Page 85 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“I never thought he was a devil,” Charlotte returned, surprised. “You told him to behave?”
“He’s very witty, you know, and he loves all of us to distraction. But he’s so accustomed to being in Scotland, and he doesn’t know how Englishmen behave.”
“But there aren’t just Englishmen here.”
“You’re talking about that awful Lord Berling. He may not be an Englishman, but he’s definitely not a Highlander.”
“It’s not just Berling, Rowena. And your brother is the way he is for very good reason.” She drew a breath. “I only wish I’d realized that earlier.”
Rowena leaned forward and seized her hand. “You didn’t turn him away, did you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Oh, thank goodness. Because he’s quite smitten with you. No one else ever talks back to him, you know. Except for me. And even I always end up doing as he says—except for coming here. And I know he wants me to marry Lachlan MacTier, and I thought I wanted that, too, but now that I’ve been here I think maybe Lachlan might not be the right man. He thinks I’m just a wee bairn, you know, and there are men here who definitely know I’m a young lady. Some very handsome men.”
Oh, dear. She would have to tell Ranulf about this, too, then. But there were other things that he had to know first. She wanted him to know that she didn’t love him in spite of his so-called devilish ways, but because of them. Because as much as he wanted to keep his family and friends safe, she wanted the same for him.
Chapter Sixteen
Arran stared at him. “What do ye mean, ye want to sit down with the Campbell?” he asked, his face going alarmingly pale.
“We’ve been feuding fer better than a hundred years,” Ranulf returned. “I think it’s time we had a chat.”
“Ye’ll never make it into his castle alive. And if ye did, ye damned well wouldnae make it oot again.”
“So ye’d rather we go on as we are? They take one of ours every so often, and we shoot one of theirs in return?”
Standing, Arran paced the sitting room. “Ye’ve lost yer damned mind!” he finally burst out. “Ye know how we survive. We stand strong, and they leave us be because they’re afraid of what we could do to them if they dared strike.”
Ranulf sipped at his coffee, willing the pain in his skull to ease. While he would admit to being tired and having an aching head, he didn’t think he’d lost his mind. Not yet. “We’re likely to gain more ground with the Campbell than we are with the Gerdenses. To talk with them, I’d have to deal with Berling.”
“Ye dunnae need to talk to anyone,” his brother insisted. “If ye go to them, they’ll see it as weakness. Except fer the school fires and an offer to purchase land, they’ve all let us be fer fifteen years. And that’s because of ye, Ran.”
“They’ve let us be except fer Munro being shot by Gerdens-Dailey, and the matter of my stable fire.” He blew out his breath. “I want my family to be safe,” he finally said. “I want to be able to bring a wife to Glengask and nae have to worry every time she goes outside to pick wildflowers.”
“Well, the only way ye’ll make peace with the Campbells is if ye burn out yer cotters and villages and lose enough people that they can call themselves better than we are. And ye’d likely have to sell off a third of Glengask for sheep grazing just so they’ll believe ye.”
“There has to b—”
“And ye’ll nee’r make peace with the Gerdenses, so ye’d only be weaker by half and facing one fewer set of killers—unless the Campbell decided seeing ye on yer belly meant he could grind the lot of us beneath his heel.”
Arran generally made a great deal of sense, and Ranulf couldn’t find fault in any of his reasoning this time, either. “Then what do ye suggest I do?”
“I suggest ye stop letting thoseamadaninsult ye, for one thing, and that ye start thinking again with yer brain and not yer cock. The stronger ye are, the more likely they are to leave us be. And that’s what’ll make us safe.”
“And if I cannae go aboot thrashing people fer no good reason?”
“Then think of a good reason, Ranulf. Fer God’s sake. Ye’ve never thrown a punch for any but a damned good reason before now, anyway.” His brother slammed his fist into the back of a chair. “If she has ye gelded now, we’ll all be dead by winter.”
Ranulf shot to his feet. “Enough!”
“Why? Ye cannae hit me, or yer lass will frown at ye.” Arran jabbed a finger in his direction. “And the minute the Campbells or the Gerdenses or anyone else realize that, we’re all done for.”
He knew Arran was correct, and he knew he was being foolish to let a lass dictate how he conducted his business. After all, he’d lived this life. She hadn’t. “I want her in my life, Arran. I want her to be happy, and I want her to be safe.”
Arran looked at him. “I dunnae think ye can have all three, Ran. Two of them, perhaps. But not all three.”
“And I think ye’re wrong.”
