Some Like It Scot (2 page)

Shay nodded. “I'll write up the banns that are to be posted as soon as an agreement with the bride has been reached.”

Graham looked at them both incredulously. “Did ye no' hear a word I just said?”

“We did,” they both said in unison, neither one so much as pausing as they continued going about whatever it was they had to go about to see Graham lawfully wed to an eligible member of the McAuley clan before the end of the autumnal equinox. Being as it was mid-August, that was little more than a month away. Giving him roughly forty days to find a bride.

Heaven help them all.

“I'm going to call the town council,” Graham stated, not giving up just because the two men he regarded as brothers had already done so. “In fact, I'm going to call an island tribunal. If we get a consensus then, as far as I'm concerned, legal or no', that's all the support I need to continue on and be done with this wild goose chase.”

“It's no' just a consensus, Graham,” Shay told him. “It has to be one hundred percent. They all have to say aye.”

Graham spun back around. “Really? So there is a solution! Why didn't you say so? I'm certain I can and will have that. Who would say nay?”

“I can think of a few,” Roan said. “Like Dougal. And auld Branan, for certain.”

“They're not the only elders who will hold out,” Shay agreed. “They love you, no doubt, but they'll stick with tradition.”

“Even over what's best for the island? If we let someone else, an outsider no less, come here and begin making decisions regarding our well-being—surely even the oldest resident wouldn't chance that.”

Roan shrugged. “Perhaps they think you'll persevere with your crop management whether you're laird or no'.”

“What if I have no say in the matter? What if this”—he turned to Shay—“what's the bloke's name?”

“Iain McAuley.”

Graham turned back to Roan. “Iain. What if this Iain has other ideas about our little island industry? He's never so much as set foot on our soil much less worked it with his own hands. Who knows what he'd decide to do. We can't risk that.”

“He may not even want it,” Roan reminded him. “In fact, he probably won't. Who would?” He looked to Shay and grinned. “We're no' exactly the Fortune 500 of inheritances, you know.”

“He'll probably be begging you to take it over.” Shay agreed, then leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “Besides, if he wants to be laird, he'll have to honor the marriage pact law as well.”

Graham pumped an air fist. “Right! He'll have to marry a MacLeod! I'm betting he won't be any more enthusiastic about that than I am. Hell, for all we know, he's already married.”

Shay shook his head. “He's no'. He's thirty-two, unwed, living in Edinburgh. Works for an investment firm. Quite the bright and shiny diamond, too, from what I've dug up.”

“Still—”

“There is a much longer list of eligible MacLeod lasses,” Roan pointed out. He shrugged when Graham shot him a dark look. “I'm only stating the truth here. I mean, aye, he could find the whole thing tiresome and a waste of his time, but what do we know? Maybe he'll think it quite the lark. Shay said he already has more money than Croesus—from his job, as well as a few trusts and such from his mum's side of the tree.”

“He could marry just to lay claim to the property and the title,” Shay said. “The wealthy generally don't mind accruing more things.”

“This would hardly be a feather in his asset list.”

Shay shrugged, and Roan said, “I don't think we should chance it,” before going back to his search.

Graham turned to Shay, who merely lifted a brow. “He's right,” he added, as Graham began swearing under his breath.

“I'm still calling the island tribunal,” Graham insisted. “If I get the damn law overturned, there will be no title inheritance. Kinloch will remain under my governance as long as her people wish me to lead.”

“You'll have forty days to campaign, get them all to agree,” Shay reminded him.

“And that's the same forty days you'd also have to find a bride,” Roan added. “I dinnae think it's a wise bet to divide your energies.”

“I need to try. Especially given that even if I was willing to follow the law, there doesn't seem to be anyone eligible to marry anyway.”

Both of his friends sighed, then nodded, knowing, as they must have all along, that he wouldn't go down without a fight. To that end, Graham turned on his heel, determined to do whatever it was going to take to set the proceedings in motion. His hand was on the knob, when Roan hooted.

