Chapter 2
Visions of the strange gray-eyed redhead followed Lachlan into his bed as he retired after the first night’s festivities.
Outside his window, he could still hear the remnants of what was left of the drunks that stumbled around outside cheering and singing of Quinn’s conquests.
Dinner had been tense for him after he’d deliberately peppered the end of the table with Errol’s and Gair’s warriors with his own.
They’d all been warned to behave during their visit, but Lachlan was still on high alert.
Sloane Fenton. Although he knew nothing of Errol’s long-dead wife, the daughter must have resembled her because she looked nothing like Errol.
Her thick, fiery strands had been pulled back in a braid but curls still escaped and stuck out wildly.
What was also strange was the dingy dress that she wore.
The daughter of the Laird of a wealthy clan should be wearing the finest threads, and yet she looked as if she swept out the fireplaces.
Freckles dotted along her surprisingly pale complexion, but it was those light eyes that were the most arresting.
They were mostly trained to the plate, but when they did lift, they were filled with anxiety.
Lachlan had the strangest desire to take her into his arms and tell her that she was safe in his keep.
Of course, it also appeared that the woman was used to saying what she wanted when she wanted, so perhaps she didn’t need his protection after all.
If she continued to freely spout her opinions, she was likely to keep all men at a safe distance.
That did not stop the oddly erotic dreams from tormenting him as he tried to sleep.
The next morning, he pushed her from his mind and summoned the four lairds to meet in the more intimate breakfast chamber.
What he wanted to say to them was not for the ears of anyone else and while he wasn’t quite ready to speak with them in one of his more imposing rooms, he did want to gauge their reaction.
He sat at the head of the table with Errol Fenton on his left and Gair Brisbane on his right.
Next to them were their two other allies, Cunningham and Donahue.
While they were smaller clans and uninvolved in the feud, their locations bordering the rest of the Highland clans made them key assets in the alliance.
The king had demanded their pact generations ago during a period of unrest and they’d combined forces ever since.
The rest of the clans looked to them and it wasn’t until the king decreed that a small piece of Fenton lands go to Brisbane that the alliance began to waver.
Now, it was going to break unless Lachlan put an end to it.
“If ye wanted us to meet so early in the morn, ye shouldna have offered us so much wine and ale,” Errol growled as he sat down, but he did not look surprised. “Is there a problem?”
“My dead cousin is a problem,” Lachlan said evenly.
The older man slanted his eyes. “Ye are not about to accuse me of murder again, are ye?”
In the early hours of discovering his cousin’s death, Lachlan had fired off some poorly worded letters to both Errol and Gair. That same day, he sent another apologizing and offering an invitation to attend the celebration of his cousin’s life and by then, their replies were already on the way.
Both of them staunchly denied the allegations.
“Quinn is a victim of a bigger problem, a problem that we will be solving right here and now. Ye can continue to deny the feud and the infighting, but everyone here at the table knows differently. Errol, ye are lashing out at the king’s decision to award part of the loch shores to Gair Brisbane.
I have held my tongue hoping that the two of ye will settle, but ye have not.
Quinn stepped in to help and now, he is dead. ”
Errol opened his mouth to argue, but Lachlan held up his hand.
“I will not tolerate any more bloodshed. Fenton. Brisbane. Ye have been warned. We will find a way to bury this discourse as we have buried my cousin and we will strengthen our alliance or I will tell the king that ye are pushing the boundaries of his decree.”
Laird Brodie Donahue’s eyes widened and crinkled his handsome face. “If ye tell the king that, he may punish all of us.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said as he met his gaze. “To assure yer support of peace.” He wanted to make it very clear that he had no qualms going to the king no matter the consequences. This had gone on long enough and he would not lose any more lives in their petty feud.
For a moment, none of the men said anything. Brisbane, the only laird at the table as young as Lachlan, smirked and leaned forward. “All right, men. Let’s hear ideas.”
What started out as a calm conversation quickly turned into a heated debate and then shouting indignation.
The servant who bravely brought them food to break their fast retreated with impressive speed.
Fists struck against the table accompanied by more bellows, but Lachlan never rose from his seat or raised his voice until he heard the first offer that finally made sense.
