The Lady He Loathed (Rogues of Mull Book 3) by Jayne Castel

Author:Jayne Castel [Castel, Jayne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Winter Mist Press
Published: 2024-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

18: A CLAN-CHIEF’S PROMISE

“YE ARE ASKING much of us, lass,” the clan-chief finally replied, his deep voice rumbling through the hall. The four of them were alone in here, save for an old wolfhound that was currently scratching by the fire. “For it sounds as if the Mackinnons have the upper hand, indeed.”

His son nodded at this, clearly agreeing with his father’s appraisal of the situation.

Heat washed over Astrid at these words, her temper quickening for the first time since entering Dunvegan Castle. “That’s exactly why I’m here,” she said, throttling her response. “Why I’ve braved storms and shipwrecks to reach ye.”

“And yer tenacity is impressive,” Tormod replied, his expression unchanging. “But I cannot give ye an answer now. First, I must discuss yer request with my son, and my marshal … alone.”

“But my brother needs ye.”

“Perhaps.” A scowl creased his face now. “Yet Loch will understand that I do not give help blindly. There is much to be considered before I put my birlinns … and the lives of my men … at risk.”

Swallowing her rising anger, Astrid nodded. It galled her to have to speak softly while Dounarwyse burned. Nonetheless, an aggressive approach would merely vex the clan-chief. She needed to tread carefully now.

The Macleod clan-chief was old, but in his day, he was said to have been one of the most formidable warriors in all of Scotland. Even now, there was a ruthless edge to him, as there was to his son as well.

“I understand yer caution,” she said after a pause, “but I must remind ye that my father came to yer aid twenty-two years ago … and helped ye best the MacDonalds of Sleat.”

Tormod’s face tightened. “I don’t need reminding of that, lass,” he snapped. “I might be old, but my wits are intact.”

Astrid didn’t answer. Her comment had vexed him, yet she couldn’t let this exchange conclude without bringing up the past.

Moments slid by, and then Tormod heaved himself up out of his carven chair, using his stick to aid him. “After yer ordeal, ye will both avail yerselves of fine Macleod hospitality,” he announced then. “My steward will have chambers prepared for ye and baths drawn.” He paused then, his grey eyes sharpening once more as Astrid lifted her chin and met his eye again. “I will give ye my answer at supper this eve.”

“Slippery auld bastard … he’s looking for an excuse to refuse us.”

Finn’s voice, low and hard, vibrated through the bedchamber. The moment the steward, who’d shown them to their lodgings—two chambers connected by a door, had left them, he’d erupted.

Astrid flinched. “Thank the Lord ye didn’t say that to his face,” she muttered, crossing to a table where a jug of wine and cups had been left. “If Tormod Macleod wants a reason not to help us … I’d rather ye didn’t give him one.”

Then, she poured two generous cups of what looked like rich plum wine and carried them across to him. Standing by the open window, Finn took his cup from her.

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