and still exhausted from her ordeal in the mountains. Perhaps it would be best to give her a few days, allow her to prepare in both body and soul for her upcoming nuptials.”
Maggie fought to keep herself from spitting at his feet, but the look she gave Torean made very clear her intentions when it came to marrying Innes Munroe.
“And it’s for the best, don’t you see?” Torean continued on, his voice soothing. “Marry her in a week’s time, I say.”
He lifted his glass of ale, took a long swallow, and then thumped it onto the table. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “We’ll have another celebration!” he exclaimed. “If you marry today, the merriment of the event will be overshadowed by Hogmanay.” He narrowed his eyes at Innes. “I’ll have my distillers bottle the new batch of whisky for the occasion.”
Innes took a big bite of goose thigh, his pale eyes thoughtful. “Hmm . . .” he said through a full mouth. The offer of whisky had tempted him.
Torean slid a glance from Maggie to Innes. “Come now, Innes. Give her a few days, eh? I’ll . . .” He paused to think; then he smiled. “You’ve been making eyes at Mary Steward. Why don’t you take her tonight?”
Maggie bit back a gasp. Mary was one of the local loose women. To think Torean would offer her so blatantly, in Maggie’s presence, stole her voice. Torean intended to allow Innes the use of his whore a few days before he intended to marry Maggie to him? The gall!
For the first time in her life, she hated her own cousin.
But then, something in his eyes caught her attention. A subtle glint, as if he were plotting a scheme. Again his gaze flitted to her and then back to Innes.
Perhaps . . .
Innes’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and his eyes sparkled with interest. “Well, now, she’s a fair piece, isn’t she?”
“Oh, aye. A fair piece indeed.” Torean turned fully to Maggie and offered her a gentle smile. “Godspeed, cousin. Go home and rest. In one week, your intended will come for you.”
Perhaps he was buying her time.
Shaking with a fierce kind of rage he’d only felt once before, in the throes of battle at Sheriffmuir, Logan strode out the door of the doctor’s cottage. His vision was clear and crisp now, almost back to normal except for the red fury swirling on its fringes. Whatever Munroe had thrown at him only had a temporary effect. Nor had the bastard cut him too deep. The scratches on his chest burned like fire, but they weren’t life-threatening—a small consolation for what had to be the most anger-i nducing day of Logan’s life. Since he’d left the arena, he had fought with every breath to school himself from violence. The only thoughts that kept him sane were of his family, his duties, and Maggie.
He needed to get off MacDonald land. He was too angry to think rationally here. Too angry to think beyond the compulsion to draw his sword and cut everyone down who stood between him and Innes Munroe, and then stabbing the blackguard through the heart.
Munroe had cheated, but none of the MacDonalds seemed to possess any inclination to do a damned thing about it. Yet did that truly matter? Logan had made an agreement, and to break his word now would sink him to Munroe’s level. Despite what the cheating, slimy, devious bastard had done, Logan would not—could not—compromise his honor.
Just outside in the courtyard of the small cluster of castle out-buildings, Torean MacDonald leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. When the laird saw Logan, he pushed himself from the stones and strode toward him.
Logan stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly as he waited for the laird to approach.
“Are you going, then?” MacDonald asked.
“Aye.”
“I’d hoped you’d stay for the Hogmanay celebrations and perhaps depart in the morning.”
Logan shook his head. “No. That’s not what was agreed.” He’d sworn to leave immediately if he lost the duel. The rub of it
Maggie fought to keep herself from spitting at his feet, but the look she gave Torean made very clear her intentions when it came to marrying Innes Munroe.
“And it’s for the best, don’t you see?” Torean continued on, his voice soothing. “Marry her in a week’s time, I say.”
He lifted his glass of ale, took a long swallow, and then thumped it onto the table. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “We’ll have another celebration!” he exclaimed. “If you marry today, the merriment of the event will be overshadowed by Hogmanay.” He narrowed his eyes at Innes. “I’ll have my distillers bottle the new batch of whisky for the occasion.”
Innes took a big bite of goose thigh, his pale eyes thoughtful. “Hmm . . .” he said through a full mouth. The offer of whisky had tempted him.
Torean slid a glance from Maggie to Innes. “Come now, Innes. Give her a few days, eh? I’ll . . .” He paused to think; then he smiled. “You’ve been making eyes at Mary Steward. Why don’t you take her tonight?”
Maggie bit back a gasp. Mary was one of the local loose women. To think Torean would offer her so blatantly, in Maggie’s presence, stole her voice. Torean intended to allow Innes the use of his whore a few days before he intended to marry Maggie to him? The gall!
For the first time in her life, she hated her own cousin.
But then, something in his eyes caught her attention. A subtle glint, as if he were plotting a scheme. Again his gaze flitted to her and then back to Innes.
Perhaps . . .
Innes’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and his eyes sparkled with interest. “Well, now, she’s a fair piece, isn’t she?”
“Oh, aye. A fair piece indeed.” Torean turned fully to Maggie and offered her a gentle smile. “Godspeed, cousin. Go home and rest. In one week, your intended will come for you.”
Perhaps he was buying her time.
Shaking with a fierce kind of rage he’d only felt once before, in the throes of battle at Sheriffmuir, Logan strode out the door of the doctor’s cottage. His vision was clear and crisp now, almost back to normal except for the red fury swirling on its fringes. Whatever Munroe had thrown at him only had a temporary effect. Nor had the bastard cut him too deep. The scratches on his chest burned like fire, but they weren’t life-threatening—a small consolation for what had to be the most anger-i nducing day of Logan’s life. Since he’d left the arena, he had fought with every breath to school himself from violence. The only thoughts that kept him sane were of his family, his duties, and Maggie.
He needed to get off MacDonald land. He was too angry to think rationally here. Too angry to think beyond the compulsion to draw his sword and cut everyone down who stood between him and Innes Munroe, and then stabbing the blackguard through the heart.
Munroe had cheated, but none of the MacDonalds seemed to possess any inclination to do a damned thing about it. Yet did that truly matter? Logan had made an agreement, and to break his word now would sink him to Munroe’s level. Despite what the cheating, slimy, devious bastard had done, Logan would not—could not—compromise his honor.
Just outside in the courtyard of the small cluster of castle out-buildings, Torean MacDonald leaned against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest. When the laird saw Logan, he pushed himself from the stones and strode toward him.
Logan stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly as he waited for the laird to approach.
“Are you going, then?” MacDonald asked.
“Aye.”
“I’d hoped you’d stay for the Hogmanay celebrations and perhaps depart in the morning.”
Logan shook his head. “No. That’s not what was agreed.” He’d sworn to leave immediately if he lost the duel. The rub of it
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