction. Fear fed Angus Gordon's ego and he was adept at getting it from not only his family, but his men as well. The Laird's penchant for cruelty to women well known within the clan.

  When Moraine flinched at his father's placing his hand over hers, the food on Carrick's plate lost its appeal and he pushed it away, picking up the cup of ale instead. He studied his father's profile and the laird turned to him.

  The laird cleared his throat upon noticing Carrick's regard. "Yer lass and her uncle arrive on the morrow. Can you attempt to behave as if you are part of this family while he is here?" The older man leaned back into the chair and focused on him, shrewd eyes lingering on his plain tunic. "Perhaps something more presentable in the way of attire."

  Carrick could only gape at the words, at a loss for a reply. Exactly how did the laird expect him to act? If there was someone who'd spurned him and ensured he'd never felt to be a part of the Gordon clan, it was his father. "The agreement has been made, I sincerely doubt my way of dress will change anything. This marriage agreement was not my doing, but yours," he retorted and stood. "I bid you good night, Father."

  His father's words stopped him from leaving. "It's up to you of course, the chit has nowhere to go. Either way she will remain here or her family will shun her if she is rejected by you." He shrugged. "I suppose I can always give her to your brother." Narrowed eyes scrutinized Carrick, taking in the scar that ran from the corner of his right eye down to his upper lip. "But then again, the woman will no doubt refuse you at first glance. Therefore this conversation may be but a waste of breath."

  His younger brother Declan laughed, but a worried expression flickered when he regarded their father. "I am in no need of a wife as of now, Father. The McGregors will insist on the agreed upon marriage to him." He looked to Carrick.

  Angus burped without abash and waved his hands in dismissal. "You are correct in that I suppose. Enough of this talk. Whether frightened or not, she will marry Carrick."

  Preferring to die before he'd give his father the satisfaction of a reaction, Carrick shrugged. "As you wish. It matters naught to me." He stood and walked with purposeful unhurried steps to his chambers. Damn them all to hell. How he craved to be away from the place. No soon than the woman arrived and they were married, he'd leave without haste. The farther away from his father, the better.

  That he was at Gordon keep was only because Analise Macgregor came, and he'd agreed to marry her. The clans made an agreement and he'd given his word to be present when she arrived instead of sending a proxy, which would have been his first choice. But the lass did not deserve to be disregarded in such a manner. It was not her fault, his current standing with the laird.

  At the top of the stairs he hesitated and tried to remember if he'd hit his head or drank too much ale on that cursed day, which led him to agree to be present for the farce of a marriage.

  No, it was that he felt a kinship with Analise, something in common as it were. Her clan did not want her, and they were going to marry her off in an effort to rid themselves of her. His family had done the same, practically pushed him out the door when he expressed interest in moving to Moriag, his mother's ancestral home.

  Yet, there was the big difference between Analise and him. No matter how much his father detested him, he was the first born and would be the next laird of Clan Gordon. A grim smile curved his lips. That he'd one day lead the clan is what kept him from disappearing to never return. One day he'd be laird and there was little his conniving younger brother or father could do about it. Once that day came, he'd do his best to right every wrong Angus Gordon ever committed.

  With a deep breath Carrick entered the bedroom and washed his face from the water bowl and pitcher. He removed his clothing, folding the plain tunic with care over a chair. He had no servant to help him, which suited him just fine, he'd always found someone fawning over him disconcerting.

  Once in bed, he stared at the ceiling. The hand fast agreement was made in haste between his father and the Macgregor, who seemed desperate to place his niece in a respectable household. No doubt the lass was homely, otherwise she'd not be married off to a clan that brought them little in return. Of course if Clan McGregor was in some kind of trouble, the Gordons with their large number of well-trained warriors, were a good ally to have.

  Thankfully his father did not stop him when he'd said once the ceremony was complete, they'd move to Moriag. His wife would be mistress there and not be subjected to the laird's cruelty.

  No matter how uncomely this woman was, she did not deserve to be pawned off to Declan as a wife or worse, a bedmate. His brother would not settle anytime in the near future. No sooner had Declan become of age to take women, than the stories of his prowess surfaced. Maids eyed Declan when he passed, their widen eyes and lips curving in anticipation he'd take them by the arm and lead them away to his chambers. And the young man usually complied.

  Carrick inhaled. This woman would be his wife. The faceless Analise would live out the rest of her life as his companion. What could Carrick do if the woman was indeed repulsed by his disfigured face? Nothing could be done about it. The jagged scar that ran from the temple down to his lip was too prominent to ignore or hide.

  Yet, Carrick stroked the bumpy skin and considered that maybe all this was for naught. There was the possibility that after one look at him, the woman, whether ugly or beautiful, would recoil with repulsion and beg her uncle to break the agreement. If McGregor's brother cared for her, he might comply.

  A loud knock took him from his thoughts. "Come in."

  The door swung open to show Declan. His brother leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his broad chest, his face impassive. "Father is none too happy at your abrupt departure from the dining hall."

  "I'm sure his tender heart will recover." Carrick continued to stare at the ceiling ignoring his brother. "What do you want, Declan?"

  Only slightly shorter, Declan was a bit leaner as well. Yet, like Carrick, trained to be a lethal warrior, the fabric of his tunic strained over his muscular arms. "Are you going through with the marriage?" His brother's eyes shifted to the window before coming back to him.

  Carrick smiled knowing his brother hoped he'd follow through and he'd not be thrown into marriage in his stead. "Do you fear you'll be saddled with a homely woman when the Macgregor demands you step into my place after the lass refuses to marry me?"

  Declan's hands dropped to his sides, hands curled into fists. "Answer the question, Carrick."

  "I think a wife would help you settle and slow down your bedsport."

  His brother glowered, but remained silent, his jawline muscle bunching.

  A yawn escaped and Carrick propped his upper body from the bed onto his elbows. "I will be there tomorrow, I agreed to the marriage. It matters naught to me who I am tied to."

  When Declan visibly relaxed Carrick continued. "Of course, like father stated, she may be repulsed by my disfigurement and beg off. If her uncle has a soft heart, she may still end up with you."

  "Women do not get a choice," Declan sneered. "If I ever marry, I will choose my wife. Someone who brings power, not shame, to this clan. I need to marry a woman who will bring coin to my pocket. I do not have my own title to fall back upon like you."

  Carrick shrugged. "Like I sai
d earlier, it matters naught to me."

  "Just ensure you are there." A thump sounded as his brother closed the door behind him.

  Carrick chuckled.

  //End of Excerpt//