Page 4 of Highlander's Wild Lass
“Och, my heavens, the chief is here?” he called from behind the door, the surprise in his voice clear.
“Aye, sir, I need a moment of yer time,” Anthony answered.
“Come in, come in, please!”
His voice seemed strong enough to Anthony. So, he gripped the door handle and turned to Celestia. “Ye would think ye’d learn some manners from yer dear ol’ faither.”
“The pot callin’ the kettle black, now?”
With that, Celestia simply walked away, leaving him to his dealings with Brannan McLean. He opened the door slowly, not wanting to startle the man. He was unsure of what sort of illness Mr. McLean had, but he still wanted to be as respectful and careful as he could.
To his surprise, he found Mr. McLean sitting up in bed looking much thinner than when he last saw him, but he looked alert and well enough as Celestia said.
“Please, take a seat,” Mr. McLean said, gesturing to the armchair nestled in the corner of his room by the fireplace. “What brings ye here today? Business, I hope. I’m goin’ mad doin’ nothin’.”
Anthony walked across the room, pulling the chair a bit closer than before, and sat. “Well, I heard ye were nae well and wanted to check in on ye and yer family.”
Mr. McLean smiled, but his eyes gave away the truth of the situation, they held sadness and shame. “Aye, the healer thinks it could be an affliction of the lungs.”
“Is there anythin’ the healer can do?” Anthony knew the answer before he asked the question.
“Nay, there’s nothin’ to do but wait now.” Again, he smiled, but it did not hold the usual warmth that he was used to seeing in the man. “Although, the healer has been kind enough to give me some extra pain relief when I need it.”
Anthony mirrored his smile and quickly looked down at his boots. He was never quite good at dealing with dying men. He could not even bear to visit his father before he died.
“I want to apologize about the lack of whisky and milk. My apprentice I have workin’ in my absence is still learnin’ what needs to go where. And I feel bad for the poor sod, I havenae really had the chance to train him up well.”
Anthony looked back up at the man and waved his apology away. “Nay, please, ye daenae need to apologize. I have been made aware of yer family’s financial situation and yer illness for some time now. News reached me on the road.”
Mr. McLean laughed unexpectedly at this, heartily this time. “Oh, I’m sure Mrs. Duncan wrote to ye and told ye about the missin’ orders. She doesnae miss a thing.”
“Nay, she certainly doesnae,” Anthony said. “Especially when it meddles with her drinkin’ and her cookin’.”
Laughter filled the room until Mr. McLean’s deep chuckle caught in his throat, and he started coughing. He coughed until he was red in the face. Wordlessly and frantically, he motioned to his handkerchief that lay on the bedside table. Anthony swiftly grabbed it and placed it in his waiting hand.
He hacked into the piece of fabric and soon the coughing attack subsided. Mr. McLean looked down at the handkerchief and quickly tucked it away from sight.
Blood, surely.
“I thank ye, lad. I haven’t laughed like that in some time,” he said, voice rough. A few more coughs bubbled forth before he was able to regain total control of his breathing again. “Now, what did ye come all the way here to discuss if it is nae the whisky?”
Anthony nodded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I wonder how’d you feel if I were to ask for yer daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Mr. McLean laughed again, much more subdued now. “Did ye just come to make me laugh, lad?”
Normally, Anthony would not have allowed anyone to refer to him as lad now that he was chief. But due to the friendship Mr. McLean had with his father when he was alive, he permitted it.
“Aye, as much as I enjoy seein’ ye happy, my words are true.”
“Ye ken it would be easier to marry Queen Anne herself than my Celestia,” Mr. McLean said, crossing his arms as he observed Anthony closely. “Ye two butt heads more than ye seem to agree on things.”
“I ken we do, and in time, I believe we could be able to get over that. Will ye agree? I can help yer family, sir,” Anthony said earnestly. “I’ve heard that ye’ve been sellin’ off yer animals and the lasses have been sellin’ the food from yer own farm along with their knittin’. Most troublin’, the boys have been seen pawnin’ the silverware.”
Mr. McLean’s face didn’t give away much.
He must ken what the boys have been doin’.
“Yer acquainted with my daughter, aren’t ye?” he asked.
