Wee William's Woman, Book Three of the Clan MacDougall Series (45 page)

“And what might that condition be?”

Bree took a few steps toward her father. “That I do no’ have to marry him if I do no’ want to.”

She could see her father’s shoulders relax and a moment later he turned to face her again. “I’ve told ye since ye were a babe in swaddlin’ clothes that I’d never force ye to marry a man ye did no’ want to marry. That still holds true, Bree. ’Tis just a courtin’ the lad be askin’ fer.”

Bree nodded her head and stood a bit taller. One way or another, she would learn why this courting was so important to him. “So be it then. When do I meet this man?”

Angus studied her for a moment. No man could be more proud of his children than he. Bree was like him in so many ways -- strong of character, smart as a whip, and not afraid to speak her mind. There were times, however, that he wished she was not as beautiful as her mother. With her dark hair and bright green eyes, it was only through brute strength and threat of death that he had kept the lads away from her. Guilt played with his heart, for he felt as though he were throwing her to the lions. But knowing his daughter was at times a force to be reckoned with, he was certain she could hold her own against any man.

“Yer mum and I will introduce the two of ye at the evenin’ meal. We’ve musicians here for the festival and games, so there will be a dance this night as well.”

“Good. I look forward to meetin’ the man brave enough to ask to court me.” While something gnawed at the back of her mind that said there was much more to this than her father was telling, she couldn’t quite quash her excitement. Mayhap it was nothing more than fear of the unknown that played with her nerves. Mayhap this was all as innocent as her da was attempting to make it.

“I’m verra proud of ye, Bree,” Angus said as he wrapped her in a warm embrace. “’Tis an honor to be yer father.”

Bree returned his embrace. She tried to shake the sense of trepidation by trying to convince herself that her father would never do anything to put her in harm’s way.

“Ye ken I’ve no desire to marry any time soon, so I do no’ understand the need to court this lass.” Gillon Randolph did not like the idea of being forced to court someone he’d never laid eyes on. But his father was insistent. And if there was anything that Gillon had learned in his life, it was that when James Randolph set his mind to something, he held on to it with a death like grip. Even if the man was far too soft and weak in Gillon’s eyes, he could respect his father’s stubbornness.

Gillon stood in the middle of the chamber room his father had been given for the duration of their stay at Gregor. It was late in the day and all Gillon wished for at the moment was to leave his father. The festival had begun and there were many young lasses below stairs and out of doors. Lasses he intended to woo and a few that he thought might be willing to come warm his bed after the evening meal.

“Do no’ be a fool, Gillon!” James barked at him. “I’ve seen the lass, and she
is
a bonny thing!”

Gillon didn’t care how bonny Bree McKenna was. He had plans, plans that did not include a wife or children, at least not for a very long time. There were things he wanted to do, to see, to experience, before settling down into a state of so-called wedded bliss.

The MacDougalls were a large, strong clan and it was better to have them on his side than against it.
 
The alliance the Randolph’s had formed with the Bowies and the treachery that ensued had left a bitter taste in the young man’s mouth. He would much prefer to re-build his clan on his own. Aye, it would take years to get back all they had lost due to his father’s mistake. Gillon’s pride told him ’twould be better to rebuild on their own than to risk another alliance. But his father could not and would not be swayed.

“Ye
will
do this, Gillon. Ye will court this lass and ye’ll win her heart,” James Randolph demanded. He was unable mask the frustration he felt toward his son. “Ye will be the chief and laird of our clan someday, Gillon. Ye’ll take yer rightful place upon me death. I do this fer ye, son, and fer the future of our clan.”

“Then
ye
court her!” The words were out before he could pull them back in.

James shot to his feet and unable to check his anger, he lashed out. He slapped Gillon across his face with the back of his hand. There was too much at stake to allow his son to behave with such disrespect and insolence.

Gillon was more surprised than physically hurt by his father’s hand. His father rarely lashed out at anyone, at least not with his hands. He thought his father’s even temper and gentleness a sign of weakness. That in turn made it very difficult for Gillon to hold any true respect for the man.

“That will be the last time ye ever hit me da,” Gillon said as he took a deep breath and stood taller. “I warn ye now that next time, I’ll no’ show ye the respect of yer position.”

James regretted very little in his life. Since the day he became the chief of his clan some two and twenty years past, after the death of his own father, every decision James had made revolved around what was best for his people. He had seldom made a decision in his life that did not take into account how it would affect his people and their futures.

It was no different when he learned twenty years ago that his wife carried another man’s babe. He could not hold her accountable or guilty, for the babe had not been conceived from a lust-filled affair. It had been far worse than that. James had spent every day since, trying to make up for what had happened to her.

There were however, times, little moments, like this one, where he regretted claiming Gillon as his own son. Gillon had been a beautiful boy, but as he grew older, he began to display his blood father’s disposition and ill temper. Much to James’ dismay, Gillon often chose to take the darker paths of life, instead of doing what was honorable or right.

