Chapter 20 UNWORTHY
A SHOCKED BEAT OF silence followed.
Fiona started to tremble, her pulse racing so wildly it felt as if her heart would burst from her rib cage.
Moments slipped by, and as they did, she forgot how to breathe.
Now was Ailean’s opportunity. His chance to prove this had been more than a game to him. Aye, it had started as a bit of fun between them, but perhaps she misjudged him.
Maybe it was her he really wanted, after all.
But as the pause drew out, his silence damned them both.
And when she glanced Ailean’s way once more, queasiness twisted in her gut. The man looked horrified, as if his father had just suggested he take a hag as his bride.
Maclean had called his son’s bluff. He’d given him a test. One he’d failed.
He’d just confirmed that he’d never bind himself to a lowly weaver.
And despite that she’d never expected Ailean to fall in love with her, the truth was a hard blow to the center of her chest.
Maclean’s mouth twisted. “I thought as much.”
He cast another pitying look in Fiona’s direction—one that made her want to lash out at them both.
Caught between two proud men, she’d never felt so humiliated.
“I’ll not discuss this sordid business where anyone could be listening in,” the laird continued, when it was clear his son wasn’t going to answer him.
“We shall continue this upstairs in my solar.” Maclean turned then to Fiona.
“Return to yer bower for now, lass,” he said, his voice softening just slightly, even if his gaze remained flint-hard.
“I will let my wife decide yer fate at dawn.”
Fiona nodded woodenly. In truth, she’d expected to be dismissed on the spot. However, she felt no relief. Instead, numbness rolled over her, as if all of this were happening to someone else.
“Fiona—”
Ailean roused himself then, as if coming out of a trance. He stepped forward, one hand reaching for her arm, but she nimbly sidestepped him.
“Let her go, Ailean,” Maclean’s voice lashed across the smoky barmkin. “Ye have caused enough damage. Don’t make matters worse.”
Fiona agreed with him. Averting her gaze, for she couldn’t bear to look at Ailean now, she hurried on and skirted around where Rowan still stood watching.
He cast her a vindictive smile as she passed.
Picking up her skirts, Fiona fled.
Standing in the chieftain’s solar, back to the window, Ailean felt caged.
His father blocked the route to the door, and to make matters worse, he had called both Kylie and Lyle in to listen to what followed.
Ailean’s pulse thudded in his ears.
His father cared much for propriety. He hadn’t wanted to have it out with him in the barmkin, but now, within the sheltering walls of this chamber, he would.
Anger vibrated off the laird.
It wasn’t just the way his fern-green eyes darkened, or how his jaw bunched. It was the coldness in his gaze that warned Ailean this wasn’t going to be pretty.
His stepmother and brother stood silently by the hearth, rumpled and weary-eyed, dragged from their beds and informed of the situation. Neither had ventured an opinion.
They didn’t need to.
It was written all over their faces.
The disappointment in Kylie’s eyes. The disbelief on his brother’s face, as if he struggled to accept his elder brother would do something so stupid.
Ye don’t know me at all then, do ye? Ailean thought bitterly.
“Ye went too far tonight, Ailean.” Rae folded his muscular arms across his chest. “This is one transgression I won’t suffer.”
Ailean made a sound in the back of his throat. “God’s troth. I didn’t kill anyone. We just—”
“No.” Rae cut him off sharply. “Ye don’t understand, do ye? Sometimes I think ye have nothing of worth between yer ears.”
It was hard not to flinch.
But the laird wasn’t finished.
“It’s not just the fact that ye’ve been with a servant under my roof after ye were expressly forbidden to,” he plowed on.
“It’s the final straw. Ever since ye returned from the mainland, it’s as if ye’re too good for us.
Too good for this.” He waved a hand around, encompassing the surrounding castle.
“Ye chafe against a fate most men can only dream of. Ye appreciate nothing. How did I spawn someone so ungrateful?”
He ignored the way Kylie lifted a hand to caution him.
“It’s as if everything about the role ye’ll one day inherit bores ye. I can barely hold yer attention when we deal with tenants, when we work the accounts or settle disputes.”
Ailean stared back at him, struck speechless.
His father had never spoken to him like this.
“But enough,” Rae growled, splintering the brittle silence. “From this moment on, ye will no longer inherit the title of chieftain. Instead, that honor will pass to yer brother.”
The words hung there.
Ailean jolted.
“Those are harsh words, Da,” Lyle cut in. “Ye don’t mean them.”
“I do … and I’m not taking them back.” Rae’s gaze locked with Ailean’s. “Tonight, ye forfeited yer birthright. Ye’ve shown me ye’re not worthy of it.”
Kylie rushed forward, grasping her husband’s arm. “Rae … what are ye saying? Ailean is yer son.”
The laird didn’t shake her off. He only placed a calming hand on her arm, stilling her. Their gazes fused. Kylie’s warm brown eyes glittered with tears.
“Ye can all stop looking at me as if I’m a beast,” he growled, gently extricating himself from her. He turned back to Ailean, lip curling. “I will not disown him … or cast him out without a penny to his name.”
He crossed to his desk, where an iron strongbox sat amongst his papers and ledgers. Grabbing a key from his belt, he unlocked it, reached in, and withdrew a pouch heavy with coin. The metal clinked as he carried it back.
He seized Ailean’s wrist, yanked his hand open, and slammed the purse into his palm.
“Take this,” he grunted. “It’s all ye’re getting, so make it last. Ye are to leave here tomorrow.
Go north to Ardnacross. Recall that ruined tower on our border?
I charge ye with rebuilding it, stewarding those lands.
It’s more than ye deserve. But ye are my son, after all. I won’t leave ye with nothing.”
Nothing.
The word rang in Ailean’s ears.
He stared at his father, reeling.
Everything had moved so swiftly downstairs. Ailean had watched Fiona flee, knowing she’d never forgive his silence. He should have spoken, and yet, he’d stood there like a tongue-tied daftie while his father humiliated them both.
And now, he was tearing away his birthright.
His son wasn’t just a reckless hothead who couldn’t keep his rod in his braies. He wasn’t worthy of inheriting this castle.
To make matters worse, the accusations struck home. He did chafe against the constraints of being firstborn. But he’d never expected this. Not from his father.
His fingers clenched around the purse.
He wanted to fling it back in the bastard’s face. To tell him he could stick it right up his arse. How dare he?
He could leave tonight. Travel to the mainland. Find work as a mercenary. Live a warrior’s life.
Or he could go south to Duart. The clan-chief would take him in. Loch needed fighting men, especially with trouble brewing with the MacDonalds of Sleat.
The future yawned open before him.
But something stopped him.
Something leashed his tongue.
His anger burned hot behind his ribs, but he swallowed it down.
“Get out of my sight,” Rae said then, voice rough with the same incinerating fury. The air was thick with it.
Lyle had edged forward, body coiled as if ready to spring between them.
But Ailean held himself back.
He could see it in his father’s eyes—the expectation of an explosion. Proof that he’d judged him right.
He’d deny him that.
Wordlessly, Ailean turned and made for the door.