“What do ye know. I think I've found her!”

Graham turned, knowing he had to at least ask. “Found who?”

“Your wife.”

“Roan—”

“I expanded my search to the mainland, and, well…I had to search a wee bit more widely, but I plugged the McAuley name into Facebook, then backtracked the names to the tree list that Shay has drawn up, and”—he turned his laptop around and gestured with a flourish—“voila! A connection to our own McAuley tree, albeit a wee bit distant one. But it only matters that the connection is there.”

Graham wasn't about to take a single step closer, much less look at the poor woman Roan had targeted. He already felt trapped, bound, and tethered by an archaic clan law…and he'd grown up knowing about it. He couldn't fathom broaching the subject with someone who knew nothing of him, nothing of Kinloch, much less of the ridiculous MacLeod-McAuley marriage pact.

Roan looked at him triumphantly. “It just took a little determination.”

“How do you know she's linked with our McAuleys? Just becaue her surname—”

“That's the beauty of Facebook, my friend. Her whole family history is documented, mostly as it pertains to their family industry, but there it is,” he added with a bit of dramatic flair, squinting back at the screen, tapping some keys, and scrolling some more. “Shay and I already drew up a lineage of everyone on Kinloch, going back several generations, so all I had to do was extend the branches out on those who have left the island over the past, say, fifty years. He spun the laptop back around again so the monitor faced Graham. “There's a direct link. She's the veritable needle in a haystack.” He grinned, quite self-satisfied. “And we found her.”

A knot fisted tightly in Graham's gut. It felt a lot like a noose, tightening around his neck. “Even if I was willing to remotely consider the idiotic idea of pursuing the poor lass—and I'm most emphatically not—what on earth could I say to her that wouldn't make me sound like an utter loon? I mean, consider it, Roan. Truly. I approach a total stranger, and propose marriage, and if that same well-documented family of hers has even the slightest bit of protectiveness, they'd have me in a white jacket, locked in the nearest tower. And I could hardly blame them.”

He turned to Shay, needing the voice of reason he would surely provide. “Tell him this is utter lunacy.”

Shay didn't so much as glance at Roan. “You should at least consider it,” he said, leaving Graham momentarily speechless. He lifted his hand before Graham could regroup and lecture them both on the rest of the vast and varied reasons why considering it was the very last thing he was about to do. “Think of it as a contract, of sorts. In fact,” Shay said, his aristocratic features lighting up in a way they rarely did, “I'll gladly draw up a legal agreement that you can propose with. Approach it like a business deal.”

“Because every woman dreams of being proposed to with a legal document,” Graham said darkly, unable to truly believe he was even having this conversation. “You two canno' be serious.”

But it only took looking at them to prove that they couldn't be more serious.

“You have to at least try,” Roan said. “I mean, we did find a candidate. That's a start—more of a solution to all this than we had before.”

“You've both gone stark ravers. Mad as hatters.”

“If you don't at least try,” Shay said, “there will be nothing to stop Iain from taking over Kinloch, if he decides to show up and claim a MacLeod as a bride. Then everything we've all worked for will have been for naught.”

“You were right when you said this wasn't just about you,” Roan added. “It's no' like we all don't have an ancestor or ten who've had to make far greater sacrifices in the name of clan unity and prosperity.”

“Besides,” Shay went on, “there's nothing in the law that says you can't dissolve the union at a later time.”

“How much later?” Graham asked, still not actually considering following through on it. He was more set on getting the island to turn the law over than ever before. When he was done, not only would he not have to face the ridiculous stipulation, but neither would any MacLeod or McAuley after him. And it would effectively render Iain's claim on Kinloch null and void as well. Win-win, the way he saw it.

“The original documents don't address the topic directly. I suppose because divorce or dissolution of a marriage, especially an arranged one between two clans, wasn't something that happened often, if ever. Especially in our case, where there was too much riding on the union to allow the participants that kind of luxury.”

“You're saying none of them ever did? Divorce or dissolve, I mean?”

