A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,15
time.”
“Nay,” Monty responded without hesitation. “We’re not interested in getting the pox from a Stirling whore.”
Brodie glanced between the two men, his eyes narrowing for a flash when Monty answered for himself and Donnan. He didna say neither of us. He said, “we.” Interesting.
A group of courtiers arrived, already intoxicated, curtailing the three men’s conversation. They watched as the men staggered in, waving to Monty when they recognized him.
“Run away from your sister, have you? Tongue like a silver blade, she has,” one courtier babbled. “Did she cut off your cods like she did Ogilvy’s?”
“Are your bollocks as big as your sister’s?” A second drunk man clapped the first one on the shoulder as they both laughed. Brodie looked at Monty and Donnan, waiting for them to defend Monty’s sister. Brodie had a vague memory of Laurel, remembering her distinctive hair color more than anything. He leaned forward when neither Monty nor Donnan spoke up.
“Leave it,” Monty whispered.
“Looks like Lady Laurel cut off your tongue and your bollocks, Ross,” the first man chortled.
“Oliphant, enough. Your breath stinks from here,” Monty mused and wafted his hand before his nose. Monty watched Liam Oliphant, cousin to Laird Oliphant, drag a chair over to their table. He wanted to groan when Liam’s companion, Nelson MacDougall, joined him. Monty feared a fight might break out between Nelson and Brodie from the sneers and mocking looks Nelson cast Brodie.
“Shouldn’t you be searching down every rabbit hole for some unsuspecting sod to marry your sister?” Liam asked. “I’d wager a hundred pounds that you can’t find a mon in all of Scotland willing to take on the Shrew of Stirling.”
Brodie ignored Nelson and listened as Liam continued to insult Laurel, with Monty refusing to take the bait. Brodie drained his whisky thrice in the time Nelson and Liam spent antagonizing Monty and Donnan, and neither Ross men became riled. Brodie felt the effects of the whisky despite the pottage, since he’d already had several drams as he and his men approached Stirling. He’d considered it fortification at the time, but now he merely felt sleepy. The droning conversation around him only made him want to seek a bed—alone.
“Sounds to me like the woman needs taming,” Brodie mused before hiccupping. Four sets of eyes turned toward him, all with speculative gazes. Brodie shook his head. “I didn’t say I was offering. I just made an observation.”
“Someone needs to marry the lass. Otherwise, no one else will be married,” Liam grumbled.
“What?” Brodie asked in confusion.
“King Robert decided that none of the other ladies can wed until Laurel does,” Monty said, keeping his voice low. But he knew there was little point, since plenty of people overheard Liam and Nelson.
“Aye, your bitch of a sister is keeping every woman’s dowry hostage, and she doesn’t even have one of her own,” Nelson spat. Monty and Donnan pushed back their stools, but Brodie—despite being two-and-a-half sheets to the wind—was faster. He grasped Nelson around the neck and shook him.
“The Rosses are more patient and forgiving than I am. I would have beaten you already if you’d been discussing my sister. You go too far, MacDougall,” Brodie warned.
“Not so far as to cleave her head from her shoulders,” Nelson taunted. “You couldn’t protect your bride with your sword. What makes you think your words will do any better?”
Brodie reared back and drove his forehead into Nelson’s face, blood spraying from Nelson’s nose. “That does,” Brodie grunted. He released Nelson with a shove. The man stumbled backward into another table, nearly upending it. Angry shouts followed as Nelson was knocked, unconscious, to the floor.
Liam Oliphant didn’t look in his friend’s direction, keeping his attention on Brodie instead. “Would that it was so easy to tame Lady Laurel as you did Nelson MacDougall.”
“Are you suggesting I should beat a woman?” Brodie asked. His voice was deceptively quiet. Monty and Donnan, along with the Rosses and Campbells, cringed.
“I’m saying, I wager one hundred pounds that you couldn’t even get Lady Laurel to marry you, let alone live under the same roof long enough to beat her,” Liam said.
“And why on earth would I take such a bet?”
“Because you don’t have a wife, but you need one. It saves you having to look, since the last time didn’t turn out so well,” Liam chuckled. “And you would be doing every lady-in-waiting a good deed to by taking Lady Laurel away.”
“No,” Monty shook his head. “My sister is not to be wagered over.”