Claiming the Highlander by Mageela Troche Read Free Book Online Page B

his father wasn’t asleep. He knocked and then entered. Father sat in a chair, cocooned in blankets, with his thin face peeking out.
    “Caelen,” father whispered on a short breath.
    “Where’s Mother?”
    “I sent her away.”
    Caelen leaned against the mantle. “What is happening with the Grants?” He explained about the letter.
    “For a while, they had been demanding we send for Brenna. They are fighting with the Frasers.”
    “And they want you to send men?”
    “Not of yet. They want the king to bestow the sherrifdom upon them. It can propel them to higher positions of power in the lands and control the Frasers.”
    “And they wish for you to use your influence with him to get it.”
    He inclined his head, setting the flaccid skin jiggling. “They are speaking of petitioning the king and bishops to annul this union.” His weak, hazy eyes laid on Caelen.
    “Because I failed to gather her, I’ve abandoned her and we can lose everything.”
    Caelen found he was not willing to give up Brenna.
     
    * * * *
     
    Caelen stared out at the great hall. He sat in his father’s chair. He pushed his shoulders back, trying to find a comfortable position. As the tanist, he had the right to it. That knowledge failed to calm his unease. He palmed his cup’s rim and drummed his fingers against the side.
    Tavish, Finian, and Gilroy joined them this eve along with the one person Caelen liked—Rowen. Brenna sat at his left.
    At the lower tables, his father’s commanders sat, staring up at him. Caelen sat back as the meal was served. Every eye was on him, some out of curiosity and a few out of judgment.
    One of the hall’s doors opened and closed with a crash. His baby brother rushed to his chair. Where both Rowen and Caelen were blond and blue eyed, Manus was dark, with black hair and eyes, appearing much like their maternal grandfather. Every generation, one child claimed the coloring. Manus thought it meant he was blessed. Caelen believed it was chance.
    “Forgive me. I was at the outer fields.” Manus slid on the bench, bumping into Finian.
    “Visiting Alastronia,” Rowen asked in a singsong voice.
    “Alastronia?” Caelen aimed his gaze at his sister.
    “The most beautiful MacKenzie in the clan. Her elder brother has set up his house on the opposite side of the land and her mother has gone to help. Poor Alastronia is there all by herself. In order to break her loneliness, the men, especially Manus, visit her daily.”
    Manus glared at his sister.
    “Foolishness, to speak to a female who most likely doesn’t wish to speak to any of the men. Now I know where to find those who shirk their duties.”
    “The men do not trek there as much,” Manus said.
    “And you? You ride there to converse. You have duties here requiring your attention unless you are afraid you shall lose her to another.”
    Manus flicked back his black hair in that annoying gesture he thought enthralled the females and pissed off Caelen.
    “Never. There was a Grant paying court to her.” Manus shot a glance at Brenna.
    Caelen’s gut tightened.
    “Those men shod return to their hame. This isna the place fae them. We ha’e our own people to care fae.”
    Rowen rested her hand on Brenna’s forearm.
    “We canna have her latching herself to a man outside da clansmen. There wod be unrest.” Finian frowned “Which one was it?”
    “He has brown hair.” He lifted a shoulder. “I’m taller than him. He looks weak, but he appears to be their leader.”
    “Oran,” Brenna muttered under her breath, though Caelen heard.
    “He should be punished.” Manus jabbed his finger against the table. His goblet shook.
    “Because he spoke to a lass,” Caelen said. He managed to swallow back his snort.
    “That lass,” he sneered, “is to be my wife.”
    “You think you have a say in who you wed.” Caelen leaned forward, daring Manus to retort.
    Manus tossed his dirk on to his platter. The silverwork blade pooled in the wine and onion sauce.