the whisky suddenly slam into him once more. He sank back onto his stool and turned bleary eyes to Donnan. “Why don’t you marry the lass?”
“I offered. She wouldn’t take me,” Donnan responded.
“So she does have good taste,” Brodie laughed. He turned his sleepy eyes toward Monty. “Just how bad is she if Oliphant here is certain he won’t be parting with a hundred pounds?”
“One moment you defend her, and the next you insult her.” Monty stood, Donnan and the Ross guardsmen following suit. “You’re no better than these two. I thought more of you, Brodie.”
“And are you stuck not marrying either?” Brodie asked.
“What? Laurel marrying has naught to do with when I marry,” Monty said with a furrowed brow.
“Your clan needs an heir after you. You have a duty to beget one,” Brodie pointed out. Monty sensed Donnan tense, and he fought not to shift his weight.
“I do not need to marry any time soon. It won’t be before my sister.”
“And at the rate she’s going,” Liam chimed in. “It’ll be winter in hell before anyone marries.”
“I’m not forcing my sister to marry anyone,” Monty shook his head as he stepped around the table, prepared to make his way back to the castle. He and his men had overstayed at the Crosspool Tavern.
“What if I could convince her?” Brodie suggested. “What if I could tame the Shrew of Stirling and bring her to heel? I like a challenge. Besides, I need a chatelaine for my keep, and my clan needs a lady.”
“No,” Monty and Donnan responded together while Liam crowed, “Yes.”
“One hundred pounds says you can’t make Lady Laurel agree to marry you in the next fortnight,” Liam slapped his hand on the table.
“I will not make my sister marry you. She must decide for herself,” Monty warned. His conscience nagged that he shouldn’t consider trading his sister in a wager, nor agreeing with a drunk man to marry her. But outside of this night, he knew Brodie to be an upstanding man. He knew Laurel would be safe and well cared for–perhaps even loved–if she married Brodie. It would satisfy the king and Laird Ross. “Only if she falls in love with you and agrees on her own.”
“Fair enough,” Brodie stuck out his arm, and Monty paused for a heartbeat before clasping Brodie’s forearm.
“I shall be two hundred pounds richer,” Liam remarked. “Neither of you will convince Lady Laurel to accept Campbell’s suit. I expect timely payment.”
“Nay,” Brodie corrected. “I never accepted your wager, and neither did Ross. My agreement is with the lady’s brother, not you. You shall be neither richer nor poorer. You have naught to do with this agreement.”
“But—” Liam objected.
“I am not doing this for a wager, Oliphant,” Brodie interrupted. “I am curious whether I can woo such a woman. But I will not force her to marry me. And I will not bet on her like our courtship is a cockerel fight.” Bluidy bleeding hell.
Five
Brodie woke to a roiling stomach. He rolled onto his back and opened his eyes, vaguely recalling his arrival at Stirling in the middle of the night. Flashes of memories floated through his mind. He recalled meeting and sitting with Montgomery Ross and his second, Donnan, until two other men joined them. Brodie squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to remember who they were.
Shite. Liam Oliphant and his lapdog. Brodie pressed his fingertips to his forehead and yelped. That’s why ma bluidy heid aches. I bashed Nelson MacDougall in his ugly mug. Why did I do that? Och, he insulted Ross’s sister. Laurel. Strawberry blonde hair. I remember her from the last time I was at court, and the time before that, and the time before that. But I also recall her reputation. What did I agree to last eve? Something to do with Laurel. I hope whatever it was, wasna an insult to Monty or Laurel.
Brodie rolled out of bed and swallowed the bile that threatened to come up. He hadn’t drunk more than he usually did, but he admitted that he’d been running on far less sleep and food than was his norm. He’d ridden back to Castle Sween with Eliza’s body. He’d endured her wailing mother and sister and suffered her father’s threats and grief. All the while trying to muster tender feelings, which he believed a husband should feel toward his dead wife. But there were none. It felt as though he’d heard in passing of a stranger’s death. He even wondered if drinking