The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,16
with the rising wind. “I fear Mother Nature has decided ye should stay with us longer.” The man stepped closer. After a cautious glance around the hall, he quietly added, “Old Aderyn, our white witch, swears the snow will be arsehole-deep to a Highland coo by morning.” Hooking his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, a knowing look hiked one of his brows. “That wise crone’s never wrong about anything. Ever.”
Spirits lifting with thoughts of ways to use this to his advantage, Sutherland cast a quick glance over at Sorcha. His buoyant mood immediately sank, scuttled by the arrival of what could only be considered a new adversary. A man, quite young but a man grown all the same, had joined the trio beside the hearth and was standing entirely too close to Sorcha. “Who is that?”
Greyloch looked, then made a face that told Sutherland that the chieftain didn’t think much of the rogue either. “That is Garthin Napier. Lady Culane’s son by her first marriage.”
He immediately saw the resemblance between the two, especially around their mouth and eyes. They also shared the same sooty black hair. Master Napier wasn’t an overly large man, but neither was he slight. Sound of build. Average height. Garthin Napier was a man easily forgotten. “Then, he and his mother should be on their way today in order to stay ahead of the storm.”
Greyloch emitted a noise that sounded like a cross between hacking free something caught in his throat and an irritated growl. “Those two have been with us nearly a month now. I doubt their plan includes leaving today.”
He studied the chief closer. Robert Greyloch seemed a decent man. He liked him and hoped the man liked him, too. Maybe the chieftain felt the need for a confidante. Wouldn’t that turn the tables on his daughter? “Their plan?”
“My advisors, mainly Raibert Pearsley from what I’ve been able to surmise, invited Lady Culane here from Edinburgh.” Greyloch’s eyes narrowed, and his beard twitched with his soured look. “It appears to be their opinion that if the lady bore a son once, she would be apt to do so a second time.”
“They wish ye to take her as wife.” He hoped the chieftain had better sense than to become Lady Culane’s fifth husband. Who knew how the previous four had died?
“Aye,” Greyloch said with another huffing growl. “That they do.”
“Tell them to go to hell.” Sutherland tilted his head in Sorcha’s direction. “Yer daughter can run this clan as good as any man. She’s braw, canny, and fearless. I’m sure she’d be able to take yer place when the time comes.” He shifted his stance. The need to march across the room and knock Garthin away from Sorcha agitated him like an itch he couldn’t reach. “And that bastard needs to step back from the lady.”
“Why ever do the two of ye look so serious? Has my Garthin done something else to displease ye, my chieftain?” Lady Culane sidled close enough to Greyloch to straddle his leg.
Both Sutherland and the chief edged away, putting an arm’s length of space between themselves and the relentless woman.
“It appears a storm’s coming, m’lady,” Greyloch said with the strained politeness of a servant toward a master he despised. “I fear ye wouldna keep ahead of it if ye left this late in the day for Edinburgh.”
The vixen laughed and fluttered a hand, rattling her abundance of bracelets like shackles. “Ah, well, we’ve been here this long. We might as well ride out the coming storm here, too. We’ve plenty of time since I cleared our calendar when we planned our visit to Castle Greyloch.” She looked over at her son and smiled. “I know my Garthin will be thrilled.” Again, she closed the distance between herself and the chief. Looping an arm through his, she locked him to her side. “Garthin is quite smitten with Lady Sorcha. Verra determined to win her hand.” She aimed a narrow-eyed smirk at Sutherland.
Smitten, my arse. Sutherland clenched his teeth to keep from responding to the wench’s bait.
Chieftain Greyloch extricated himself from the temptress’s clutches and stepped away before she could latch onto him again. “Excuse us, m’lady. Master MacCoinnich and I must speak of business unfit for mixed company. I shall see ye at dinner, aye?”
Acting crestfallen with downcast eyes and pouty lips, Lady Culane hesitated long enough to make Sutherland fear the wench would decide to hold fast and stand her ground. Finally, with a gracious nod at each of them,