Page 60 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire

“And what o’ yer wife? A laird’s lady must be prepared tae govern a large household. Is yer Elspeth prepared fer such a task?”

From the look that crossed the young woman’s face, the answer was obviously ‘no’. But Gael straightened his back and smiled his sharp-edged smile. “Me wife has managed me own household for years… she will become accustomed tae the greater responsibilities with time, I am sure. If I am fortunate enough tae claim the title, o’ course.”

“We should like tae hear from the lady, if ye will.”

Elspeth MacTavish raised her eyes, but couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Ewan felt an unwanted pang of sympathy. She was far beyond her comfort and her skills, practically drowning under her husband’s ambition. Her voice was a mere shadow, barely more than a whisper, as she spoke. “It is as me husband says. I am… capable enough.”

Beside her, the child fidgeted on his stool, until a look from his father made him be still. Ewan felt another pang of sympathy.

Brion spoke again. “Have ye anything else tae say, Master MacTavish?”

“Aye. I believe this clan needs a strong leader, and in these times o’ unrest, we need a laird who can lead us in peace-keeping and in war, even against the English. I have the strength, and though I havenae tested meself against Overseer MacDuff, I am confident that me skills wouldnae be found lacking if such a contest were tae occur. I would have that be considered as well. Fer if he is courting an English lass, can he truly lead us fer our Scottish king?”

That point was well-made and well-delivered, and Ewan could see it hit home like a perfectly aimed arrow. Gael MacTavish had a silver tongue, for all his possible shortcomings.

Gael sat, ceding the floor, and Ewan rose. He considered his answers with care, but in truth, he knew what needed to be said. Each point made must be rebuffed, and his own points made. But he would not argue like a child.

When he was sure of what he would say, he began. “’Tis true, I am nae MacTavish blood. I ken it well enough, and I willnae say I wish otherwise, fer I wouldnae forsake the clan o’ me blood so easily. However, I am willing enough tae tak’ the MacTavish name and colors as me own, if it be the will o’ the Council and the Highland gathering. If the lairdship comes tae me, then me children, and me children’s children, will be considered MacTavish, nae MacDuff. Me braither has his own line tae look after the clan o’ me birth - there is nay reason I cannae make me home and me place here.”

That was the only argument he could make, but it was a solemn pledge, and he knew that, if he took the lairdship, it would be considered a solemn oath, unbreakable without losing his honor. The elders of the clan knew it as well as he, and he could hear the low rumble of what sounded like approval.

His next point then. “’Tis also true I have neither wife nor child, but that doesnae mean I willnae ever have them. However, at this moment, I am free tae marry as I wish - or as the clan needs. ‘Tis true I court Lady Grace Lancaster with hopes tae claim her as me own, but ‘tis also true that the bond may be given over tae another, if marriage is needed tae secure an alliance. Moreover, I am neither laird nor have I been Overseer fer a full turning o’ the seasons. I am not yet beyond the time when ‘tis worrisome that I have nay wife and heir.”

He glanced at Gael. “Master MacTavish has made much o’ mentioning me braither, and I would remind the Council that he wed well, a full year after his ascension tae the lairdship. I dinnae think it unfair tae ask for the same consideration, should the rank come tae me, and especially nae when ye ken that I am already seeking fer a wife.

“There is this as well – ‘tis given, by bonds o’ blood alone, that I secure alliance and peace with our closest neighboring clan. In times o’ strife, as Master Gael said, surely that peace, and the ending of bloodshed on our borders, is worth something? I would ask ye tae consider that. And consider too, if Grace Lancaster becomes me wife, that she will bring an alliance with Clan Cameron o’ the lowlands, through her relationship tae me braither’s wife, and who can say when an English lass might not help our countrymen travel safely, if travel near the borders they must? ‘Tis worth a thought, I believe.”

