Page 48 of When the Laird Claims
But no matter what happened next, she knew that it was going to end poorly.
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“Idaenae care for the timin’ of it all,” Arran said, knowing that he was speaking the obvious about the whole thing.
Neil stood against the far wall in Arran’s study, his legs crossed at the ankles, with a knowing look on his face. A single brow was arched, and he kept his focus between Arran’s pacing and a random spot on his arm. He didn’t have to say anything for Arran to hear what his man-at-arms was thinking.
“So how long do ye think that we have before his titled arse makes his arrival?” Neil said conversationally. “I’ve got men tryin’ to find the messenger. Might be that the English rat is nearby already.”
Arran shrugged, because he wasn’t entirely certain about that. “I agree; the letter came far too quickly for him to be far now. But I daenae think he’s the sort to act rashly. He’ll be waitin’, bidin’ his time. So, it could be an hour, a day, a week—we must be ready for any eventuality.”
“Do ye think that he is actually comin’ in person, or do ye think that he’s hired men?”
“I think that his ego is big enough that he will want to come in person. However, he certainly willnae be alone, and he has plenty of money for hired swords,” Arran answered, his mind forcing thoughts of Victoria to the back of his mind out of necessity.
If he sat here, letting his emotions get the better of him, he would not be able to make the right moves. He needed to be the battle-hardened warrior that led this clan, at least until all of this business was concluded.
“But that’ll be to our advantage,” he continued, “because a sellsword is unlikely to have the same dedication, nor the same loyalty. They will do the job that is needed, and nothin’ more.”
“Soft lot, if they come from that side of the border,” Neil agreed. “Nothin’ to be worried about.”
“Send out some more of our best riders. I want to ensure that we have scouts in every direction. I want to know they are comin’ before they get here.” Arran frowned. “The lads watchin’ the manor would be here already if the Earl went back there. He must’ve kenned it was bein’ observed. He’s slyer than I reckoned. Send a rider to the manor, have the lads come back; there’s nay point in them bein’ there anymore and if the Earl hesitates, they might make it back in time for a fight.”
“Consider it done,” Neil said and pushed off the wall.
“In fact, we should roll out the welcome wagon,” Arran continued, an idea sparking. “Send out word that we are havin’ a cèilidh in honor of my betrothal. Make sure to invite all the clansmen. It might help us pinpoint when the bastard will show himself if we can give him a public stage. He seems to have a flair for the dramatic.”
“But ye daenae wish to warn them?”
It was a good question. He understood that it might be best if they could control the chaos, but he also knew just how difficult the situation was going to be if the clansmen found out that he was tricking them into thinking that he was engaged. They would be highly displeased, and that was going to be something that he had to deal with later.
“Tell the clansmen that we’ll be servin’ a black bull at the feast, and they’re to dress for a lively night,” Arran said. “It will look, to the Earl, like a party. To us, it will look like an army. And I’ll trust that he doesnae ken what it means if he hears it mentioned.”
The term was not used often, but it was well known, stemming from the terrible “Black Dinner” of several centuries prior, where the leader of Clan Douglas and his brother had been invited to dine with King James II. A black bull’s head was served, the brothers seized and executed, to stamp down the influence of Clan Douglas.
Neil shuddered. “Ye think the clansmen will understand?”
“Aye, they will. They’ll ken there’s a threat to the keep, and they’ll come with their fightin’ men and women,” Arran replied.
There was nothing to worry about unless the Earl didn’t play along with what they were planning for him, and Arran the rise of anticipation in the pit of his stomach. It was almost over now. Vengeance was almost within his arm’s reach. He would make the bastard pay for the damage he had caused not only to his family but also to Victoria.
When he had composed himself, Neil clapped him on the shoulder and nodded. “When do ye want the cèilidh?”
“A week—that should be more than enough time if the bastard isnae near yet. If he’s bidin’ his time out there somewhere, he’ll nae be able to resist this.”
They would just need to tell Sophie that she was allowed to plan a dance, and she would be more than happy to run with it. His mother was always talking about how she never got the chance to do anything fun in the castle.
She’ll have to forgive me afterward.
“Daenae fash about anythin’, I’ll take care of it.” Neil left the room with a wink.
At least that was one thing that Arran knew that he wasn’t going to have to worry about. Sentries would be on the move within the hour, and he would ensure that their men were suitably armed.
He had just moved behind the desk when there was a soft knock at the door. A small, almost hesitant sound. The door opened before he had a chance to answer it, and Victoria slipped inside. She seemed reluctant to meet his gaze, but it was very obvious that there were questions that she desperately wanted to have answered.
“Do you have a moment?” Victoria asked.
Would his heart ever stop skipping a beat when she walked into a room?
