The Highlander's Lady Knight (Midsummer Knights #2) - Madeline Martin Page 0,1
his hands wide. “If we both go, it’ll double the chances of wooing at least one.”
Cormac bristled. “I wouldna pin yer hopes on me.”
“Maybe the lasses like grumpy men, eh?” Graham tilted his head in thought. “They are English after all.”
“With all due respect, sir, ’tis a fair idea.”
Cormac turned to find Hamish still standing by the door. How in God’s teeth did the man stay so invisible?
“’Tis a terrible idea,” Cormac countered.
Graham squared his jaw, as he often did when he’d stubbornly lodged his thoughts on a wild scheme. “Why?”
Cormac rattled through his thoughts, hating his inability to find a good reason. Aye, the lasses were promised to other men, and they might not want Cormac or Graham. Aye, it was wrong to try to steal a man’s betrothed.
But it was far more wrong to let his clan starve.
Graham braced his palm against the wet window ledge and peered out to the rain-laden crops below. “Staying here willna fix this, Cormac.”
“I know,” Cormac muttered.
“And two of ye will have double the chance,” Hamish piped up.
Cormac glared at him. “Take yer leave.” This time Cormac didn’t take his eyes from the man until the spy grudgingly slipped out and let the door close behind him.
“Ye know I’m right.” Graham put a hand to Cormac’s shoulder. “Ye just dinna like it.”
Cormac heaved a great sigh of defeat. His brother was indeed correct on both accounts. It was the only viable plan on the horizon, and Cormac had spent countless hours puzzling how to save his clan with no real solution.
He closed the shutters and snapped them into place, abruptly cutting off the wind sweeping into the room and placing them in a darkness that took some getting used to. The meager candle on the desk glowed orange gold.
Cormac would do anything to spare his people another hungry winter. Even…flirt…possibly dance…with a woman who might care for another man.
Shite.
Then he thought of his childhood friend, Blair Sutherland, who had recently starved to death in an effort to feed his child. And of Ines Sutherland, whose sacrifice to others had also come at the cost of her life. And Ewan and Gregor as well as their mum. The list went on to include over two dozen of his people who had died from lack of food.
Cormac clenched his hand into a fist. His people looked to him to save them. He owed it to them, and to those who had died, to try to save them by any means possible. He steeled himself against the guilty stab of his morals. No matter what it took, no matter who he had to kill or rob or woo, he would ensure not one more Sutherland starved to death.
Westmorland, England
The vial of poison rested hot against Lady Isolde Maxwell’s palm.
She entered the solar and her brother, Gilbert Maxwell, Earl of Easton, lifted his head. “What do you want?”
They both shared the delicate appearance inherited from their late mother with slight figures, fair skin and sculpted cheekbones. But when Gilbert scowled as he did now, he resembled their father whose disposition had been equally as sour.
Isolde lifted her chin in silent refusal to be cowed by his usually foul demeanor. “You know why I’m here.”
“Not this again.” He pressed his hands to the smooth tabletop and regarded her with the impatient exasperation one does to a small child who fails at comprehension. “You are going to wed Brodie Ross of the Ross clan at Baron de la Rose’s tournament this coming sennight.” Gilbert had a slightly high pitch to his voice for a man, and when he spoke with such snideness, it took on a shrill tone.
“I do not wish to,” Isolde replied, unwavering.
“But you will.” Gilbert smiled coldly at her. “You haven’t a choice.”
“We don’t need an alliance with the Ross clan.” Isolde glanced around the opulent solar, which had become even more finely decorated after their miserly father’s death. “We have a noble title, a good name and wealth enough to afford a comfortable life.”
More than comfortable, in truth. Their life bordered on ostentatious now. The solar was only one example. The plain walls had been fitted with carved whorls and flowers along the tops of the walls and the fireplace, then painted with vivid color and gilt, so it practically glowed in the firelight. Gilbert had the great desk polished to a high shine and had commissioned several more pieces of furniture to be built, including two chairs before the hearth.