Page 21 of Confessions of a Highland Assassin

“I ken very well that ye are working on siring an heir. But the council is right about his matter, milaird. With all due respect, ye must rethink yer involvement with the Jacobites,” he leaned on his cane, staring earnestly at him.

Boyd sighed heavily, combing his hand through his long blond hair with his eyes shut.

“I think the laird needs a break,” Rory rose from his seat at the back of the room. “The council has made a fair point. And I’m sure that the laird will tak’ it intae consideration.”

Hamish looked down his nose at Rory and then back to Boyd who nodded and waved his hand to signal that the meeting was over. “Thank ye,” he said hesitantly before hobbling from the room.

Rory waited for the sound of the cane clicking down the hall before addressing his friend. “Ye need a break, Boyd.”

“What I need is a wife, an heir, and a stronger army that can handle the uprising as well as the war with the Stewards.”

“Aye, those are all fine solutions. But I cannae give ye any of those,” he walked forward and perched on the edge of the solid desk. “The meeting with the council was strenuous enough. I propose ye throw away that letter with all of their opinions scrawled in Hamish’s writing, and ye come with me for a wee bit o’ a dram at the tavern.”

“Aye, that could work,” Boyd pushed his chair back with his knees and tossed the crumpled-up piece of paper into the hearth. “The fire can deal with that suggestion later on.”

Rory slapped him on the back in passing as they made their way out the door.

* * *

Laughter filled the air as Boyd sat at a corner table, gulping his ale. The Three Wisemen was filled with patrons having a merry time drinking away their sorrows. The only exception was a young woman at the other end of the room who seemed to be considerably less cheerful than the rest.

She sat quietly staring at the table in front of her. Her long braid hung over her shoulder like a glistening sash. She seemed to Boyd to have the weight of the world on her fragile shoulders. That, at least, was a sentiment he could sympathize with.

“She’s a pretty lass, I’ll give ye that,” Rory chuckled as he placed the mugs of frothy warm ale on the table. “I hate tae burst yer bubble, Boyd. But that’s one of the healer’s daughters. Ye willnae be getting anything right there. I ken her father and he keeps her under lock and key, dictating her every move.”

“Ye ken very well that that wasnae what I was thinking,” Boyd said gruffly as he grabbed the fresh mug of ale and pushed the old one aside. “She looks as though she has just as many problems as I dae.”

“Aye. Her parents are good people, but they need tae give the lassie a bit more freedom,” Rory said more seriously before cheering up again. “But right now, I want ye tae forget about all o’ yer problems, and even those o’ other people,” he winked suggestively. “I invited a few lovely ladies tae come and have a dram with us.”

Boyd sighed at his friend and clenched his jaw. He’d thought he’d made his feelings clear the night of the council meeting.

“Just talk tae the lassies, ye dinnae have tae dae anything. Perhaps ye could even make a new friend,” Rory added quickly as if he could sense what Boyd was thinking. “Just be yersel’.”

“That’s the problem. Mysel’ disnae want what ye are trying tae do,” he muttered gruffly under his breath as two women approached the table carrying mugs of their own. It was clear to Boyd from the get-go that these lasses were not looking for a ‘friend’ in that sense. Their flamboyantly red dresses were low cut and hung off their shoulders, exposing the milky flesh of their bosoms. They bore a striking resemblance, suggesting they could be sisters with their light brown hair and pale brown eyes.

Though their distinct features made it probable that they were not related. One was shorter than the other with a button nose and full, rounded cheeks. While the other was slim with a hooked nose, delicate features, and thinner lips.

“So, this is yer friend,” the taller of the girls slipped into the chair beside Boyd and smiled at him seductively. “Ye didnae do his looks justice Rory,” she flirted.

“I told ye he’s handsome,” Rory laughed as the other woman sat beside him, giggling while sliding her hand up his leg. “Was that nae enough description for ye?”

“Ye said he was handsome, nae gorgeous and roguishly beautiful,” she lowered her voice to a gentle purr. “I cannae resist a man with a beard,” she placed her hand on his thigh, gently caressing his leg while looking into his eyes. Boyd shifted uncomfortably but didn’t tell her to stop. Making a scene in the middle of a busy tavern would be far worse than letting the woman think she had a chance. The lady was bonny. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel the slightest bit of attraction or interest.

“So, what is it that ye dae with yer spare time when ye arenae setting lassies’ hearts aflame in taverns?” she smiled at Boyd while sliding her hand further up his leg.

Boyd hesitated and chugged the ale, the frothy brew tickling his throat on the way down. He wasn’t particularly interested in discussing his personal life with a random woman in a tavern, and the fact that he was a laird would probably only fuel her interest in him.

“That’s yer Laird yer speaking tae, lass,” Rory winked at him ignorantly as if he were doing Boyd a favor.

Boyd felt his irritation growing as the woman looked intrigued and ran her tongue over her bottom lip.

“Well, now, there’s an interesting occupation for ye. Milaird, I see yer mug is empty. Let me do the honor o’ buying ye another round,” she drawled even softer than she had done before. She stood slowly with her hands in front of her, leaning forward to retrieve the empty mugs and allowing Boyd full view of her cleavage. “I’ll be right back, milaird.”

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled at the way she used his title, as though it mattered above anything else. The thing that had attracted him most to Cora was that she had fallen in love with him before she had known who he was.

It sickened him to his core that women wanted him based on his title alone. What did that convey about their characters? He wondered begrudgingly. It was something he was going to have to come to terms with before the upcoming ball. He couldn't pick a wife if he judged them all solely on the fact that they were vying for a laird. Even if it were the truth.

“Here ye go, milaird,” the woman drawled seductively as she approached the table with two mugs in each hand. “I took the liberty of buying two rounds each, milaird,” she made sure to purr the title and lean in as close as she could while placing the mugs in front of the men.