They shook hands, locking eyes.
Arthur could feel the man sizing him up, eyes roving over his hulking form.
Nay doubt tryin’ to figure out if I’m a good match for his sister-in-law.
Arthur felt no need to posture or perform for this man. He did not need to convince him that he was good enough for Marissa. Hewasgood enough for Marissa. Their clans would be good allies, and it was a smart match. He had no doubt about that, and he knew that Michael would see it for himself soon enough.
“Me wife would hear nothin’ else of it,” Michael said, giving him a knowing smile. “Ye’ll come to find out that when any of the sisters put their mind to somethin’, there is nothin’ that can sway ‘em.”
“Seems I’ll be havin’ me work cut out for me, then,” Arthur said, turning his gaze to Marissa and giving her a knowing, playful wink.
Her cheeks colored prettily, but she did not avert her gaze. She held his eyes, a challenge lingering in the depths of her expression. Interest bubbled inside him.
I have to get to ken her more.
“I’ll let ye sit next to yer betrothed,” Michael offered, vacating the seat next to Marissa.
Arthur nodded, turning to walk around the long table so that he could take his seat, which was directly between Marissa and Laird McEwan.
Sinking down into his seat, he did a quick sweep of everyone surrounding them.
On the other side of Marissa was a woman—a few years younger, by the looks of her. But she had the same auburn hair, brown eyes, round cheeks, and smattering of freckles as the other two. Likely the younger sister Marissa had mentioned in her letters.
“So, ye just got back from the war, me wife says?” Michael asked the moment Arthur was seated.
“Aye, for the last five years,” Arthur confirmed, dipping his head in acknowledgment before turning toward his plate.
His stomach gave a quick, loud growl, and he was thankful for the sound of the people around them. Everyone around himbesides Marissa was already digging into their food, and Arthur was happy to do the same.
“Reached a peace treaty nearly three weeks ago,” he added around a bite of food.
“Three weeks.” Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “And ye were just gettin’ back to yer castle? What took ye so long?”
Arthur launched into the story, telling Michael exactly how the war had ended. The peace treaty had been signed three weeks ago, but there had still been bands of fighting that the two Lairds had to send notice to.
There had been war camps that needed to be dismantled and supplies divvied up to send back to varying villages—spoils of war. Arthur, who had always strived to be as hands-on as he could, and wanting to ensure that the loot was divvied up properly, had overseen it all.
He and Joseph had spent weeks with their men, dismantling camp after camp and spreading the news. It was only after the last of their soldiers had been dismissed, riding either back toward Castle Reid or back to their own villages, that they had finally made their way home with the band of men journeying toward the castle.
The entire time he spoke, he could feel eyes on him. He had no doubt that if he glanced to his right, he would find Marissa staring at him.
Would her eyes be bright and filled with intrigue as she listened to him speak? Or would they be filled with judgment as he and Michael discussed the realities of war?
“It’s an honorable thing,” Michael admitted, giving him an approving nod. “To oversee yer men like that.”
Arthur barked a laugh. “Aye, tell that to me council.”
Michael’s eyebrows rose. “Yer council doesnae approve?”
Arthur took a moment to mull this over, wanting to weigh his answer before spouting it out.
“Me faither,” he finally admitted, “he wasnae the kind of laird I have been. He made things difficult for our clan.”
Michael simply nodded.
Arthur appreciated it when the man didn’t press any further.
Freya, who was seated between Michael and a young man who bore a striking resemblance to the leader of the clan, leaned in and whispered something in her husband’s ear. It drew his attention away from Arthur, and for that, he was grateful.
