Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (41 page)

Bear snorted. “A prissy poodle dog.”

“That's enough of that,” Ranulf cut in. “The fact remains, ye are a vital part of MacDonald politics. Yer absence will cause as much trouble as yer presence. The only thing worse would be ye showing up where ye shouldnae be. As ye appeared here, ye bring trouble to our doorstep.”

That hurt. The man Bear most respected essentially dismissing her. Reducing her to a pawn in a game she didn't even want to play. She held his gaze. “Yer brother told me that ye enjoy trouble, Lord Glengask. That ye've managed to turn trouble to yer advantage so often that most dunnae dare bring ye trouble any longer.”

“Does the MacDonald want a war?” Elizabeth broke in, a little sharply. “Because Cat doesn't look so terrible any longer. Why would he be insulted?”

Torriden stirred again. “Of course he doesn't want a war. War costs money and resources. But neither can he allow himself, his immediate family, to be insulted and not answer it. That weakens him.” He leaned forward, banging his knife handle against the table. “You running off rather than agreeing to marry his nephew weakens him. I'm trying to
prevent
a war.”

That surprised her. “So ye would marry me?” she answered, lifting both eyebrows. “Ye wouldnae find me insulting and mannish and send me back to Islay along with a threat to my uncle?”

“I don't know how I would find you,” he retorted, “as this is the first time we've met. You seem … tolerable enough, except for your manners. I daresay there are ways to manage a marriage made for an alliance, however the spouses feel about each other.”

“Nae!” Bear broke in, shoving to his feet. “Ye dunnae get to say that ye'd take her because ye have to. Ye dunnae get to insult a lass who's managed to make a life fer herself despite what those who are supposed to care aboot her throw in her way. And ye dunnae get to assume ye'll be marrying her, because that willnae happen.”

“Munro, sit down,” the marquis ordered.

“I willnae,” he retorted. “Ye're a damned bunch of hypocrites. Ye marry a lass ye want, and try to make Arran wed to make the alliance ye missed. Then Arran marries who he wants, and ye try to get Winnie to make the alliance
he
missed. And now ye want me to marry someone ye choose fer me, even knowing what a damned poor excuse fer a husband I would be, and how little I wanted the responsibility. Well, I've found my own way. I've found my lass, and I willnae let her go. Make yer alliance around that.”

Lord Glengask stood, as well. “Do ye think I'm trying to be cruel?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. “Ye're my brother, and I love ye dearly. But ye arenae my only responsibility.”

“I'm nae yer responsibility at all. Ye told me to send her away or give her up. I came here because Cat said ye had yer reasons, and she didnae want to run. Well, now I know yer reasons, and I dunnae agree with them. So drink a damned toast. I'm sending her away. But I'm going with her. We'll nae bring ye trouble, Ranulf.”

Catriona shut her eyes for a moment, wishing they could begin the day again, and that she might have convinced Munro simply to stay beneath the blankets with her. “I dunnae want ye to be separated from yer family, Munro,” she said quietly.

He looked down at her. “And I willnae be separated from ye, wildcat,” he said, his voice more controlled. “I told ye that. And after what I'm hearing today, do ye think I'm so eager to spend my days here? He wants what's easiest. That's nae my brother. I dunnae know who that is.”

“That's enough!” Ranulf roared. “I have tried to be reasonable, but ye clearly want a fight. Go, then! I'll nae have ye putting my son in danger because ye cannae do what's best fer yer own clan!”

Lord Torriden had the bad sense to stand up at that moment. “Lady Catriona bears just as much blame for the harm she's doing to clan MacDonald. And for less reason, given that she is clearly poised to gain far more than she can possibly offer.”

Bear went over the table at him. Before the viscount could do more than emit a high-pitched squeak he went backward over his chair with Munro's fist imbedded in his chin. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but a heartbeat later the room exploded into action.

Catriona grabbed the very pregnant Lady Mary's arm and pulled her away from the table while Lady Glengask caught hold of both Elizabeth and Bear's sister and dragged them around to the far corner of the room, as well. The men, though, all moved forward. And every one of them went after Munro.

