Page 10 of Kilted Sins

For a long while, neither she nor Laird MacDonald looked away, as though it was a contest of will and they were both eager to win. The more Enya looked at him, though, the more she noticed about the man—the golden flecks in his grey eyes, the few threads of silver among his ink-black hair, the pearled edges of the scar that ran over his eye. With great regret, it was then that Enya fully realized for the first time that Laird MacDonald was infuriatingly handsome.

So handsome was he, in fact, that Enya found herself glancing away first, losing this battle of will as her cheeks heated uncomfortably and a frown knitted her brows together as confusion settled heavy in her mind. She had met handsome men before; in fact, both Archibald and Duncan were rather handsome and neither of them was as beastly or rude as Laird MacDonald. And yet, Enya had not once blushed like this when looking at them nor had she ever felt the need to look away, as if she had been caught stealing bannocks from the kitchen.

What has come over me? Why cannae I even look at him?

Enya was quick to chase those thoughts out of her mind. She had a task on which she had to focus, one that was far more important than whatever had just happened to her to confuse her like this.

Instead of giving Laird MacDonald any more attention, she looked around the table to find those men who had seemed most irritated with her, and her gaze fell on the two right across from her.

She had disliked them instantly, and though the mere thought of engaging in conversation with them was as appealing as being trampled by a horse, Enya knew they would be the perfect targets for her next trick. The more she listened to them speak, though, the more her plan stopped revolving around a mere trick and began instead to weave itself out of pure rage.

“The villages have enough resources,” the stocky one said, pointing at the other with his fork. “I can only imagine they are hidin’ some o’ the grain. Accordin’ tae our estimates, they should be producin’ much more than what they report.”

“Aye, so I thought, but we have sent men tae search the storages,” said the other man. “They have found naething.”

“Or they ken how tae hide it well.”

“Or they are starvin’,” said Enya, loudly enough for the whole table to hear. Silence stretched over them all, heavy and suffocating, but Enya was undeterred. “Have ye ever considered that? Have ye ever considered perhaps they have had tae consume all the grain already? Or that if they are, indeed, stealin’ as ye say, they steal because it is their only choice?”

The two men glared at her, making no effort to disguise their contempt. It was a delicate balance, the one they were called to keep. On the one hand, they didn’t look like they wanted to let this go. On the other, they couldn’t say anything that would offend her, since not only was she their guest, but also the woman who was meant to become the Lady of the Clan.

“Even if that is so, they have nae right tae withhold resources from the laird,” said the stocky one, eyes narrowing as he regarded Enya. “We are the ones who decide the distribution o’ the goods.”

“Enough.”

Laird MacDonald’s voice echoed loud and clear over the table and his piercing gaze found not only Enya’s, but the men’s as well. Enya stared right back at him this time, defiant, but when she parted her lips to speak once again, the laird’s sharp look made her fall silent.

“This isnae a discussion suitable fer the dinner table,” Laird MacDonald said. “But I will require a report on the state o’ the villages in me study later.”

There was a lot more that Enya wished she could say. There was a lot she wanted to share with those two men about the way they seemed to handle clan matters, but she decided to remain quiet this time, even as the conversation around her picked up again—whispers at first and then full-blown, drowning out the sound of the cutlery as the men ate.

Enya couldn’t stomach another bite.

“He isnae angry with ye.”

Archibald’s voice was barely a whisper when he spoke to her and Enya turned to look at him with a small, confused frown.

“I mean, perhaps he is irritated by the way ye spoke out o’ turn,” Archibald amended, “but he is concerned fer the villagers. That disregard fer them is what angers him.”

As Archibald spoke, Enya glanced at Laird MacDonald to find him silent and deep in thought as he stared at the two men and she thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad as she had first thought.

CHAPTER SIX

Along with the food came the headache, just as Cillian had predicted. Ever since Lady MacLeod’s arrival, he hadn’t had a single moment of peace, and despite his very clear instructions to her, he had expected some form of disobedience from her.

What he hadn’t expected was the utter disregard for everything he had told her—from the way she dressed to where she sat and how she spoke. This was not the behavior of a noble-born girl. Even a simple one would know better than this, and now Cillian was certain there was nothing simple about the way the woman’s mind worked.

She wasn’t dull-witted, he realized. She was doing it all on purpose.

As far as plans went, it was a good one, Cillian had to admit as much. Displeasing him was the easiest way to get out of this marriage without receiving any of the blame, and the more people thought she was foolish, the more she could get away with. She had no other means of escape without shaming her family and attracting the king’s wrath, and so she was playing the best game she could.

A clever lass… but too obvious.

Now it was a matter of deciding what he wanted to do with this new information. Cillian himself was against this wedding and knowing Thora didn’t want to marry him either was a small comfort, but one that changed nothing in the grander scheme of things. The king still wanted them married. His council, despite being offended by her presence and her words, could think of no better match for him. The MacLeods were a powerful clan and would make an excellent ally just as much in times of war as in times of peace. They were a wealthy clan, a powerful clan—people Cillian should, on paper, want to keep as close as possible and what better way to do that other than a wedding?

But it was the principle of the thing. Not only did Cillian despise being told what to do, even by the king himself, but he also had greater concerns than being married. Allies would be helpful; they always were. Before considering his allies, though, he had to consider the issues within his clan and his people, and lately, there had been several. Despite his best efforts, there seemed to be a new crisis every single day, and Cillian simply didn’t have the time for a woman, especially one he didn’t know.

He didn’t have time for her misbehaving either.