Laird MacDonald inclined his head graciously. “Aye. Perhaps we can.”
His agreement was quick. Too quick. Emeric felt a prickle of unease, but kept his features smooth and impassive. He watched as MacDonald leaned back in his seat with a deliberate ease, folding his arms over his chest and regarding them with hooded eyes. He got the feeling that it was MacDonald who’d won a victory here, and not the Mackintosh.
Mining rights. What were the MacDonalds up to? The Mackintosh lands were hardly rich in precious metals, despite what MacDonald claimed. Emeric didn’t like it. Before he had time to probe deeper into his thoughts, a distant horn sounded, cutting through the air in the hall like a sharp blade.
“Ah!” said his uncle. “It seems our other guests have arrived. Shall we go out and greet them?”
Emeric rose, his uncle and Mackintosh clansmen following suit. MacDonald shared a long look with his son, before they too rose from their seats and filed out into the courtyard with the rest of them.
Once outside, Emeric moved through the throng towards Anna, hoping to catch a word with her, but Lady Maria linked her arm with Anna’s and swept her away before he had the chance.
He gritted his teeth. Today was not going how he’d wanted it to. Oh, how he wished for the open road and the sky above him! Anything but this suffocating, claustrophobic charade.
The sun was climbing towards mid-morning and a light wind had sprung up. For the second time that morning, Emeric lined up with his family in the courtyard, the rest of the household behind, the MacDonalds standing proudly by their sides.
He glanced at Aislinn. His sister, who’d been so quiet and morose during their breakfast with the MacDonalds, had suddenly come to life. She was practically bouncing on her heels, her eyes sparkling and a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.
The thunder of marching footsteps sounded and suddenly Clan Murray marched through the gates into Dun Achmore. They were a sturdy troop led by their Laird, Alistair Murray; a man as hard and unyielding as the granite hills that cloistered his stronghold. He moved with an unspoken authority, his strong jaw set under flaming auburn hair, his eyes green as the mossy veins in an ancient stone.
He was followed by his three sons, who were mirror images of their father, tall and proud with the unmistakable Murray fire in their eyes. Among them, leading a young chestnut horse by its reins, was Brodie Murray—the youngest son. He was tall and lean with fiery hair like his father’s, but his eyes were not green but a deep sapphire blue that matched the morning sky above Dun Achmore.
Aislinn broke from the line before anyone could stop her, running towards him with open arms. He dropped the reins of his horse and caught her up in a fierce embrace, laughing and spinning her around.
“Ah, my love!” he cried, setting her down on her feet. “Ye are a sight for sore eyes.”
“And ye,” Aislinn replied with a scowl, prodding him in the chest. “Are late.” Then she undermined the severity of her words by planting a kiss on Brodie’s lips.
The lairds watched with a mixture of surprise and thinly veiled disapproval at this breach of etiquette. It simply wasn’t done for two intended to show such affection in public.
Emeric, on the other hand, couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Now he understood why his uncle had agreed to this match, despite the precarious position it put his clan in. As his uncle had said, it was clear that Aislinn and Brodie were besotted with each other.
He glanced at Anna, hoping to share the moment with her, but her gaze was locked onto the pair, a soft smile playing on her lips.
The three lairds exchanged stiff greetings, their nods just respectable enough to not be considered outright rudeness, their handshakes firm and testing. Alistair Murray’s gaze swept over them all, pausing here and there before finally settling on MacDonald with barely concealed hostility.
Laird Mackintosh cleared his throat, a sound that echoed through the courtyard and drawing everyone’s attention. “Now that we are all assembled,” he began, his eyes flicking to where Aislinn and Brodie were in quiet conversation. “I believe it is time for the games!”
A cheer went up among the assembled guests and Emeric was surprised by how much he suddenly shared their enthusiasm. For a few hours at least clan politics would be put aside and prowess would be determined by strength and skill rather than subtle threats and posturing.
He went to fetch his bow.