He'd done it wrong, Munro knew. He'd decided to be calm and patient and logical, and then the MacDonald bastard had insulted Cat—again. If he'd had any hope that anyone here meant to listen to him he might have reacted differently, but they'd clearly already made up their minds that he was both wrong and an idiot.

Grabbing Torriden by his high shirt points, Munro hefted him into the air and slammed him down onto the table. Wine glasses and bread went flying. To his left Arran was trying to haul backward on his arm, with Lachlan on the right, and the hand in the back of his jacket more than likely Ranulf. As far as he was concerned they all deserved a pummeling. Not one of them had even tried to see Cat through his eyes. Ignoring the men hauling on him, he lifted the squealing Torriden and shoved him back down again. “Apologize!” he growled, dragging the viscount across the length of the table while dishes clattered to the floor around them.

Arran jumped on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck. Before his older brother could firm up his grip, Munro ducked forward, reaching back, and flung his brother over his shoulder, using Torriden to cushion his fall. Twisting, he turned just in time to see Lachlan's fist aimed at his head.

The blow, though, didn't land. Instead Viscount Gray stumbled as Catriona leaped onto his back and grabbed hold of his arm. “Ye willnae hurt him!” she yelled, covering his eyes with her hands.

Out of the corner of his eye Munro noted the servants pouring into the small dining room. A moment later the sheer weight of men hanging on to his arms and his back and his legs drove him to his knees. Losing here, though, meant losing … everything. With a roar he shoved back to his feet, then stumbled again.

A shot rang out. “
Enough!
” Charlotte yelled, as wood and plaster from above the far window splintered.

With a last grunt Munro shoved to his feet again. Warm wet trickled from his nose, but he barely noted it as he took Cat around the waist and bodily lifted her off Lachlan. “It's me,” he grunted, when she sent an elbow into his rib cage.

“Put me down, giant,” she ordered, clearly out of breath. “I'll nae have ye throwing me about.”

He set her on her feet. Her pretty scarlet hair had come out of its pins, one of her braids hanging crazily sideways, and the left shoulder of her gown was torn. Scowling, he tugged the material back up over her shoulder. “Ye shouldnae have jumped in like that.”

“Ye were outnumbered,” she returned, still panting. Then she slapped him on the arm. “Ye didnae help anything. And ye fought yer own brothers.” Taking a napkin off the floor, she dabbed it against his nose. “Ye shouldnae have done that.”

“I'd do it again,” he returned, finally lifting his head to send a glare at Ranulf. “Ye've a Sassannach bride who shoots pistols in yer dining room.”

“I—”

“And ye,” he interrupted, turning his gaze on Arran, “married a damned Campbell and got shot fer it.”

“I ken what—”

“Shut up,” he countered. “I'm nae finished with ye. And I'll say my piece before I go. Winnie got herself promised to the Buchanans and dragged off by a Campbell, and still won the man she wanted. What the devil makes ye think I'll nae have this MacDonald lass just because it's nae convenient fer ye?”

The black bruise around his eye beginning to fade, Ranulf gazed at him levelly. “If it was a matter of convenience, we'd figure someaught oot, Bear, and ye know that.”

That was that, then. He and Cat weren't welcome. They weren't safe, with all the bairns about. He did understand that, whether his family realized it or not. With a slow nod, he turned around to reach for Catriona's hand—then stopped.

On the far side of the table Elizabeth MacColl sat on a chair beside Torriden, who wasn't as pretty now with his bloody nose and torn coat. The lass pressed a napkin to his face, tears in her eyes. Saint Andrew forgive him for his lack of compassion, but it might well have been the loveliest sight he'd ever seen.

“Elizabeth,” he said, keeping his distance from the pair on the chance he'd spook one or the other of them into flight. “Are ye ready to see yer sister vanish into the wilderness after finding her again? Ye spent eleven years apart, ye said.”

“This has naught to do with Elizabeth,” Cat broke in with a scowl of her own. “Dunnae try to blame any of this on her.”

“I amnae,” he returned. “I'm only saying that ye willnae be marrying Torriden, and because his clan chief demands an alliance between Lord Islay and himself, ye and I have to flee the Highlands.”

A tear ran down Cat's soft cheek. “Dunnae be so cruel, ye big oaf.”

