Chapter Eight
Rut
Rut MacVey had never been more excited. She’d heard Dermot’s bellows from the far end of the crowded hall and made her way over to the battleground as quickly as she could.
She did her best to hide her delight. If the two finest specimens of older men weren’t standing in front of her, then the Lord should strike her down right now.
Connor Grant stood with his eyes narrowed, at least a head taller than Dermot, but Dermot was not backing down.
She had to wonder which one she’d rather have sneak into her bed.
Connor, with his long dark waves slightly streaked with gray, carried himself with a dignity that was unmatched in the hall. His broad shoulders were wider than any man here, his chiseled jaw clenched.
Rut had something grinding inside that was nearly out of control. She fanned her face with a book she found nearby.
Dermot stood strong, his gray hair also to his collar with that way of looking messy, but not unruly.
His hair had once been the color of chestnuts but was still full and thick, similar to Connor’s.
The muscles in his upper arm flexed with every sentence, his green eyes set on Connor Grant, and he was not going to back down, even though he had to know that Connor could deliver a knock-out blow with one swing.
Dermot had always been a fine-looking man, but the swagger he had was almost untouchable—not unlike the swagger of Logan Ramsay, the man who commanded attention wherever he went.
Connor’s blue eyes widened as he listened to something else Dermot said, but Rut never heard it.
She was too busy studying the fine-looking male bodies on display in front of her, imagining them in ways she’d never admit to anyone.
She’d apologize to dear Douglas for her thoughts, but he knew how long it had been for her.
And what happened next nearly did her in.
Logan Ramsay came tearing down the stairs, shouting, “What the hell is all the bellowing down here?”
If Rut were the fainting type, she would have dropped to the floor that instant. Logan flew by her, all the maleness dripping from his pores, the scent of the magnificent man hitting her like nothing else had in many years.
There they stood, three big bulls battling over a woman, so close Rut could nearly touch them, and she practically cried tears of joy just to be able to watch them.
And they had an attentive audience. No one in the hall dared speak or move, including the serving lasses who were peeking wide-eyed out of the kitchens.
Dermot yelled, “His son is marrying my daughter, Ramsay. No one asked your thoughts on the matter, so stay out of this. It is not your affair at all. He took advantage of her innocence.”
Connor didn’t let up either. “By a stroll outside? That doesn’t constitute taking advantage. He’ll marry his choice, not yours.”
“He’ll marry her on the morrow as soon as I bring a priest here.”
“The hell he will. We don’t force marriages on our land. Hagen will choose his own wife.”
“Rankin, calm down. You’ve had too much of your own brew.” Logan touched his shoulder, but the man shrugged him off.
“Stay out of this, Ramsay. This is not your concern.”
But Logan wouldn’t be pushed aside, something else Rut admired in the man. “I thought your daughter was betrothed to another, to MacVey’s brother, Taskill. Where the hell is he? MacVey, are you going to claim your bride or what?” Logan’s gaze scanned the area, but Taskill was nowhere to be found.
Taskill? Now they were after her son?
That comment gave Rut the gift she needed.
She shoved people out of her way and pushed herself between the three stallions to stand up to Dermot.
Fortunately, her temper kept her from smiling, though the scent of maleness was nearly too much for her.
“Don’t you dare make this about my son. Taskill has naught to do with this.
This is Dermot being an arse. You can’t force people to do your bidding, you wiry old hedgehog.
Your poor daughter. I feel sorry for the lass. ”
“Silence, Rut. No one invited you into this conversation.” Dermot’s green eyes found hers and sparkled.
The hairs on her neck bristled. “You invited me when you involved my son, who is clearly not here to defend himself. You love to fling accusations around, Rankin, and I’ll not stand for it.”
“Stay out of this, Rut. This is men’s business. Women have no say in this.”
And that did it for her. How she hated that ancient, outdated, foolish belief. Women had more value than he would ever guess.
Rut hauled her hand back and slapped Dermot hard in the face, right against his cheek.
“I’ve had enough of your antiquated, narrow-minded thoughts that since I don’t have a piece of meat dangling between my legs that I have no brain.
My mind is quicker than yours, Dermot. I’ve known that for a long time, so don’t ever tell me to shut up again. ”
“You hit me.” His voice came out in such a low tone that Rut was unsure whether he would retaliate.
She dared him to try.
“Insult me again, and I’ll hit you again, you bullheaded ram.” The two stared at each other, and a moment later, Sloan reached for his father and pulled him back. “Eva, go find Ingelram for me. You’re going home, Da, and you’ll apologize to the Grants, both of them.”
Lennox took his mother’s shoulders, pulling her back. “I think you’ve done enough, Mother. Time for you to go home too.”
“Not until I kick him where he deserves,” she said, swinging her leg out at Dermot. “He’s had it coming for a long time, Lennox, and I’m going to be the one to set him straight. I’ll teach him the true value of a woman. He belongs in a pigsty.”
“Nay. I’m taking you home. Meg, I’ll be back within the hour. Enjoy yourself.” Lennox dragged his mother outside, but she eventually went willingly.
She shook her son’s hands from her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Lennox, but that poor girl. Now I know why she doesn’t want to marry. I’d rather become a nun to get the hell away from the old goat.”
Lennox called for their two horses from the lads, and they waited. “Why? I know you’re not thinking straight, but please tell me why you say that.”
“Because Dermot will kill her husband, and she’ll feel responsible. He’s a miserable old man ever since he lost Ailis.”
Lennox said, “I can’t argue that. But next time, don’t slug him, Mama.”
“Oh, horse bollocks. It was just a wee slap.”
Lennox snorted. “I doubt Dermot looked at it that way.”
She chuckled. “But it felt so good.”