“I’m already married!” she shouted back. “As you must know! We informed Brom when he tried to drag me back from the border, ten minutes too late, thank the Lord.”
“Gretna Green marriages are a joke,” her uncle said.
“They are as legal as anything, sir.” That comment came from Ian MacNair, who’d emerged from nowhere and was now approaching the pair of them. “No matter if the fact pleases us or not.”
Brenna followed him in an instant later, watching Uncle Cyril with a horrid fascination.
Just then Niall rushed in, probably having been alerted of the invasion by another servant. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Your wife’s uncle has arrived,” his brother replied dryly. “Though I don’t remember anyone issuing an invitation.”
“As if one needs an invitation to enter a barn!” Cyril growled. “That’s all this place is. A stone barn, filled with peasants who eat the same slop as the pigs.”
“Uncle, please,” said Heather.
“Why are you wrapped up in that plaid stuff?” her uncle demanded, glaring at her as though he’d just realized she was there.
“It’s not plaid stuff, it’s the MacNair tartan,” she retorted.
Niall declared, “And she’s wearing it because she’s a MacNair.”
“For now,” Heather breathed, so softly only Niall could hear.
Niall wrapped his arm around Heather’s shoulders, and she leaned into him, seeking more of that comforting strength. He said, “I see now why you scaled down a tower to get away from the man.”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “But I’d ratherhenot be here.”
Niall nodded, then turned to her uncle. “So. You’re Heather’s guardian. The one who hit her so hard that when I met her, she still showed the bruises.”
His voice was very calm, but Cyril caught some of the threat there, because he took one step back. Niall continued, “Time for you to go, sir.”
“Not until I talk with my niece. That’s why I came all this way.”
“If Heather wishes to communicate with you in the future, that’s up to her. Not you. She’s quite fond of writing letters, and I’m certain she knows where you live.”
“She’s my ward! I’ve got business here,” he blustered, his drunkenness more evident now.
“You don’t,” Niall assured him. “Whatever business you may have wanted to use Heather for, it’s over. She is no longer your ward. She’s my wife.”
Cyril turned to the figure at his elbow. “Get her, Brom.”
The lackey took a hesitant step forward, perhaps remembering the last time he attempted to seize Heather from Niall and found himself at a distinct disadvantage.
“Ain’t got a gun now,” he said to Niall. “Nor any weapon.”
Niall gave him a pitying look. “I’m in my family castle, surrounded by my people. Who do have weapons.”
“I’m only following orders,” Brom said. He reached out, intending to grab Heather’s shoulder.
“Touch her and I’ll rip your arm off,” Niall said pleasantly.
Brom froze, his hand out. Then he slowly retracted it.
Heather breathed out. This was the second time Niall had faced off with Brom, and both times he showed no trace of fear, while Brom (a nightmare figure to her) slunk away defeated. She leaned back into Niall, grateful for the solidity he provided.
“Damn coward,” Cyril told Brom in disgust.
“Didn’t see you try to get her,” Brom growled back.
