Free Claiming the Highlander by Mageela Troche Page A

here.”
    “Trouble from whom? The council, the clan, or the Grants?”
    “The Grants are causing all of it. I can help put an end to all the grumblings. Grumblings that will get worse if he tries to court her.”
    “Which you will stir up?”
    “Your father is adding peat to the fire. With me on your side, I can use the influence I have with the council to press their ties to help your father get what he wants most. Gilroy has ties to people who have the king’s ear.”
    “That goes against your father’s wishes. Once you wed the Stuart lass, I can call upon their ties to help me.”
    “Perhaps, but before you make up your mind, think it through. I can be a help to you.”
    Or not.
     
    * * * *
     
    From the battlements, Caelen watched Manus, along with some men, escort Alastronia and her father home. He had made a promise to his father. He had sat with him for a time. How long a time—that he couldn’t say. Even after, he had joined his wife, his mind centered on the conversation with his father.
    A swathe of fading purple sky outlined the craggy mountaintops as it slipped away. Dense clouds blocked Caelen’s view of the rising moon. The wind blew against him. The flames of the castle’s beacon light flickered against the night’s increasing darkness. His nostrils filled with the scent of smoke, the salty scent of the loch, lichen, and moss.
    With one last glance, he looked up to his parents’ chamber. A light glowed behind the hazy glass. Could he be dead? Nay, he would have been called. The time would be coming soon.
    He made his way to the stairs when Tavish materialized from the darkness. “Are ye aware of what the countess has dun?”
    “You’ll tell me.” Caelen had no wish to hear what the man had to say. He had enough talk for this day.
    “She sent a messenger to her father.” He raised his chin. The haughty angle ignited an urge to punch the man on his chin.
    “That isn’t unusual.” He crossed his arms.
    “She hadna sent one before. The land those Grants are rentin’ are the same lands she brooght into yer union. Their workin’ it gaes the Grants a foothold here.”
    “Ten and six men? They’ll need more than that.”
    “But wit’ a divorce, Grant will plead to the king to bestow the lands to him as an appeasement fae yer abandonment.”
    “You think she is plotting such a thing?” His arms dropped. Did he hate Brenna because she was his wife? It seemed likely.
    “Na her. Her father cod. Since ye were a wee lad, ye dinna ken that Laird Grant petitioned fae the land to be granted to him since it came frae his wife—dead wife, aye, but his wife nonetheless. He believes he shod ha’e been granted all that came wit’ it.”
    “And the king disagreed.”
    Tavish nodded. “He felt Grant codna hold the land an’ his English ties unsettled him mae dan anything else.”
    “A great deal of Scots have English ties.”
    “The king doesn’t want any more English ties. Bad enough he wed the Sassenach king’s daughter.”
    “You believe I can’t deal with him or other issues facing this clan.”
    “Caelen, I dinna like ye but I ken ye can defend this clan. Men fear ye but respect ye…” He lifted a shoulder, letting the unspoken denial hang in the air. “Ye lack the skills to lead so stop fighting wit us an’ listen an’ learn.”
    “The council wants me to take orders, that is all.”
    “If ye had learned to do dat properly, my son wadna be dead.” Tavish strolled away, leaving the accusation hanging in the air.
    Caelen fisted his hand to stop himself from punching the stone wall. With his anger still simmering, he stormed down the stairs, and then slowed when he reached the courtyard. On that night, he did what he believed what was right and just. That was until he had returned home with Diarmad’s lifeless body. The truth was, he was relieved to leave to the MacLean home. For years he lied to himself that if he stayed away the wounds would heal. He had fooled himself and