Too Scot to Hold (The Hots for Scots #8) - Caroline Lee Page 0,35

to align with one of them before. Ye didnae even care which one. And Malcolm is just as much a scholar as Graham.”

“Malcolm is already married.”

Agatha shrugged. “And so is Kiergan—to yer granddaughter. As I understand it, he’s likely to become the next MacKinnon, aye? Just because ye got it into yer head that Davina’s husband would be the next laird, dinnae dismiss the fact Katlyn married first.”

Her husband began to grumble, and Graham inhaled slowly, willing himself to focus on his argument. There was one question which hadn’t been answered.

“Were ye the one to intercept our letters to one another? I’ve been writing her all winter, and she says she hasnae received even one of them.”

The old man frowned again as he crossed his arms in front of his skinny chest. “Aye, ‘twas me,” he declared, unapologetically. “Or done on my orders, at least. What else was I to do? Ye ken my decision on the matter, there was nae need to hurt her further.”

By allowing her to read my declarations of love.

“Did ye also destroy her letters to me?”

Graham’s tone was low and dangerous, and the laird must’ve heard the challenge in it, because his chin rose. “Aye, and I felt badly doing it, but ‘twas necessary for the good of the clan.”

Bah!

What could Graham say in return to something so closed-minded? He knew he was a good man, as did his family. More importantly, Davina knew it. So what did it matter if her grandfather refused to give him the chance to prove it?

It matters, because the auld fooker is the one who’s standing between ye and a lifetime of happiness with Vina as yer wife!

Graham inhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing as he considered his next argument. He would marry Davina. He just had to convince Angus MacKinnon he was worthy.

Davina loves ye, and that makes ye worthy.

Aye, it did. He had no ambitions to be the next laird, but he also knew his father was right; he was a good man, and if given the chance, he’d work hard to ensure everyone in his clan was well-cared for.

”Master Graham! Master Graham!” A serving wench—a young lass, her face scarred—was hurrying toward him, toting a basket of laundry, and was out of breath. “Lady Davina sent me to fetch ye!”

All of Laird MacKinnon’s blustering was forgotten in an instant as Graham stepped toward the servant. “What is it? Is she hurt?”

“Nay,” the lass panted, as she half-turned to point up the stairs. “She’s with Lady Evelinde, and she sent me to fetch ye. I think—”

If Vina was with Malcolm’s wife and summoning him, Graham knew why. “Send someone to fetch Malcolm and Merewyn please!” he interrupted as he jogged toward the stairs.

“Laddie, if ye run away from all yer problems, ye’ll never make a laird,” Angus MacKinnon called from behind him.

Without turning, Graham shouted, “I’ll always run to help others, ye stubborn fool! We’ll speak more of this later!”

By the time he’d finished, he’d reached the next landing and was too far to hear MacKinnon’s reply, but could guess it wasn’t conciliatory. And at that moment, it didn’t matter. He had to focus his mind on the problem at hand and what might await him in Malcolm and Evelinde’s chambers.

He didn’t bother knocking but pushed the door open and barreled in…and came to a screeching halt as his eyes took in the scene before him.

Evelinde was squatting beside the bed, holding onto one of the posters and leaning back…laughing as tears streamed down her face. Beside her, Davina knelt, the sleeves of her gown bloody as she turned terrified eyes his way. In her hands, she held a bloody, squalling infant as if the thing were made of stained glass.

“A lassie!” Evelinde choked out past her laughter. “I have a daughter!”

Vina’s lovely eyes were wide, practically begging for help, and in a heartbeat, Graham was so full of pride for what she’d just managed, he was afraid he might burst with it. Still, he forced his tone into a semblance of calm as he strolled across the room.

“Och, let us see what can be done, eh?” He winked at Davina to let her know she’d done a good job, as he lowered himself to the floor beside her. “A fine, loud lassie. She’ll need to be strong and loud to keep pace with her big brothers!”

As he carefully lifted aside Evelinde’s skirts to examine her, the new mother turned a beaming, tear-filled face his way. “She will