He hadn’t actually considered that fact until he’d begun traveling with Grace, but it was true. They might raise eyebrows and muttering, but each could provide surety for the other on their own soil. If ever he had cause to return to English lands, a wife who spoke as one of them might be the difference between safe travel and fearing a knife in his back. And who knew what doors the Lancaster name might open, or what shield it might provide?

Of course, that was assuming that Grace actually was his betrothed. He would have to rethink his argument when she went back to her home. But for now, with the ruse in place, it was a valid argument.

He continued. “Master MacTavish says I havenae worked for my bread, an’ he speaks some truth. However, I would argue that I earned me place as Laird MacDuff’s second-in-command, and it wasnae an easy task. I have earned me battle scars as well, and fought on the field o’ honor. I have aided with the governance o’ a clan, and if any o’ ye think I havenae been working, and working tirelessly, in my position as Overseer o’ Clan MacDuff, I would ask ye tae step forward now.”

He paused, but no one, not even Gael MacTavish stood to dispute his claim. “I am nae the most experienced o’ leaders, I ken, but I have learned much, and I will continue tae learn, whether I become Laird MacTavish or nae.”

He stopped to take a sip of his mead. “Master MacTavish says I cannae ken the plight and the needs o’ farmers and the clansmen who bring in our crops and build our walls. I would ask ye tae speak tae the farmers whose homes were burned in the fires less than a fortnight ago. Ask them if I didnae provide fer them, if I didnae care fer them. Ask the servants o’ MacTavish Keep if I am a poor master, or have served them ill. Then make yer own judgment about whether I can care fer the needs o’ the villagers as well as those who occupy this keep.”

One last point to make. He almost hated to do it, for he felt like a bit of a brute, but it had to be done. “An’ as fer the matter o’ the Lady I may or may nae wed… ye can judge fer yerself the quality o’ me current courtship and betrothal, in Lady Grace Lancaster. An’ if, fer some reason, our paths dae part an’ I select another, ye may well ken she will be o’ similar mind and experience and skill, fer I couldnae imagine choosing anyone lesser.”

That earned him a definite murmur of approval, and Ewan was certain he wasn’t the only one to see the poisonous look Gael MacTavish gave his wife, or the way she huddled away from his anger.

There was nothing more to say. Ewan settled back into his seat. Grace reached across to him, and he laced his fingers with hers, grateful for the show of support. He knew the Council saw that as well, and noted the difference between their interactions and those of Gael and his wife.

Drinks were refreshed, and the members of the council continued to talk among themselves. Ewan was content to sit in silence, though he yearned to know what was being said. In this matter, unlike many others, the council had the final say.

Finally, Brion MacClarian rose from his seat. “Both o’ ye speak well, and make excellent points. Ye’ve given this council much tae consider. Fer now, we shall disperse. Taenight, there will be a feast in the Great Hall, tae welcome Master MacTavish and his kin.”

The dinner was another test, Ewan knew. Yes, it was a welcoming feast, but it would also be a measure of how each man prepared for a formal event. Lairds were, after all, expected to host feasts for alliances, marriages, children being born, and of course, Festival Days like Imbloc, Beltane and Samhain, among others.

He knew as well that the Council had planned the dinner, outside his knowledge, to place him on a more equal footing with Gael MacTavish and make it a truer test of their measure in comparison to one another. He wouldn’t be expected to know much of the planned meal, or what entertainment might be made available, or who would be in attendance.

However, they would be watching how he responded. Accordingly, Ewan made a formal dismissal, then sought out Malcolm. “Preparations have been made?”

“Aye, m’laird. Fresh mutton and moorland fowl fer the mains, and the rest o’ it already bein’ prepared. Fortunately, ‘twas baking day taeday.” Malcolm smiled.

“An’ plenty o’ wine, mead and stronger spirits laid in, fer those that want it? An’ beer fer the lower tables?”

“Aye.” Malcolm nodded in satisfaction. “And a jug o’ sweetened elderberry cordial for the lads and lasses o’ the castle that arenae ready fer aught stronger.”