lovely as Joan was.”
“It is an alliance, Mother. I don’t see how her appearance matters,” said Bram irritably.
His father shook his head. “It doesn’t. She could have the face of a pig and it would still be worth pursuing the betrothal. The fact that she is attractive is an added boon which I thought ye might appreciate.” Eanraig took a long pull of ale from his tankard. “If everything goes well, we might still be able to hold the wedding at the end of the summer.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” gushed Rodina.
“I don’t see a reason to rush things,” said Bram.
“Rush things?” Eanraig was incredulous. “August isn’t rushing things. Political climates change, Bram, and potential brides grow older. If we want this alliance we must move quickly. If Sinclair wants ye married immediately, ye will be married as soon as the banns are announced, make no mistake.” Although Eanraig didn’t say it, he prayed Sinclair did want the wedding soon. Perhaps it would put to rest whatever daft notion Bram had of love.
*
Eanraig sent the messenger the next morning, as planned. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became that an alliance with the Sinclairs through Bram’s betrothal was an even better choice that Fiona MacNicol had been. After all, there still was a MacNicol lass who Boyd could marry. Sinclair only had one daughter left.
He was still chuffed about this fortunate turn of events later that day when he entered the stable in search of the stable master. Several men in his garrison were tending their horses, evidently preparing to go out on patrol. He overheard one of them say, “Aye, she is quite a bonny lass.” He smiled and stopped to listen.
“God’s bones, bonny doesn’t begin to describe her. I was on the gate the day she arrived. Breathtaking she was and that was travel worn.”
“That hair,” said another one. “I wish she’d leave off wearing the kertch. She’s a widow anyway. By the Rood I’d like to see her cloaked in nothing but that hair.”
“As if ye’d be looking at her hair if she had nothing covering her other assets,” said another man, who laughed heartily at his own jest.
Eanraig grinned. If he wasn’t much mistaken, they were talking about Grace Breive. His son wasn’t the only one whose head she turned. Maybe this little problem would work itself out.
“Don’t waste yer time imagining her assets.” Eanraig recognized the voice as belonging to Michael MacBain, one of his guardsmen. “I have my sights set on winning that lass and I don’t want to have to kill any of ye for having impure thoughts about her.”
“Don’t waste our time? The way I hear it, ye might be wasting yer time, unless ye don’t mind taking Bram’s leavings,” said the first man.
“And what is it ye hear?” asked Michael.
“Moyra told me Bram demanded that Grace attend the feast at Pentecost.”
“I doubt Bram demanded anything of her. It isn’t like him,” said Michael.
Calder, another guardsman with a deep rumbling voice, said, “I don’t know, Michael. Una said Bram seemed rather taken with the lass.”
“And how would yer wife know that?” asked Michael.
“She saw them together in the afternoon on Pentecost and she assures me women know these things.” Calder’s tone suggested he didn’t take Una’s comments too seriously.
Another man said, “Well, Peggy told me when the lass finally did make an appearance during the dancing, Bram never let her go and was seen leaving with her.”
Michael snorted. “Well, lads, this is what I know . Bram will never be allowed to pursue the widow Breive beyond a casual dalliance.
“And ye won’t have the same problem?” asked Calder.
“Calder, I am the youngest of ten and the seventh son. My father is dead and frankly, when I decided to stay here after completing training, I think my oldest brother, who is laird now, completely forgot about me. I have sworn fealty to Laird Sutherland, not my brother.
“It is an alliance, Mother. I don’t see how her appearance matters,” said Bram irritably.
His father shook his head. “It doesn’t. She could have the face of a pig and it would still be worth pursuing the betrothal. The fact that she is attractive is an added boon which I thought ye might appreciate.” Eanraig took a long pull of ale from his tankard. “If everything goes well, we might still be able to hold the wedding at the end of the summer.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” gushed Rodina.
“I don’t see a reason to rush things,” said Bram.
“Rush things?” Eanraig was incredulous. “August isn’t rushing things. Political climates change, Bram, and potential brides grow older. If we want this alliance we must move quickly. If Sinclair wants ye married immediately, ye will be married as soon as the banns are announced, make no mistake.” Although Eanraig didn’t say it, he prayed Sinclair did want the wedding soon. Perhaps it would put to rest whatever daft notion Bram had of love.
*
Eanraig sent the messenger the next morning, as planned. The more he thought about it, the more confident he became that an alliance with the Sinclairs through Bram’s betrothal was an even better choice that Fiona MacNicol had been. After all, there still was a MacNicol lass who Boyd could marry. Sinclair only had one daughter left.
He was still chuffed about this fortunate turn of events later that day when he entered the stable in search of the stable master. Several men in his garrison were tending their horses, evidently preparing to go out on patrol. He overheard one of them say, “Aye, she is quite a bonny lass.” He smiled and stopped to listen.
“God’s bones, bonny doesn’t begin to describe her. I was on the gate the day she arrived. Breathtaking she was and that was travel worn.”
“That hair,” said another one. “I wish she’d leave off wearing the kertch. She’s a widow anyway. By the Rood I’d like to see her cloaked in nothing but that hair.”
“As if ye’d be looking at her hair if she had nothing covering her other assets,” said another man, who laughed heartily at his own jest.
Eanraig grinned. If he wasn’t much mistaken, they were talking about Grace Breive. His son wasn’t the only one whose head she turned. Maybe this little problem would work itself out.
“Don’t waste yer time imagining her assets.” Eanraig recognized the voice as belonging to Michael MacBain, one of his guardsmen. “I have my sights set on winning that lass and I don’t want to have to kill any of ye for having impure thoughts about her.”
“Don’t waste our time? The way I hear it, ye might be wasting yer time, unless ye don’t mind taking Bram’s leavings,” said the first man.
“And what is it ye hear?” asked Michael.
“Moyra told me Bram demanded that Grace attend the feast at Pentecost.”
“I doubt Bram demanded anything of her. It isn’t like him,” said Michael.
Calder, another guardsman with a deep rumbling voice, said, “I don’t know, Michael. Una said Bram seemed rather taken with the lass.”
“And how would yer wife know that?” asked Michael.
“She saw them together in the afternoon on Pentecost and she assures me women know these things.” Calder’s tone suggested he didn’t take Una’s comments too seriously.
Another man said, “Well, Peggy told me when the lass finally did make an appearance during the dancing, Bram never let her go and was seen leaving with her.”
Michael snorted. “Well, lads, this is what I know . Bram will never be allowed to pursue the widow Breive beyond a casual dalliance.
“And ye won’t have the same problem?” asked Calder.
“Calder, I am the youngest of ten and the seventh son. My father is dead and frankly, when I decided to stay here after completing training, I think my oldest brother, who is laird now, completely forgot about me. I have sworn fealty to Laird Sutherland, not my brother.
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