It was more than just the tragedy of Mhairi’s death that concerned him too. There was also wee Effie, the child Leo loved more than life itself. Finding a good stepmother would be harder than finding a good wife. Marrying a woman who might mistreat or mishandle his child was unthinkable.
“Ye saw nothin' of me mournin', Allistair,” Leo said roughly. “Ye ken nothin' of me loss. Daenae speak as if ye ken the inner workin's of me mind.”
“We all saw yer mournin' and we all mourned with ye,” sighed Allistair, again appealing to the council men and getting the nods and murmurs of support that he sought. “As I say, it was a tragedy, and we really do understand, but still, the needs of the clan must come first…”
Despite the distraction of grief and annoyance, Leo began to perceive that Allistair was talking too much. Why did he carry on, without reaching any definite conclusion? It was almost as though he was dragging out this gathering, keeping them all at the same point in the conversation, waiting for something…but waiting for what?
Suddenly, fast-approaching footsteps sounded down the hallway, and all eyes were on the doors of the council chamber before it opened.
“I bring a message from the elders, for the laird,” said the lad, proffering a parchment in Leo’s direction with a respectful bow.
Leo stood stiffly, not reaching for the rolled parchment. Had Allistair been waiting for this? Was it only another part of the ambush?
“Shall I read it for ye, me laird?” offered his cousin’s too-smooth voice.
“Nay,” Leo snapped. “I can read me own messages."
Snatching the parchment from the messenger’s hands, Leo read it and then looked around the room with a face full of thunder.
“Ye want to hear what the elders have to say, I expect,” he addressed them. “Or do ye already ken?”
“I daenae ken,” replied Allistair with innocent eyes. “Do read it to us, me laird.”
Briefly, Leo was tempted to seize his cousin’s collar and make him eat the damned message, but that was beneath his dignity. Instead, he held the parchment aloft and spoke to the councilmen with anger.
“The elders have issued an order that the laird cannot refuse,” Leo told them through gritted teeth. “Plainly, they too believe I have spent too long without an heir. I am therefore ordered either to find a wife within the month, and get an heir within a year, or else a successor will be named forthwith.”
Completing this announcement, Leo rolled the parchment back up and tossed it across the table to Allistair.
“Yers, I believe. Did ye dictate it yerself?”
His cousin regarded him with injured eyes but then smiled again his animal smile that raised hairs on the back of the neck.
“It is settled, then?” Jonah stated uncertainty.
“It is settled,” Allistair repeated in confirmation.
A cheer rose among the councilmen, regardless of Leo’s scowls. They had come here to force his hand and get what they wanted. Now, it had been done so thoroughly that the conversation was over. Leo was apparently to be married, and everything else be damned. Allistair looked like the cat that got the cream.
“Do we have yer agreement too, me laird?” asked Allistair, pretending a deference Leo did not believe his cousin felt.
“I willnae cross the elders,” Leo replied. “But the decree doesnae name a wife. I am free to choose on me own.”
“Then do so quickly, me Laird,” Allistair urged. “Yer time is runnin' out. Within a month, remember.”
Yes, within a month, or the elders would name a successor for him. Who might that successor be then? Evidently, Allistair imagined it would be him. The thought of such a man one day leading the Clan MacSween infuriated Leo almost beyond bearing. He would damned well live forever only to thwart his cousin’s ambitions.
Letting out a low growl of rage, Leo marched out of the chamber, Tyler hot on his heels. Allistair and the clan council thought they had forced their laird’s hand today, but they hadn’t won yet, even if they had recruited the powerful elders to their cause.
While not as naturally devious as his cousin, Leo had a creative mind and boundless determination. There must be a loophole or escape route somewhere in the elders’ decree. He just had to find it – within the month…
CHAPTER THREE
“Ye mustnae do anythin' rash, lassie,” Patrick warned. “I’ll tell ye what I ken about MacSween, and there’s nary a good thing to be said about him.”
“Me mind is made up,” Beatrice responded, wanting only to be alone in her own bedchamber and away from the hounding of her parents. “I shall write to Laird MacSween.”
The day had been long, as had her parents’ pleading and argument that she must just accept the husband she was offered. There was nothing more to say, at least from Beatrice’s perspective. She had other things on her mind now, other plans and pieces of the puzzle.
