The Highland Laird's Bride. Nicole LockeЧитать онлайн книгу.
into the keep; it would all need to be set down on—
She stopped short. Her Hall. The planks of wood would never fit. Then there was the filth and damp. She couldn’t be in there today of all days. She’d conceded too much of her position to the Colquhoun today. She wouldn’t give in any more.
She was just about to order them to stop when more Colquhoun men brought in trestles to support the heavily laden planks of wood. As if at her request, they set them down in the centre of the courtyard. They couldn’t have travelled from the Colquhoun land with them.
So his men hadn’t been idle these past weeks. She’d watched as they made the spiked fence and crafted additional arrows, watched as they trained and trained again. But secretly, surely, they’d been preparing for this banquet as well.
Returning her arrow to her belt, she looked to Bram, who was carrying a thick wooden bench as easily as if he carried an armful of kindling. He said something to his clansman and they laughed as they gathered the other benches.
The morning was mild and it hadn’t rained for days. She opened the gates, food appeared and now even the weather cooperated with this man.
Dog certainly was cooperating. Someone had thrown a hunk of venison against the furthest wall and he was busily dragging it outside the gates. She didn’t know when she’d see him again.
When the food was all set, what would be expected of her? She was used to being alone, not surrounded by people with expectations. She hated these questions and doubts. Her weaknesses conceded even more power to Laird Colquhoun.
‘He’ll be done soon.’ Aindreas stepped closer to her. ‘Will you accept it?’
The food? Bram said nothing about it. But now that her clan saw it, she couldn’t refuse. ‘It’d be a waste, since the clan is hungry.’
‘I doona like the way he looks at you,’ Aindreas said.
She knew what he meant. Even though Bram organised the feast before her, it felt as if he was assessing her every move and emotion. Knowing him, he’d use it to his advantage. ‘Nothing happened.’
‘Aye, and I doona believe you,’ he said. ‘Still, whatever did happen, I didn’t expect an apology from him.’
‘Is that what this is?’ She couldn’t imagine Bram apologising. This had to be more of his famed diplomacy and negotiation. Perhaps he expected her to let down her guard with his generosity. Ha! Generosity! More like strategy.
‘He’s doing this here, but also down in the village.’
She gasped. There was more food?
‘You need to let the villagers know whether you accept his apology.’
The villagers had looked to her for leadership since her father’s death. She tried to lead them, but failed, and when the English had ravaged, ordered, stripped away every—
She clamped down on her anger and helplessness. The English were gone now, just as the Colquhouns would be soon enough.
Aindreas’s expression darkened and she knew Bram approached from behind her. She wouldn’t have the strength to stop a fight.
‘Go, tell them to accept the food and see what Donaldo has baked,’ she said.
There would be precious little bread, but there would be some. They couldn’t have the Colquhouns controlling the entire feast. The Fergussons might be poor, but they had their pride.
With a look over her shoulder, Aindreas headed out of the gates.
‘Tell them what?’ Bram said.
She turned. He was closer than she thought and she barely stopped herself from stepping back. This close she was all too aware of his height, the way he held himself, the way he was just...there. She shook herself. ‘That your apology is accepted.’
‘I am grateful,’ he said, but there was an undercurrent, some hidden meaning she didn’t want to think about. He was always hiding something and resentment roiled within her.
She wasn’t used to being around people, wasn’t used to hiding her feelings or emotions, but if it kept her clan protected from the Colquhoun, she’d learn fast.
‘It’s easier that way, isn’t it?’ she said.
A muscle ticked in his jaw. ‘Aye, easy.’
So he didn’t like her reply. She didn’t like anything about this. She didn’t like that this close, and in the sunlight, his features weren’t glaring, but vibrant. Alive. This close she heard, but also felt, the low timbre of his voice.
The Colquhoun laird was handsome. No, more than that. Aindreas was handsome. Bram was more. It was the way he held his powerful body and those unearthly eyes that pierced right through her skin. Like now. She felt that fluttering again and knew it had nothing to do with hunger and weakness.
It was him.
‘Do you need to talk to your council?’ Bram pointed over her shoulder. ‘You couldn’t have had time to do so before now.’
Lioslath glanced behind her. Everyone from the keep was standing in little groups. Bram was gazing at the group of elders.
‘I’ll take care of your siblings,’ he said. ‘While you go and talk.’
‘My siblings?’
‘Aye, your brothers, who are already grabbing food, and your sister, admonishing them as she usually does.’
Despite the tension in the courtyard, and her men pointing arrows at his heart, he noticed the children. She felt a pang and knew it had nothing to do with hunger. In the mere moments he’d spent with her brothers and sister, he knew them better than she. Even after all these months, she still didn’t know how to approach or talk to them.
Chuckling as Gillean barely missed Fyfa’s reach, Bram answered, ‘I’ll make sure they get enough before they scamper outside the gates.’
Was that what they wanted to do, to scamper? Maybe so. They had run into her room and they’d never done that before. But she couldn’t blame them.
The keep and the courtyard weren’t large. Hardly enough space for adults, let alone children used to running where they pleased. In fact, the children were almost frantic now, as they worked their way along the tables and towards the gates.
‘There is nae council,’ she said absently, contemplating Eoin’s feet shuffling in barely restrained elation.
‘Since when?’ he asked.
Bram’s sharp question pulled Lioslath’s thoughts from her siblings. At Bram’s assessing gaze, she cursed herself for admitting any weakness to him.
Clan Fergusson didn’t have a council. A council meant order, trades and barters. It meant a keep that was well-run and fair. They’d had a council in her youth, but her stepmother, Irman, wouldn’t allow any opposing opinions. The elders had been ignored or shamed until none came forward any more to offer advice.
It didn’t matter. No council would have been able to steer her father away from his follies. And she didn’t need a council to steer her away from getting rid of the Colquhouns.
‘In matters regarding this clan, you’ll deal with me.’
For a moment, Bram stilled and she felt as if he laid a trap she couldn’t see. Foolishly, she might have opened the gates to him, but it didn’t mean she agreed to anything more.
‘Shall we eat?’
She didn’t want to sit. She wasn’t the clan’s mistress. He probably expected traditions and courtly manners. But she never sat with her clan and she didn’t know what to do. ‘Nae.’
‘A walk, perhaps?’ Bram said.
A walk would get them outside, where she could breathe. Once he said what he was here for, perhaps he’d