“Stop.” Lachlan raised his hand and stared at Cunningham. “Expand on yer thought.”
“’Tis going to take more than an informal decree or even a formal decree to tie Fenton with Brisbane,” Cunningham said as he popped a piece of fruit into his mouth.
“Ye are the biggest and strongest of us all. A common thread between ye and Fenton and Brisbane will be required to stop the bloodshed.”
“Ye have something in mind.”
Cunningham nodded. “Between the three of ye, ye have two unwed eligible women and two unwed eligible men.”
Brisbane’s face darkened in anger. “Ye cannae mean to marry Lady Freya to Errol!”
“No,” Lachlan said as he stared at Errol’s face. “’Tis not what Cunningham is suggesting. He wants ye to marry Freya.”
Errol’s eyes narrowed. “And ye are to marry my Sloane?”
“Aye,” Cunningham cheered. “Three clans tied together through marriage. Fenton and Brisbane cannae make a move on each other without angering ye as their in-law.”
Lachlan felt his whole body tighten. Although Sloane had invaded his thoughts in the most carnal of ways, he hadn’t even considered the thought of marrying her.
She clearly had no training in being the mistress of a keep and her tongue was far too loose.
Furthermore, in marrying her, he’d hurt the woman he knew was expecting a proposal.
His own clan would find it difficult to accept the daughter of the man they believed may have murdered Quinn, especially when they were so eager that he marry one of their own.
On the other hand, Lachlan could not afford for the feud to continue and it was the only idea that felt like a solution.
“Freya willna agree to marry before a three-month mourning period has passed,” Gair said tightly. “Nor will I ask that of her.”
“I am under the same mourning period,” Lachlan pointed out.
Errol immediately growled. “I willna agree to this knowing that anything can happen in that three-month period. I doona trust Brisbane. If I am to agree to this, ye will wed Sloane immediately—before we depart.”
Hissing, Gair stood, but Lachlan put his hand up.
The truth was that he wouldn’t agree to a three-month truce with Errol either, but he trusted Gair more.
He hoped that Gair shared his sister’s affections and he wouldn’t be sending his sister to a lifetime of torment.
“Gair, if ye are amenable, I will allow Freya to stay here and wait out the three-month mourning period. Errol, I am willing to wed yer daughter after the celebration has ended but before the other clans depart. They will all bear witness to the union.”
“If Brisbane makes a move in that three-month period, I willna be responsible for my actions,” Errol sneered. “Otherwise, I agree.’
Lachlan didn’t believe that would be a problem. Gair gripped the table tightly but he nodded as well.
Peace had been brokered and just like that, Lachlan found himself betrothed to the strange woman who heated his blood and prattled on about locks on doors.
When her father didn’t summon her down for breakfast, Sloane sat by the window and gazed out below.
The morning meal was over and the village below was full of life.
More than a few men stumbled along and Sloane even saw one heaving up his guts.
The guards had divided themselves by clan but were roughhousing and challenging each other.
When they raced off, Sloane could only assume they were going to put those challenges to the test.
Her chambers had been far more luxurious than anything that she’d ever slept in before.
A gorgeous tapestry of a stag drinking by the water hung on the stone wall above a large fireplace and a brown bear-skin rug was spread out between the door and the bed.
She’d always run along the stone floor either barefoot or in slippers and she spent a long time rubbing her feet on the rug.
The bed was dressed in a ridiculous number of pillows and blankets and the chestnut armoire, painted in blues and golds, was far too large for her meager belongings.
It was a room fit for the mistress of the keep and she felt like a charlatan sleeping there.
A knock at the door drew her attention away, but when she answered it, there was no servant on the other side.
Instead, Maggie MacFarlane, in her quiet and elegant way, greeted her warmly.
Sloane recognized her instantly from the night before.
“My dear, we were concerned when ye didna come down to join us. Are ye feeling all right?”
Surprised, Sloane cocked her head. Her stomach had turned a bit after such a large meal combined with the wine she wasn’t used to, but that’s not why she missed breakfast. “I apologize. I was waiting for my father to send for me.”