Page 48 of Taken By the Devilish Highlander
“It’s on its way, certainly.”
“Certainly,” another voice said. “But perhaps we should prepare for the possibility that it’s not.”
Archer put up a hand, silencing the men in his council chamber. The topic of Ryder McKenzie’s marriage to Morgana had been front and center on the agenda today, though Archer didn’t understand what all the fuss was.
“The man just got married,” he told the room. “I’m sure he has other things on his mind than a wedding party.”
A few men smiled with him, knowing exactly what Archer was insinuating, but Lennox scowled at the joke.
“We must take this seriously, my Laird,” he said. “I have it on good authority that invitations are being sent for his ceilidh. If ye daenae receive one, it’s a clear sign.”
“A sign of what?” Elijah asked. He seemed just as frustrated with Lennox as Archer was.
“Any number of things,” Lennox answered, but before he could elaborate, O’Brien chimed in, ever the optimist.
“Perhaps the invitation was lost.”
Archer glanced at the man sideways, but no one responded. Lennox jumped into the silence, eager to drive home his point.
“Not getting an invitation is a sure snub. It means the man doesn’t respect ye. It means he doesnae believe he needs ye on his side to rule his clan.”
“And, so what?” Archer asked. If this new Laird McKenzie didn’t want to invite him to a party, it was no skin off Archer’s back. He hated those celebrations anyway. He would be forced to make nice with fellow Lairds and compliment some mediocre food. He usually spent the whole evening wondering how soon he could leave.
“Ye want the man to think ye weak?” Lennox asked, and the label instantly made Archer’s blood boil.
“Weak?” Archer asked, a threat in his voice, and Lennox quickly backed off, sensing he had crossed into dangerous territory.
“Of course, ye arenae weak,” Egan Stewart said, always the peacemaker.
Elijah stepped forward from where he had been pacing in front of the tall windows.
“Perhaps Lennox has a point.” Archer glared at him. Was Elijah really agreeing with Lennox? He waited, wondering if his man-at-arm was playing with them. Perhaps he would agree with Lennox only to humiliate him in the next sentence. “Not getting an invitation might be an early sign of trouble.”
“And what trouble is that?” Archer asked. He was growing more irritated by the second, finding it harder and harder to stay put in his chair while these men invented problems. Archer knew what real trouble looked like. It was an opposing army bearing down on you with double the number of men you had. It was a sneak attack when your army was sleeping. A wedding invitation was hardly a crisis.
“If McKenzie doesn’t respect ye, he could see ye as a target,” Elijah explained. “He’s a new Laird eager to prove himself. What better way than to launch an attack, try to claim new territory for his own?”
“You mean war?” Lord O’Brien asked, and suddenly the men at the table were all talking. They raised their voices overeach other, everyone expressing their anxieties and fears about another conflict.
“That’s enough,” Archer called out, and he heard his voice echoing back to him. “There willnae be war. I’ll attend this ceildih whether I get an invitation or not. I willnae let a piece of paper stop me from showing me face.”
“That would be unwise, my Laird,” Lennox warned. Suddenly, the men were arguing again, though this time they were yelling at each other. Some of the men agreed with Archer, believing that an appearance at the wedding party was crucial to establish his place among the clan leaders. Others spoke of disrespect, of the anger it could elicit in McKenzie if he showed up uninvited.
Archer didn’t have the patience to hear the men out. He felt tension building in his neck and a pain forming at the base of his skull. The angry voices around him made the pain worse, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to force it away.
“It willnae do any good to argue,” he said, and a few of the men quieted down as he spoke. “I’ve made up me mind—I’m going.”
He pressed himself to his feet, but as he did so, he felt the floor lurch beneath him. Archer gripped the arms of his chair as he regained his balance, the iron tinge of blood in his nose. He heard the distant screams of men on the battlefield, a horn calling soldiers to formation.
“My Laird?” Elijah asked. He was suddenly at his elbow, steadying him. Archer looked out to the council table, wheremost of the men were now staring at him. Some of them had seen him unsteady on his feet, had seen the early signs of another one of his episodes.
Archer yanked his elbow from Elijah’s grip and scowled at him.
“I’m fine,” he barked. “Which is more than I can say for the men in this room. Ye are meant to advise me, not argue with each other like school children.”
He pushed past Elijah and toward the door, but leaving the council chamber didn’t make him feel any better. Anger and unease still churned in his chest, and Archer was forced to come to terms with the decision he had just made.
Ye just told your whole council ye’re going to McKenzie Castle.