“Be careful what threats ye make, Gillon,” James seethed. He tried to pull back the anger but it was not easy when his son refused to see reason.

James knew his son had a mean streak. Mayhap if the lad had a wife with the brightness of spirit and level of intelligence that Bree McKenna possessed, Gillon might turn his life around. Mayhap all he needed was a good woman, like Bree, to help soften his heart. That had been the main reason James had asked Angus to allow his son to court Bree.

“Yer goin’ to court Bree McKenna,” James said. “Yer goin’ to court her, woo her, and win her heart. There be too much at stake fer all of us, Gillon. We
need
this alliance with the MacDougalls. Bree is a fine lass and she’ll make ye a fine wife.”

Gillon made a decision then to do everything in his power to have the bonny Bree McKenna hate the very ground he walked on, if for no other reason than it would surely drive his father mad. Bree could be the most beautiful, kind, smart, and generous woman on the planet. It would matter not. Come hell or high water, he’d get the lass to hate him, thereby stopping any chance at a union between the two clans.

“As ye bid, da. I’ll court Bree McKenna,” Gillon told his father as he held his head high.
But I’ll make ye rue the day ye ever asked this of me.

Bree was returning from visiting her beautiful new nephew, Connell McEwan, named after Duncan’s father. Though Connell the first had died not long after Bree was born, she was certain that had he lived, he would have been very proud of his namesake. He was a strong, healthy boy and his parents could not be more happy or proud.

As Bree walked through the kitchen she returned the hellos given by the kitchen staff. Her mind was elsewhere and she paid little attention to anything as she walked into the grand gathering room and up the stairs toward her room. They’d be serving the evening meal within an hour and she had yet to change her dress and style her hair.

She had been unable to shake the feeling that her father had been less than truthful with her earlier. After her meeting with her da, Bree had gone to discuss the situation with her mum. Isobel had insisted it was just nerves at finally being allowed to have a young man court her. Isobel felt fairly certain there was no more to it than that. Angus would never do anything to put any of his children in harms way.

So that was that. Gillon Randolph would be allowed to sit next to her at the high table for the evening meal. Bree did not relish the thought of being put on display in such a manner and she knew her friends would tease her relentlessly over it.

But it was just a courting.

It was merely a way for two people to get to know one another.

Certainly nothing more would come of it.

There was a very strong possibility that Gillon Randolph might not like her at all. He might not care for her outspokenness. He might not care for her blunt honesty or her quickness to laugh. Gillon might be one of those very serious men who didn’t enjoy life as much as she did. She couldn’t see herself with a man like that.

Nay, she’d need a man who would appreciate her honesty, her sincerity. He would need to appreciate her for who she
was
and not just her outer appearance.

Bree was no fool. She’d been told more times than she could ever hope to count, that she was as beautiful as her mother. When she was younger, she couldn’t quite see what others saw. But as she grew older, even she could see the similarities between herself and her mum.

Both owned the same dark hair and bright green eyes. Like her mother, she had a straight nose that was neither too long nor too short. Bree’s jaw was a bit squarer than her mothers, but considered fine and feminine nonetheless. And like her mother, she’d been blessed with an ample bosom. She recognized that fact only from the way she’d catch her male friends staring at it, all slack jawed and drooling. Fools. There was more to a woman than pretty teeth and an ample chest!

Bree wanted a man who would appreciate
who
she was inside. He’d need to appreciate her intelligence, her cheerfulness, and all the things that made Bree, Bree.

She would need a man who would not expect her to change to suit him. Nay, any man that would ever win her heart would have to allow her to be true to herself.

The man who would steal her heart would need to be just as honest and blunt as she. He would also need to be kind and gentle with all things. He must also possess as much honor as her father and the other men of her clan.

It would help as well if he were easy to look at. He needn’t be dangerously handsome for Bree knew that true beauty came from within. As long as his face was not covered in warts and his eyes were not crossed, she imagined she could be completely happy with an average looking young man. As long as he possessed a good heart, a kind yet amiable disposition, and good teeth, looks did not matter. Bree never put much belief in vanity but she did feel it quite well and good to have
some
standards when it came to choosing a husband.

Lost as she was in her own thoughts, Bree was paying no attention at all to where she might be walking or what she might be walking into. As she rounded the corner that led to her sleeping chamber, she walked into what she could only assume at that moment was a wall. Apparently, this particular wall had arms for they reached out and grabbed her before she could fall to the floor.

The wall possessed
very
strong arms. Warm, delightful, bare arms with so many muscles, they looked as though they would burst through the skin! As she fought to catch her breath, with her head resting against a most firm, warm chest, she could hear the pounding of his heart. Lord all mighty! She imagined the beating of her heart matched the wall’s beat for beat.