“’Tis true.” And so obvious no one needed to point it out. But Murray seemed to relish the information.
“Then you have no title at the moment, and will likely never have one. Do you hold lands?”
“Nay.”
“Well then, you are not good enough for my daughter.”
Keegan had known this would be the outcome, but his ire simmered just beneath the surface. How dare this pompous arse think he was better than Keegan? Keegan was grandson of a past chief and baron, well within the same social circle as Murray and Lady Seona.
Keegan drew in a cooling breath, calming the urge to draw his dirk. Did Murray care even a wee bit about Seona’s wellbeing?
“I will take care of her and protect her,” Keegan vowed, fighting down his own desperation. “As tanist, I have a good income. And I… care a great deal for her.”
Murray snorted. “But you do not have anearl’sincome. Laird Rebbinglen has shown an interest in my daughter.”
Keegan knew this was a lie, but rage still burned over him. “Is that so?”
“Indeed and do not dare question me, MacKay.”
Keegan would love naught more than to strangle the man. “I am not questioning you,” he said firmly. “I but ask you to reconsider my offer.”
“Nay. And that is my final answer. Off with you now.” Murray shooed him toward the door and picked up a paper as if he were busy.
Fury clawed its way up Keegan’s throat and across his shoulders, urging him to take his dirk to the bastard. But he couldn’t do that, of course. He turned and left the room, slamming the door on the way out.
When he stormed across the great hall, Rebbie fell into step beside him. “Come outside with me,” he murmured.
“Gladly.” Keegan needed fresh air. He wished one of theMurrays would punch him now. He’d love naught better than a good fight. “Damned whoreson,” Keegan growled.
Once they were in a deserted corner of the barmkin, near a high stone wall, Rebbie turned to him. “What happened?”
“He saidnay.” Keegan drew in deep breaths of the cool air, trying to smother his fury.
“We expected that.”
“Exactly. He claims you have shown an interest in Lady Seona.”
Rebbie rolled his eyes. “He is a madman. You ken I have no interest in marrying her or anyone.”
“Aye. I knew he was lying.” Still, being told he couldn’t marry Seona was like glimpsing paradise only to be told he wasn’t good enough to have it. A broadsword through the gut.
At the opposite end of the barmkin, the gates opened and half a dozen riders entered, the horses’ hooves clomping on the gray cobblestones. The man in front was richly dressed in the Lowland style with brown breeches, tall leather boots, and an elaborate collar at his throat, not a stitch of plaid on him. He wore his slicked-back blond hair in a queue and an English style hat.
“Who the devil is that?” Rebbie muttered. “I’ll go find out, while you cool off out here. We must think rationally to find a solution to this problem.”
“Very well.” Keegan didn’t ken who the newcomers were, but he had a feeling they were bad news.
∞∞∞
“Wentworth.” Ambrose Murray shook Baron Wentworth’s hand in the middle of the great hall. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d seen the man. He might be a suitable husband for Seona, but Murray would much prefer Rebbinglen, since his titles were far more prestigious and he was likely wealthy as Midas. To imagine his grandson one day being a marquess was difficult to ignore.
“Chief Murray, good to see you again. I have heard a rumor that your beautiful daughter, Lady Seona, has returned home. I hope to meet her,” Wentworth said with a mollifying smile.
“Aye, she is here. I’m pleased you want to meet her.”
Murray noticed Laird Rebbinglen striding across the great hall toward them. This could be damned awkward.
“Laird Rebbinglen,” Murray said. “I’d like for you to meet Daniel Wesley, Baron Wentworth.” He turned to Wentworth. “And this is Robert MacInnis, the Earl of Rebbinglen.”
