Chapter Two #3
Kenzie nodded in agreement. “Seems fitting for a man who was never far from his blade.” His youngest brother’s gaze shifted from the unmoving figure of their father to Cameron. He drew his own sword and raised it high. “To the new laird of Clan Munro.”
The sound of many swords being drawn filled the chamber, followed by the echo of “To the laird.”
“Should I prepare the men to ride for Clyth Castle to retrieve your bride?” Kenzie asked. “Or send word for her to travel to us?”
“Neither,” Cameron replied more harshly than he had intended. “Bring forth the shrouds. The clan is in mourning. Only when we are through our mourning period will I turn my thoughts to marriage.”
“Cameron,” his brother replied with an arch of his brow. “You know that is not what Da wanted.”
“I know,” he conceded in a resigned tone.
There was nothing he could do about the betrothal. His father’s surprise actions were difficult, if not impossible, to undo. All he could do now was make the best of the situation, but his clan needed him more than a woman who was most likely in a stable, nurturing situation. She was safe for now.
His clan was not. “Perhaps tomorrow I will send for my betrothed.”
Betrothed. The word, whispered by his father as the life ebbed from him, had upended Cameron’s life every bit as much as his father’s death. Tradition demanded that he and his clan endure six months of mourning before such a union could take place. Six months of limbo he was utterly unprepared for.
He should send a messenger, riding hard to the Gunn lands, to inform the woman who was now, against his will and knowledge, his intended, of his father’s passing and the delay.
He should contact Destiny Gunn herself and perhaps arrange a meeting, a sort of courtship.
But the words withered on his tongue, a bitter ash.
He could not. How could he explain this unexpected vulnerability that had settled inside him?
Better she and everyone else think him as ruthless and unfeeling as the tales of his prowess in battle painted him.
Better his own clan and all the other clans believed him, the new head of the Munros, to be a man of cold steel and colder resolve, impervious to the chaos that churned within him so they would not take his father’s death as an invitation to attack.
Let them think he was precisely what his fearsome reputation promised, rather than the boy who stood on the precipice of a lairdship he felt profoundly, desperately, out of his depth to claim.
Kenzie, his younger brother, leaned against the rough-hewn stone of the hall, his face grim, eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting his father’s ghost. “Should I at least send for Gavan?”
Gavan, always the diplomat, had remained behind on the battlefield, negotiating the surrender of the broken Mackenzie forces.
Gavan’s temper could flare, but he knew when to sheathe it.
With carefully chosen words and a steady presence, he had a way of guiding conversations until others believed his conclusions were their own.
Cameron shook his head as his gaze slid back to the women who were now washing his father’s body before wrapping the patriarch in a linen shroud. “Let us give Gavan a few days to work his magic. I would rather not go back into war with the Mackenzies if Gavan can do something to prevent it.”
“I understand that you want peace, but you also said you would strike if necessary. They did kill Da. That deserves retribution.” Kenzie pierced Cameron with his gaze.
His youngest brother was always ready to head into battle. No matter the consequences.
“We already discussed this. We need to regroup, to think, and come up with a plan of action that will communicate not only our displeasure but our strength. As a member of this clan, you will follow my orders now that Da is gone.” Cameron balled his hands into fists.
The code of the Highlanders demanded some sort of response to the loss of their chief.
Yet, instead of a need for justice, Cameron only felt the weight of an unwelcome future pressing upon him.
He was now the laird of his clan, betrothed to a stranger, and expected to make war when all he wanted was peace.
Kenzie pressed his mouth into a thin line, holding back any further response until he finally shook his head as his ire faded. “Then what is your first order as our new chief?”
“Contact Reverend Collus at Kiltearn and see to the arrangements for Da’s burial in three days.” Cameron glanced at his father’s body.
The women had wrapped him and had placed his sword atop his body. A fitting interment for the once vibrant and sometimes brutal man he used to be. There was also no denying that Cameron was now the chief of the Munros, even without the clan pledging their lives to him yet.
“My second order is for the funeral bunting to be laid out for the next month at a minimum. Only then will we start thinking about a wedding.”
“Are you trying to tempt Da coming back to us to make certain you do as he wanted?” Kenzie said with a bitter grin.
Cameron stared hard at Kenzie.
If their father haunted them because Cameron disobeyed his father’s final command, so be it. “I will marry the girl when I am ready.”