Page 93 of Rogue with a Brogue
“Youwerethere,” her father growled, narrowing his eyes and clearly seeking a target to vent his own frustration and embarrassment. “I warned her that I would burn her out if she lied to me.”
“Mòrag took ye in?” the Campbell interrupted, his sharp voice cutting through his son’s blustering.
“Arran was injured when our carriage broke an axle,” she returned. “Don’t blame her; she didn’t wish to allow us in. She’s done everything possible to go unnoticed by any Campbells. And my father took a knife to her mattresses and her curtains and broke her precious things, just because she couldn’t do anything to stop him.”
“Well now,” Alkirk said slowly. “It seems my own hoose isnae quite in order.” He looked over at Ranulf. “Ye sent Munro here to protect Arran from us, didnae?”
Ranulf nodded. “I did. That’s why I rode up here, as well. Whatever I may think of Arran’s actions, he’s mybràthair.No one harms him.” The Marquis of Glengask sent an unreadable glance at Arran, then stepped directly up to the duke. “What do ye say, Alkirk? Do we see where these two intend to lead us, or do we stay mired in our own bog until there’s nae a man left standing?” With that, he held out his right hand to the duke.
Arran sucked in a hard breath. In all his imaginings, he’d never thought to see Ranulf actually offer peace. And certainly not without turning it to some strategic advantage for the MacLawrys. But there he stood, surrounded by a closing circle of Campbells and MacLawrys, each man of whom would be looking for any sign of weakness in his clan chief.
The Campbell gazed at Ranulf. If he ignored the hand, the best Arran and Mary could hope for was exile. If he turned his back, blood would spill here. Arran could feel the shudder that went through Mary and he tensed, ready to move.
Finally the Duke of Alkirk took a half step forward and clasped Ranulf’s hand with his own.“Guaimeas,”he said. “Peace.” He returned his attention to Arran and Mary. “We’ve a wedding to celebrate.”
The men around them roared, echoing the word in English and in Gaelic.Peace. “Thank God,” Arran murmured, and kissed his Mary. She dug her fingers into his arms, kissing him back with a passion that made him want to fall to the ground with her.
“You did it,” she whispered against his mouth.
“Nae.Wedid it. I told ye there’s nae a man could stand against ye when ye get that fierce look in yer eyes.”
She smiled. “I meant every word of it.”
“As did I.”
“Well,” the Campbell said, “we’ve shaken hands on it. Now I’d like to speak a word with my granddaughter and wish her well.”
Arran didn’t much like that; all of these people had been nothing but trouble for weeks. But Alkirkhadshaken hands, and in the Highlands that was more binding than any law. “That’s fer Mary to decide,” he said aloud, reluctantly releasing her.
She nudged him in the shoulder. “Go make amends with your brothers,” she muttered, and walked away a few feet to speak with her grandfather.
At least she hadn’t told him to apologize, but he likely needed to do so. For some of it, anyway. He’d pointed a loaded weapon at Bear, for God’s sake. Squaring his shoulders, he walked up to where they stood. “I’m sorry I pointed a pistol at ye, Bear,” he drawled.
“That’s what ye apologize fer?” his younger brother rumbled. “Ye disappear, we hear that ye’ve kidnapped the Campbell’s favorite granddaughter, and then ye go and marry her, and ye apologize fer a pistol.” Shaking his head, Munro wrapped him into a hard bear hug. “I thought we’d lost ye, Arran.”
Arran hugged him back. Bear might have a short and heated temper, but he was also generous to a fault. Today he would call himself lucky that he’d found the generous part. “So did I, fer a moment,” he returned.
“Ye married a girl in trousers. And Peter Gilling’s wearing a dress.”
“Aye,” Arran said, straightening again. “It’s been a long day.”
“And it’s nae noon yet,” Ranulf commented. “Why didnae ye tell me how much ye cared fer the lass?”
“I tried to tell ye. Ye didnae want to listen.” Arran took a breath. “I ken now that ye were trying to find a way to protect yer own lass, and me being after Mary didnae help ye any.” He grimaced. “I misunderstood. I apologize fer that. But I’ll nae apologize fer escaping Deirdre Stewart. If ye dunnae wish to forgive me, so be it, but I wanted ye to know.”
“I should’ve listened harder to ye, Arran,” Ranulf returned. “Love’s a damned tricky bastard.”
“Aye. I’ll agree with—”
Something slammed hot into his upper arm. Half a second later the sound of a pistol discharging echoed across the hillside. Arran staggered sideways, his shoulder on fire. Ranulf grabbed him as he went to his knees, while Bear stepped between them and the sound and lifted his rifle.
He heard Mary scream, and then she was on her knees beside him, tugging on his coat and ripping his sleeve. “Who did this?” she shrieked. “Who did this?”
“I thought we had a plan,” Charles Calder’s voice came. Arran looked over Mary’s head to see her cousin drop the spent pistol and pull a second one from his pocket. “Arran MacLawry disappears, we bribe the priest to burn one of the pages of the register, and I become Fendarrow’s son-in-law.”
“Put that down!” Mary’s father ordered.
“Someone’s going to do as they said, even if it’s only me.” He lifted the pistol, aiming it at Arran—and Mary in front of him.
