Wager with a Warrior - Emma Prince Page 0,34
Bloody hell, we cannae even catch them in the act of attacking, let alone engage them long enough to kick their arses off Morgan land.”
“Then what the hell are ye doing here, man?”
“I am trying to solve yer problem with the Gunns, Laird,” Gregor ground out. “I would gladly meet them in open combat, or take on ten of their best warriors at once, but they only seem interested in harassing yer border.”
He let out a long breath, rolling some of the tension from his broad shoulders. “This just might be a problem we cannae fight our way out of. I dinnae relish saying so, just as I ken ye dinnae like hearing it, but brute strength isnae working in this situation. Another course is called for.”
Her father scowled, tugging on his graying beard. “And yer only other solution is a marriage alliance?”
“Though we dinnae ken why, the Gunns’ feathers are ruffled, so they are ruffling yers in return. A marriage just might smooth things over. It is at least worth exploring.”
Her father opened his mouth to object again, but Gregor spoke first.
“Lamond tells me yer mother was a MacWray, married into the Morgans as part of a peace treaty.”
Involuntarily, Birdie’s hand rose to her necklace—her nana’s necklace. The striking topaz had been passed from her grandmother to her mother upon marrying her father. After her mother’s passing, it had gone into Birdie’s keeping.
Her father shifted in his chair at Gregor’s comment. “Aye, but that was a long time ago.”
“I dinnae see ye fighting with the MacWrays at the moment,” Gregor observed. “And Lamond is half-Gunn, so it’s no’ as if yer clans have never intermarried before.”
“That hasnae happened for years, though.”
“My point is, it isnae such a wild idea to join clans and end feuds with this kind of arrangement. And the Gunn Laird has a son of an age with yer daughter. Have ye truly never considered it?”
“Marry my beloved daughter to a Gunn?” Her father huffed. “Nay.”
“I ken why ye dinnae wish to let her go,” Gregor murmured. “I wouldnae either, if she were mine.”
The air stilled in Birdie’s lungs at that, turning to needles and then daggers. She recognized the taut ache in his voice, for it echoed in her own chest.
Her gaze snapped up to him. He still stood like a mountain of stone before her father’s desk, his feet braced wide and his hands clasped behind his back. His knuckles had gone white from how tightly he clenched his fists.
He wore a fierce scowl, but from this angle she could see that a muscle jumped wildly along his chiseled jawline from the force of holding his composure.
“But she will eventually wed,” he added, his voice dropping. “If doing so could bring yer clan peace, ye must at least weigh the possibility.”
“Laird Gunn has never suggested a marriage alliance between his son and my daughter,” her father countered defensively.
“Has he or his son ever met Lady Roberta?”
Her father blinked, his brows lowering. “Nay. I wouldnae allow that.”
“There ye have it, then.” Gregor’s stormy black gaze slowly shifted to Birdie. “Enemy or nay, once the Laird’s son lays eyes on her, he will want her, for she is unquestionably the bonniest woman in the Highlands.”
Birdie swallowed hard, but she could not dislodge the tight knot from her throat.
“And once she speaks, he will admire her, for she is clever and kind and shines warmth and light in every direction she turns,” he continued, his eyes searing into her. “And once she acts, he will need to have her by his side, for she is brave and loyal and makes all those around her better for her nearness.”
At last, Gregor dropped his gaze, and it felt as though the door on the blacksmith’s forge had been abruptly snapped shut. His throat bobbed and his jaw worked for a moment.
“The Gunns would be lucky to have her,” he said, staring at the floor. “If they throw away such an opportunity, they are fools.”
In the silence that followed, Birdie’s heart turned to dust, even as fresh tears stung the backs of her eyes. How could he say such things, and in the same breath suggest that she wed another? He cared for her—he must, to be able to hold her in such high regard—yet not enough to fight to have her as his own.
That was naïve and childish, she knew. It was so much more complicated than that. He was right—she was a Laird’s daughter. Her marriage was meant