Page 59 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

“Aye.” Underneath the stoic facade, Ewan saw a glimmer of approval on Malcolm’s weathered features. “Wine for the ladies, mead and whisky fer the laird, guests, and members o’ the Council.”

“And some milk or fruit juice for Master MacTavish’s son.” Grace stepped smoothly into the role of a hostess, as if they were already betrothed and married. Ewan had to admire her poise. He felt as if someone was tying knots in his stomach. He forced himself to maintain the same stoicism that Malcolm seemed to project so effortlessly.

He, Devlin and Grace went to their separate rooms. Ewan splashed some cold water on his face, then washed the grime of travel away and changed into a clean kilt and sash - one in MacDuff colors, one in MacTavish colors.

The outcome of this meeting could determine which colors he would wear for the rest of his life. Ewan took a deep breath and dismissed the thought. This was a battle of words and will, but it was a battle just the same, and he had always been a warrior.

Grace emerged from her rooms moments after Ewan emerged from his, and the two of them made their way to the Council chambers. Ewan opened the door for Grace, then entered himself, scanning the room for the unfamiliar face he knew must be there.

Gael MacTavish was shorter than Ewan by several inches, and built lean, like a messenger. His features were angular, with hooded eyes that reminded Ewan of a wolf, prowling the edge of a sheep herd. Gray eyes matched with dark, slightly wild hair to give him a shadowed appearance that made Ewan’s hackles rise.

The woman with him was small and slender, faded brown hair tucked back in a braid. She kept one hand on the shoulders of a young boy with slightly darker hair and wide brown eyes. MacTavish’s wife and son looked cowed, almost frightened, and it took effort for Ewan to keep his lip from curling in disgust.

He’d be the first to admit that he sometimes wished the women in his life, like Niamh, Catriona, and Grace, were more inclined to listen, but the idea of a placid, subservient lass… that sat poorly with him, and all the more because he suspected she’d been cowed by her husband, rather than being naturally shy. The boy was too quiet as well, silent and still rather than bubbling with the nervous energy that Ewan was used to seeing in lads of that age.

There was a chance he could be wrong, but Ewan trusted his instincts. And his instincts told him that Gael MacTavish was every bit the predator he appeared to be.

Then the man smiled, and Ewan forced his thoughts away from his speculations as Gael came forward to shake his hand. “Master Ewan MacDuff. ‘Tis good tae finally meet ye as well.”

There was an insult there, but rising to it would make him look insecure in his position, or arrogant, depending on how he responded. To his surprise, it was Grace who intervened. “Master MacTavish, surely you know that me betrothed’s title is currently Overseer Ewan MacDuff. Until the Council and the Highland Gathering have made their judgment, of course.”

“Aye.” Gael nodded back, affable enough on the surface, but Ewan sensed he was not amused to be corrected by a lass. “Ye must excuse me, Miss…”

“Grace. Grace Lancaster.” Grace tipped her head and dipped into the shallowest of curtsies.

“Lancaster? An English lass?” Gael’s tone was colored with surprise, but his face showed none. Of course, he would have known the truth long before, if he had any observers in Ewan’s household at all, and Ewan was certain he did. Gael’s timing in calling the Council was too perfect for any other conclusion.

Grace smiled, a cool smile that said she, like Ewan, knew very well what Gael was attempting to do in bringing up her status. “’Tis true, I was fostered by an English uncle from childhood, after a clan raid destroyed my home. I grew up just across the border on the edge of the Lowlands, though I am happy to claim Lady Niamh MacDuff as a dear friend, a sister in all but blood to me.”

Her smile deepened then, just a hint of wry amusement. “Alas, I have not yet spent enough time with Niamh and Ewan to shed the accent I was raised with, I fear. Mayhap ‘twill change, if I am so fortunate.”

Ewan permitted himself a small smile as he guided her to a chair and offered her the seat. Grace made the dance of words and thinly veiled meanings seem easy, and in taking the first sallies, she had given him time to take a measure of his opponent.

Gael MacTavish was cunning and shrewd, but he was not subtle, and he was even less well versed in the games of lairdship and diplomacy than Ewan himself was. He still had his blood, his wits and his family to weigh in his favor, but he was far from the nigh-undefeatable opponent that Ewan had feared he might face.

His son was too young to take a place at the table, and his wife was nowhere near a match for Grace - indeed, she looked as if she would rather be anywhere else. Gael offered her a chair, and she took it, but she was clearly uneasy and uncertain about her place in the Council Chambers, whereas Grace appeared as if she attended such meetings every day.

The rest of the Council took their chairs, and servants brought drinks. Gael took his tankard carelessly, almost gracelessly, and his wife looked almost perplexed to be served instead of serving. The boy made not a sound as he clutched his cup, sitting on a stool away from the table. It was clear he was there as a prop.

Ewan restrained a snort. Everyone knew MacTavish had a son, and it was obvious the boy was too young to appreciate what was happening. Gael would have been better served to ask the castle staff to watch the lad, or perhaps introduce him briefly before guiding him elsewhere.

Finally, they were all settled, and the eldest of the Council, Brion MacClairan, rose from his seat. “Ye all ken why we’re here, tae evaluate the man who would seek Lairdship o’er MacTavish Clan. This meeting is fer ye tae speak and show us what manner o’ men ye be within Council. Ye’ll each stand an’ tell us why ye have the right tae the lairdship, and what ye offer the clan. As the one who called the Council, Gael MacTavish o’ Clan MacTavish may speak first.”

It was only proper, but Gael still sent Ewan a swift look of triumph as he rose to his feet. “Elders o’ Clan MacTavish, I have many reasons fer which I believe I am the laird this clan needs, but even more than that, I am the rightful heir tae the title. It is in me very name, and the manner in which ye call me tae address this table - I am MacTavish blood and bone. As is me son, who would follow after me.”

“Ye arenae the main branch o’ the clan.” One of the other elders spoke up, and Ewan relaxed a little. If they were willing to make a point of that, even at this early determination, then perhaps his chances were better than he had feared.

“But I am still from that line, even if I am but a distant cousin. Master Ewan - yer pardon, Overseer Ewan - cannae make that claim. He is a MacDuff, an’ nae matter what colors he wears or what name he tak’s, his blood is always tae be MacDuff, and I fear that his first loyalty is tae them, an’ nae tae our clan.”

“Blood alone daesnae make a laird.”

“It daes nae.” Gael agreed. “But there are also other things in me favor: I have a wife and son, so the clan need not fear being left without an heir under me leadership. Overseer MacDuff has only the woman he is courting, whom he claims as his betrothed but has set nay date fer a wedding. He has no sons, no daughters who may lead the clan if he falls, or secure alliances on the borders of our lands.”

Muttering ran around the room, but so low and soft that Ewan could not tell which way the currents were shifting. Gael seemed encouraged, and continued on. “This too, I would bring - I have worked all me life tae raise meself up, tae be worthy o’ me name. All I have, I have earned, through careful skill and effort. Can Overseer MacDuff, whose braither conquered our land and gave them over tae him, say the same? Does he understand the requirements o’ the clan, from the position o’ the newest o’ farmers tae the halls of this Keep? I will say that I ken such matters better than he - second son o’ a laird who never fought fer anything he desired, and claims his position now only because his elder braither didnae choose tae tak’ it.”

More muttering, and Ewan saw glances being exchanged. Then one of the elders spoke again. “Ye’ve nay experience with governance or alliances, lad.”

“Nay more did Overseer MacDuff, when first he claimed the position.” Gael responded swiftly. “But I can learn as well as any man. Isnae me petition, and me presence here taeday proof enough o’ that?”