Page 55 of The Highlander's Auctioned Wife
Beathan walked at his side, stifling yawns. “I’m nae goin’ to talk about me lands and skirmishers when me nephew has found himself such a bonny lass, Gordon.” He laughed wearily. “Ye have to rearrange yer priorities, Nephew—wife first, everythin’ else after.”
“Says the man who doesnae speak to his wife, and has a menagerie of mistresses,” Gordon pointed out, his boots sinking into the grass, still dampened by the recent drizzle.
Beathan tapped the side of his nose. “That’s how I ken the importance of makin’ sure ye marry the right lass. Ye daenae want to end up with a sour, barren harpy like mine.” He shrugged. “I cannae deny that she runs Castle MacScott well, though. The steward barely has to do anythin’.”
“What of inheritance?” Gordon asked, reaching the stepping-stone path that led toward a low wall in the near distance.
Beathan shrugged. “What of it?”
“Will ye legitimize one of yer bastards, or let it pass to someone else?”
A snort shook Beathan’s shoulders. “The former. Heaven kens I’ve enough of ‘em.” He paused to knock some mud off his boot. “Anyway, stop tryin’ to get me to talk about meself. I’m here to talk to ye… and to get away from me wife. How are ye farin’ with the lass? Do ye think she’ll make a good Lady?”
“Aye,” Gordon replied without hesitation. “I daenae doubt there’ll be a weddin’.”
Beathan nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.”
They walked up the winding path, coming to the low wall, where raised, flattened boulders offered lookout points over the sea. They’d been built for defense, for archers and cannoneers, but it had been a long time since anyone had attacked the castle by sea. As such, it had become a pleasant place to gaze out at the water and admire the brutal beauty of the view.
“Does she ken about the threat against ye?” Beathan asked, as Gordon clambered up one of the boulders and perched himself on the wall.
“Thereisnay threat.”
Beathan sighed, climbing up to sit near his nephew. “Be serious, Nephew. Those rats told ye themselves that ye’d missed their leader.”
“But I sent a message,” Gordon insisted. “Whoever the bastard is, they’ll think twice before attackin’ again.”
The older man turned his gaze out toward the foaming ocean. “They managed to kidnap the Devil of the Highlands. They struck because ye became too confident, too arrogant about yer position and yer reputation.” He looked back at Gordon. “If ye want to protect yer family, yer bride, then ye cannae make that mistake again. I’d start with yer m an-at-a rms.”
“Pardon?” Gordon narrowed his eye.
“Ye need better around ye. Me own m an-at-a rms would’ve had me back in me own castle by dinner, butyersdid nothin’,” Beathan replied firmly. “And aye, I ken ye got rid of yer council, for the most part, but ye need to put somethin’ stronger in its place.”
Annoyed, Gordon scratched at a bit of moss that clung to the weathered walls. He was tired of people talking about his kidnapping and the wretches who had taken his eye, and would have taken his life if he wasn’t who he was. He was tired of being forced to remember the past, when all he wanted was to look forward.
Indeed, he was beginning to wish he had kept the details of his capture and captivity to himself.
“What happened wasnae any fault of anyone but meself,” he said curtly. “Iwillnaemake the same mistake again, but the support I now have around me is plenty strong enough. I’m done discussin’ it.”
Beathan smiled sadly. “Ye mustnae blame an uncle for worryin’.”
“I daenae , but I can blame an uncle—both uncles—for pesterin’,” Gordon replied in a sharp voice. “Nothin’ is more important than the future, givin’ an heir to me people, protectin’ me bride. And ye’d best believe I willnae be lettin’ her out of me sight, so please, cease talkin’ about the past.”
The older man nodded slowly, reaching out to clap his nephew on the arm. “Fine, lad. I’ll cease.” He paused. “But I wouldnae forgive meself if I dinnae at least mention it. For yer maither, if nae for me. Och, ye ken she’d have been pesterin’ ye more than me and Matthew put together if she were here… but she’d have been happy too, seein’ this bride of yers, seein’ her wee laddie married at last.”
A lump formed in Gordon’s throat, the whip of the sea wind lashing at his eye, making it sting. His mother was another thing he didn’t wish to discuss, simply because he couldn’t. Twenty years later, the thought of her hurt as much as it had on the night he lost her.
There’d been nothing he could do for his brother and father, run through with blades, but his mother… Sometimes, he was more haunted by the way that she had been taken from him, wondering endlessly if he could have saved her, if he had just known how.
“If ye’ll excuse me,” he said gruffly, jumping down from the wall.
“I need to return to me own lands again, Nephew,” Beathan said solemnly, causing Gordon to halt, though he didn’t turn. “The attacks havenae yet ceased, but I dinnae want to wait to see yer betrothed, to ensure that ye had a lass worthy of ye. I’ll have to ride out tomorrow.”
So soon?
In the coming weeks, Gordon knew he would need as many of his “ council” around him as possible. And though he relied upon Matthew to aid with serious matters, grateful for the dependable nature of his father’s brother, he didn’t want to be without the emotional guidance and lighthearted influence of his mother’s brother. Especially considering how much Anna clearly liked Beathan.
“Nay, ye should stay until the weddin’ is done,” Gordon said coolly. “I’ll send David to protect yer lands in yer stead.”
