“And he’s brought a bride.” That came from Maeve, who’d caught up with them.
The brother looked more astonished than upset. “Did I hear that correctly? Bride?”
“Is your heid made of stone?” Maeve said. “Aye,bride!”
The man bowed to Heather. “Ian MacNair at your service! So you snagged Niall, did you? That’s a feat. Years of lasses flinging themselves at his feet, and he comes back from London with a brand-new wife in tow. Where’d you meet, and what did you do that floored him so?”
“It’s a long story,” said Heather (though in fact it was not a long story—just a madcap one).
“Later, Ian,” Niall muttered. “Heather hasn’t even been able to sit down yet, and she’s not here to be interrogated.”
“Oh, she’ll get used to us, won’t she?” Ian grinned. “After all, she’s family now.”
“Shut your mouth, Ian.” Niall gave his brother a slight shove, more to add to his point than as physical intimidation.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked, suddenly shooting a look at his older brother. “Why are you looking all peely-wally?”
“It’s not the time to talk about it,” Niall looked over to the woman who sat stiffly at the table. “Um, Heather. This is Miss Brenna McGlashen. She’s…ah…a friend of the family.”
Heather bit her lip, remembering Niall sayingHe thinks Brenna is my match. So this was the woman that Niall said he had no interest in marrying? Brenna was one of the most beautiful women Heather had ever seen in her life. She had long raven locks and glittering blue eyes, and high, regal cheekbones.
And when she looked at Heather, it was rather like being examined by a queen…and then found irrelevant.
After a brief nod to Heather, Brenna looked over at Niall. “Niall, I think we should speak when you have a moment."
“Er, of course,” he said. “Ian, where’s Rob? He should meet Heather as well—”
Just then a cold wind seemed to blow through the hall, and the light dimmed. Yes, it was probably a cloud passing in front of the sun, but in retrospect, Heather would always connect that moment with evil portent.
A creaky, crotchety voice screeched out, “What’s all this?”
Niall stiffened, and despite his incredible height and sheer presence, now he seemed to shrink a little.
An old man using a walking stick hobbled up to the group, glaring at everyone but reserving special enmity for Heather, the stranger.
“Father, I’d like to discuss a few things…” Niall began to say.
“Hush up, boy, I asked a question. Everyone’s chattering like magpies around here. What’s happening? Who’s this girl?” The old man poked at her feet with his stick. Heather thought about stomping down on it, but restrained herself.
Niall put a protective arm around her shoulders. “This is my wife, Heather.”
“Your wife’s been chosen for you years ago, and it’s not this chit. Get her out of here.”
“No.”
“What, boy?”
Niall frowned. “I said no. Heather is mywife, for God’s sake. She’s not going anywhere, and you can grouse about it if you like, but you can’t change what happened.”
The laird’s eyes flared open and he wheezed in a breath. He then pinned his gaze on Heather, who wanted to hide behind Niall. (Not that she did. Girls raised at Wildwood Hall never hid…unless it was during a game of hide and seek.) Instead, she offered a polite curtsy
“How do you do, my lord,” she said, deciding to refer to his rank of earl rather than his clannish lairdship, whatever that was.
“I’d do a sight better if my own house wasn’t overrun by English vermin,” he snapped back, then coughed
Unsurprisingly, Heather didn’t have a polite reply.
Niall’s brother stepped up. “Ach, father. One little lass is hardly an invasion, and I don’t think she looks a bit like vermin.”
