Free The Highlander's Tempestuous Bride by Cathy MacRae

“What drives Acair to be so bold?”
    “He calls it revenge.”
    A murmur arose from the crowd. Ryan swung his gaze around, wondering what he’d just missed.
    His father took a step forward and all eyes swiveled to him. “Revenge for what?”
    Laird Macrory’s gaze locked on the Macraig laird, and Ryan felt hostility spark between the two men. He sat up straight and his hand drifted to his empty scabbard before he remembered he’d left his sword and other weapons at the door.
    “His uncle’s death.”
    “Then it has nothing to do with us. Only ye.”
    “He has pillaged up and down the coast,” the Macrory pointed out. “He uses his claim of revenge to bind his scattered clansmen together.”
    The Macraig snorted. “So, if ye were dead, his lust for revenge would be satisfied and the problem would go away for the rest of us?”
    Harsh voices spilled around Ryan as he gaped in disbelief at his sire.
    What the hell is he doing? Ryan cut his eyes to Conn who shrugged, frank curiosity in his expression.
    “I thought ye said ye werenae at war with the Macrorys?” his friend asked.
    Ryan shook his head, staring at the man he scarcely knew. Surely, his father wasn’t about to decline the offer of help? Any time now the man would nod and give apology for such a brash statement. Tense moments passed as the two lairds glared at each other and speculation charged about the room.
    With a feeling of doom, Ryan sighed. “We soon will be.”

 
    Chapter 7
     
    Wooden benches scraped across the stone and tumbled noisily to the floor as men erupted to their feet. Ryan rose swiftly to his father’s side. His abrupt movement brought him directly in line with the enraged Macrory laird’s sight, but it couldn’t be helped. It was too late now to hope to gain the man’s approval where Gilda was concerned. Ryan’s best tactic was to support his father until he could somehow understand what the hell his sire was up to and perhaps minimize the damage between the clans.
    Laird Macrory fought visibly to bring his anger under control. Jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with each furious breath, he raised a hand for silence. His captain, a large, burly man who’d probably never been gainsaid since acquiring his impressive height, stepped to the laird’s shoulder, lending support.
    Slowly, the room retreated beneath their demanding glares. Ryan released a deep breath of relief and offered a quick prayer of thanks. Around him men righted benches and reclaimed their seats. Ryan longed to take his own seat and listen to what the Macrory laird had to say, but his father remained standing, chin jutted outward in defiance. Short of tugging his sleeve to encourage him to sit, hoping for cooperation he wasn’t likely to get, Ryan had no choice but to remain at his side.
    “’Tis well known ye are an outsider, Laird Macrory.” Disdain colored Laird Macraig’s voice. “’Twas a ruinous day a Scott laid claim to Macrory land. A man who gave up his own clan to rule another for the king.”
    “I have always been loyal to the crown, and the Macrory people are kin. We dinnae share a name when I arrived here, ’tis true, but I am proud to be called Macrory.”
    A murmur swept the crowd again. Heads nodded in approval. Then again, more than half the men in the room were Macrorys, and all apparently quite loyal to their laird. Ryan’s blood quickened. Were they to bring the old feud into the open?
    His father took a half-step forward. “Ye had no real claim to this land or clan.”
    Laird Macrory’s eyes flashed. “The king sent me here at the auld laird’s request.”
    “We would have done better without ye here. I would have married the daughter and forged a strong bond between the clans.”
    “The auld laird had his reasons for denying yer offer, as ye well know. And Scaurness has prospered these past years even with an outsider at its head.”
    Tension bristled around the room. Ryan’s blood ran cold at the animosity