“I've gone all the way back,” Shay said. “Traced it all, looking for loopholes or precedent.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Then shook his head. “No' a single union ended in anything other than death.”

“And no,” Roan said archly, “you can't dump her off the cliffs.”

“Very funny.” Graham shook his head, then swore under his breath. “So you're saying I could dissolve the union, but that I'd be the first in four hundred years to do so. Brilliant.”

“Well, you're talking about dissolving the pact itself,” Roan said. “Surely if you think our fellow islanders will agree to such a thing, then they'd be equally amenable to you making a mockery of the law all together.”

Graham ducked his chin. He'd never once, in all his years, felt his birthright to be a burden. It was a vital, albeit sometimes difficult life path, but a challenging one he'd taken to with dedicated interest rather than complaint. Yet, in that moment, he'd be a liar if he said the mantle didn't weigh heavily on his shoulders…and he wished he were merely the scientist farmer he felt himself to be.

“You truly dinnae think they'll agree to abandon the law, do ye?” he said quietly, as the most likely eventuality sunk in and took hold for the first time. “Even though it might mean the very survival of this island?”

Both Shay and Roan shook their heads. “You could try,” Shay said.

“But, as I said, you'll be wasting time that could be spent courting one”—Roan shifted the laptop back around and peered at the screen—“Katie McAuley.”

“Which isn't a guaranteed win, either,” Graham reminded them. “I'm either asking my own clansmen to abandon the auld law, or allow me to make mock of it by finagling a marriage agreement from a woman I've never even met.”

“Ye'd hardly be the first in our history to do that,” Roan said. “And she's no' exactly hard on the eyes, lad. Have a look. Besides,” he said, his mischievous charm surfacing, “you were the one blessed with the MacLeod good looks and charm. We'd place our bets that you'd be able to win her over. Who knows, perhaps it wouldn't be in name only. You would make quite the bonny couple.”

Graham scowled at him. He felt far from charming at the moment.

“Go on,” Shay urged. “Have a look. Then decide.”

“I can even pinpoint an exact location and time for you to meet,” Roan said.

“And however would you know that?”

Roan nodded at the screen. “She's chatted about it with some of her girlfriends.”

“How is it you're suddenly privy to chats she's had with her mates?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You really should consider using your own computer for something other than research. Perhaps if you had, we'd already have solved this problem.” He sighed when Graham merely continued waiting a response. “Facebook,” he explained, with exaggerated patience. “It's all there on her wall.”

“Her what?” Graham waved a hand. “Truly, don't elaborate. I dinnae want to know. There is work to be done. I can't be dallying about on some online site, trolling for…” He shuddered, just thinking about it. “Ualraig is likely rolling in his grave right now and I couldn't blame him. We havnae struggled and fought and worked so hard to have it all hinge on”—he waved his hand in the direction of the laptop—“that. Her.”

“Katie McAuley,” Roan supplied helpfully, clearly undaunted in the face of Graham's disgust. “She'll be at the St. Agnes chapel Saturday hence. Half past two. I'd strongly suggest you be there a might bit earlier.”

“At a chapel?” Shay asked.

“Mm hmm,” Roan said briskly, looking back at the screen, tapping the keys again. A moment later the printer started churning. “Wedding.”

“How poetic,” Shay said, his mouth curving in a wry grin. “Perhaps witnessing the vows will soften her up some, eh, Graham?”

“You need to talk to her before that,” Roan said, pulling the sheet from the printer and handing it to Graham. “After the ceremony people head in all different directions, and there is no telling how closely monitored the reception might be. The church is your best bet.”

Graham took the paper without even looking at it. “I canno' believe you're both serious. You truly believe I should travel all the way to the mainland, to—” He glanced down at the map printout Roan had given him, then squinted and looked at it more closely, before looking back at his oldest, dearest, and quite possibly soon to be dearly departed friend. “It says Annapolis. Maryland. Which, the last time I checked, wasn't on the mainland, it was—”