A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,50

stated, his chin raised.

“Then she must be good for a tumble,” Magnus said, and the men roared with laughter.

“Cease,” Monty slammed his hand on the table, making it wobble. “My men and I leave now before there is bloodshed. But I promise you I will kill each of you in your sleep if you continue to disparage my sister. She’s always been my favorite, and I shall always be her brother. Attack her character again, and I will watch you laid in the ground.” Monty didn’t wait for any of the men to respond. Monty, Donnan, and the Ross guards left the tavern with haste.

“His favorite?” Edgar sniffed. “How bad are the rest?” The men roared at the snide comment.

“You heard aboot Lady Myrna and her antics with Padraig Munro. And his brother,” Stephen reminded them. “MacGillivray is miserable, and she still hasn’t bore him a son.”

“Pitiful sod,” Matthew said as he raised his mug in Chieftain MacGillivray’s honor. “I say Andrew has the right of it. Campbell needs rescuing, and since ours isn’t the only wager we’ve each entered, we’d do well to see their marriage doesn’t last.”

The six men raised their mugs and grinned before each of them drained it and bellowed for more.

Sixteen

It had been twelve days since King Robert announced Laurel and Brodie’s betrothal. She’d expected doubt and regret to fill her during the ensuing days, but she’d become spoiled by Brodie’s attentiveness and the taste of freedom he offered her each day. Depending on her commitments, Brodie took Laurel riding every morning or afternoon. Monty joined them the first five days under the auspices of being her chaperone, but he soon tired of watching the couple when he preferred being in the lists. Ross and Campbell guards accompanied them, and Laurel figured with her reputation in shambles, it mattered little if anyone chaperoned them. She understood that even without the banns posted, they could make their betrothal into a binding marriage by coupling.

Laurel and Brodie fought the temptation to do just that, since neither wanted to begin their marriage under a darker cloud than they already would. The rides offered them an opportunity to become better acquainted, and Laurel discovered Brodie had been correct from the beginning. Their minds worked in remarkably similar ways. When he told her about his clan, he often asked what she would do if she was laird and faced the challenges he did. He chided himself for ever being surprised at her astute observations and sound solutions, but she impressed him over and over. In turn, Laurel felt validated, her self-confidence genuine rather than feigned.

Their time together wasn’t entirely without disagreement, most often about Laurel’s penchant for speed and jumps Brodie was certain would break her neck. It wasn’t until he articulated his fears that she ceased goading and rebuking him for being old and staid. Laurel balked when Brodie insisted she ride within the center of the men the first few days. She kept her most scathing comments for when they rested their horses, and Brodie dragged her out of earshot. But each of their spats ended with compromises they were both willing to accept. And a kiss. A passionate, explosive, earth-shaking kiss that would leave them clinging to one another as they tested their resolve to do nothing more than that.

Laurel sat beside Brodie each morning and at each midday meal, but the queen refused to allow Laurel to join Brodie for every evening meal. Laurel understood the queen was already indulging her by allowing her to ride out with Brodie every day. But the two days that filled her with the most satisfaction were the Sundays they sat together as the priest read the banns, then posted it on the kirk door. Brodie held her hand beneath the folds of her skirts. He’d gifted her a bolt of honey-colored satin after the first week’s Mass. Laurel had been speechless, and tears brimmed at her eyes when he presented matching slippers. He’d grown self-conscious when she said nothing at first. He assured her that if she didn’t care for the color or if it didn’t suit her, he would take her to exchange it. She launched herself at him and nearly knocked them both over with the force of her exuberant thanks.

Brodie’s chest felt as though it would burst when he saw the excitement and gratitude on Laurel’s face. While it was costly fabric, the gesture hadn’t seemed as significant to him as it was to her. He’d