The maid seemed to tremble as she shrank back, moving so that his ‘guests’ could step into his study. Just as Arthur suspected, the councilmen walked into the room, staring at him expectantly.
Pushing back his chair, he stared at the men expectantly, reining in the ice-cold fury that was pumping through him.
“Where is she?” It was Councilman McKellen who spoke first, stepping forward and glaring at Arthur in what could only be considered defiance.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur glared at the men. “Where is who?” he asked coolly.
He might be furious with the men before him, but he knew that it would not serve him well to lose his temper. They were deliberately trying to poke and prod him, there was no doubt about that.
They wanted to find any excuse they could to threaten his position as Laird. His father had seen to that. Had seen to the fact that any child that bore his face, or was burdened with his blood, would always be questioned.
When Arthur had ridden off to war, he thought for certain that he’d seen the last of it. He’d been sure that fighting for the prosperity of his clan and not returning with any bastards would earn their trust.
How wrong I was.
“Yer bride,” McKellen answered, his tone making it clear that Arthur should have known who they were talking about.
Which he did. He just wanted to be a thorn in their sides.
“Ye’ll meet her tomorrow,” he answered nonchalantly, fighting the urge to clench his fists. “There will be a cèilidh.”
The eyebrows of more than a few councilmen shot up.
“A cèilidh?” Councilman O’Donoghue echoed.
When Arthur nodded, McKellen jumped in. “Why are we hearin’ of the cèilidh only now?” he demanded.
McKellen had taken a step forward, advancing on Arthur. And it was that gesture that made the chord of control Arthur had been holding onto so tightly snap.
“Ye didnae ken about it,” Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, “because ye came to badger me instead of waitin’ for me messenger. If ye havenae been so insistent on bein’ a busybody, ye’d have the parchment in each one of yer grubby hands by now.”
McKellen opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur knew that he wouldn’t—andcouldn’t—stand for it. He held up a hand, continuing to speak to head off the councilman on what was sure to be a long, arduous argument that would fracture every last ounce of willpower he had.
“I have been more than accommodatin’ of yer demands,” Arthur spat. “I have arranged a celebration where nae just ye but theentire clan can meet the woman who will soon be their lady. And I have sent ye notice about it. It isnae me fault that ye are frothin’ like wolves for a reason to strip me of me title and ye rushed here to make demands that arenae yers to make.”
“Me bride traveled all day yesterday to be here,” he continued, never once stopping to give the other men a chance to butt in. “We were attacked by bandits, and she had quite a fright. So, I am givin’ her today to rest and to get to ken her new home. But rest assured, she will be here tomorrow, as will ye and the rest of the clan. And then, ye can all go back to sniffin’ each other’s arses to pass the time and get out of mine. Now, I recommend that ye take yer leave and dinnae press me further, lest I have to remind ye who is the Laird here.”
He narrowed his eyes at the men, flexing his biceps in a challenge.
He watched as more than a few of the councilmen balked at the threat. But not McKellen. No, McKellen just looked down his nose at him, seeming to consider his words an offer.
They both knew that they weren’t. Arthur had tried so hard to extend them grace and keep the peace, but he could not tolerate their insolence any longer.
Hewastheir Laird. He had been for quite some time. Over the years, he had more than proven himself to be a good laird. His lands and his people were flourishing, despite five years at war.
That kind of prosperity through wartime was something that many clans could only dream of. But Arthur had made it happen. And he would not be made to feel less than, would not be punished for the sins of his father. Not anymore.
Councilman Shaw stepped forward, placing a hand on McKellen’s shoulder. “Niall,” he said, the use of McKellen’s first name bringing the man up short. “We can wait for one day.”
McKellen whirled, facing the other council members, all of whom were nodding.
Arthur’s eyes lit up with glee as he watched the man squirm, realizing that his fellow council members were not in agreement.
He may act as if he’s their leader, but they will bow to nay one.
And it was now that the other councilman decided to remind him of that fact. Their eyes were hard as they stared at him, willing him to stand down.
Eventually, he did.