At that he did take her hand, drawing her against his side and brushing the tear away with his fingers. “Do ye nae see what I see?” he whispered, gesturing with his chin toward her sister.

“What?”

His family considered him the dim-witted one, but at this moment he was fairly certain he was the only one in the room seeing clearly. “Elizabeth. Are ye nae a daughter of the former Lord Islay, and the niece of the present earl?”

“Of course I am.”

“Aye. And that's exactly the same relationship Catriona has—had—to them.”

Elizabeth stared at him, the color leaving her face, then flooding it again. “Say that again, Bear?” she prompted.

“I'll only point oot that ye came here to avoid marriage to a man forty-two years yer senior and with a reputation for killing off his own wives. Ye fled a duke. Do ye think ye'll ever be welcome back in London? Or find yerself a different husband there?”

“Oh,” Cat breathed, her hand tightening convulsively in his.

“I'll also point oot,” Munro continued, “that this Torriden lad is pretty, and he's but seven years yer elder, and with those clothes he wears I'd wager he has a bit more culture than most any other man ye'd find in the Highlands.”

“I think we've all just been insulted,” Lady Glengask murmured, a fair degree of humor in her tone, as Ranulf made his way over and relieved her of the spent pistol.

Beside Munro, Cat took a deep breath. “Ye cannae make her do this,” she murmured, then continued in a louder voice. “Elizabeth, ye need nae do this to—”

“You told me I should never let other people dictate my life for me, Cat,” her sister returned, her gaze on Lord Torriden rather than her sister. “I envied you for the freedom you had. But then you never told me that you were fleeing for the same reason I was. So if you don't mind, I would like to think about what Bear said for a moment. For my own sake.”

Lord Torriden looked confused. Glengask, on the other hand, stood beside Charlotte to watch the play unfold with an expression of keen interest on his face. Munro didn't expect him to argue; if it kept trouble from clan MacLawry, Ranulf would consider it.

“My lady, Elizabeth, I'm … What the devil are the lot of you talking about?” the viscount blustered, standing in an attempt to tug his disheveled clothes back into some semblance of order.

“About you,” Elizabeth answered. “And me.”

“But I … I am promised to your sister. However we—I—may feel, I am obligated to—”

“Ye arenae,” Bear broke in, deciding that while it might be a positive happenstance that he hadn't knocked the man out cold, he didn't want to listen to him any longer. “Fer the last damned time, ye cannae have her. She is mine.”

“Ye cannae have me,” Catriona echoed, moving still closer against Bear's side. Clever, clever Bear. Could this be happening? Could she have what—who—she truly wanted? The only thing she'd ever allowed her heart to desire?

“I…” Torriden looked about the room. “Perhaps you and I might have a word in private, Elizabeth,” he said. “I will not make my decisions based on the convenience of other people. Particularly not those of another clan.” He sent a pointed glance at Bear. “Or those who prefer punching to dialogue.”

“Certainly.” With one of her charming smiles Elizabeth wrapped her hand around his arm, and the two of them made their way out of the room.

For a moment the remaining diners sat or stood where they were, looking at each other. “Well, that was a surprise,” Arran finally commented.

The marquis cleared his throat. “Bear. Munro, if ye would, take Lady Catriona up to the library before ye stomp oot of the house. Wait fer a few minutes while we figure things oot.”

“I dunnae think ye'll be figuring anything oot,” Bear returned. “
I
figured it oot, when it was there right in front of ye the entire time. Fer once none of this is up to ye, is it?”

“Nae, it isnae,” Glengask retorted. “And nae, I dunnae like the way ye decided to risk the safety of this family fer yer own sake. But as I
do
want what makes ye happy, give me a damned minute to see what happens and then have a word with Torriden.”

Bear looked as though he preferred to stay and argue, so Catriona yanked on his hand. “The library, Munro. Show it to me.”

As they passed the closed door of the morning room on the way to the stairs she was certain she heard the low murmur of voices. Resisting the temptation to stay and eavesdrop, she and Munro headed upstairs and then into a room with large, tall windows and a roaring fire in the hearth. Outside snow continued to fall, heavier now.