Free The Chieftain's Feud by Frances Housden Page A

to reach her man’s side wouldnae be intimidated by an expression she was bound to have witnessed often and often. However, for Eve’s sake, Jamie was glad to see the McArthur had confiscated the four Buchan men’s weapons, their scabbards hung empty by their sides.
    His sneer segued into a smile as he looked down on Eve, on his wife. A fact he preferred to keep to himself for the moment.
    “Come lass,” he said, “let’s go beard the lions in their den.”
    Still smiling down at her, he found it hard to imagine how he had resisted her for so long. In truth, Eve was naught like Brodwyn, lovelier by far, and better natured. The fates must have been saving her innocent soul until they could get them both in the same place at the same time.
    “Come o’er here,” Buchan roared at the top of his lungs, “I’ll wipe that smile off the side o’ yer face, as would any father whose daughter has been abducted by a whore-monger.”
    Without missing a step, Jamie’s hand clenched around his sword’s hilt, the only sign of his anger. Yonder stood a man who, although he bellowed out accusations like a bull, had nae true consideration for his daughter, except as a piece of property. A piece that he might have stolen, but didnae abduct.
    McArthur was the one who answered Buchan. Without raising his voice, he said, “Mind yer language, there are lasses present, and mine for one isnae impressed.”
    Jamie discovered Buchan had nae sense of self-preservation when he countered the McArthur’s warning with, “Why would you care? I dinnae mind o’ you marrying yours. Is that why you let that—” As he turned round to point, Eve’s blue plaid slid off her shoulder, and the only noise was the McArthur leaping to his feet and the other men following suit. Afore Jamie could retrieve her worsted wrap, the surprise they had been saving for everyone but his sister Iseabel was revealed to the whole hall.
    For once, Buchan couldnae find words. A miracle, as Jamie could tell he was searching for them by watching the movement of his jaw, up down, up down, but nary a skerrick came out. He wanted to laugh but had taken his life in his hands appearing afore them. The slip of her plaid, revealing the obvious bulge of her belly, had lit another flame in the fire Buchan had burning behind his eyes.
    Buchan’s chest seemed to heave itself up out of his belt as if still desperately trying to make his voice heard but was prevented by lack of breath. His sword arm hung limp by his side, fist clenched as if missing the weapon Jamie was certain the McArthur would have confiscated. That was his way. Trouble might come to Cragenlaw’s gate, but he always did what he could to defuse aggression inside his hall.
    “Nae more,” commanded the McArthur, a note of intransigence in his words. “I willnae stand for this breach of the hospitality I’ve shown ye by bringing ye inside out of the cauld. Unless ye have a liking for the stables, I’ll thank ye for a little civility toward my guests, of which yer one. Yule is the season of celebration, a time to reflect on the past year and make plans for the next. As far as yer daughter is concerned, it would seem the horse has bolted. I suggest ye join us at the high board and, after the meal, mayhap we can work on a solution.”
    It was nae surprise to Jamie that his father voiced his disapproval before Buchan had a chance. Not that he said anything of moment, simply let out a growl.
    The McArthur’s nostrils flared, a signal Jamie recognised, and he could tell by the tightening of Eve’s fingers on his arm that she wasn’t unaware. His friend Rob nudged Nhaimeth’s shoulder and they both smiled, listening to their mentor say, “That includes all my guests.”
    Eve waited at Jamie’s side as the hall filled with a variety of manservants and maids extending the width of the high board and placing more stools and benches around it. At first she thought everyone, including her father, intended ignoring