The Laird's Right (18 page)

“I never spoke a nasty word to him.” He sent a look to Alec, one for support, but he was holding back his laughter.

“You didn’t have to. You towered over the little man and scowled. I had never seen a man drop so many things,” Hurley said.

Portia joined in their laughter. “So, you do have a romantic side?”

Quinlan shrugged. “I hide it because then I’d be like Brus with the women chasing me and Cairine would get jealous.”

“Then I would have to fight them all.”

“Aye, she doesn’t like any women sniffing around him,” Leah said, her high-pitched voice laced with mirth.

Cairine caressed his arm and smiled up at him. Quinlan leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. His eyes shut and his nose buried in her hair to breathe her in.

Quinlan whispered to Cairine, “Forgive me. I didn’t know what to say and I thought to protect you. I never would hurt you. You are my life.”

“If I forgive you, you have to forgive me too. I didn’t know what to do either.”

Portia laid her hand over her stomach to stop the spinning of her insides.

Alec covered her hand with his own and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. His calloused fingertip scraped the soft skin and stirred her nerve endings.

The strain around his eyes vanished. A glint shined in his eyes. Happiness. He had looked at her the same way. His thin lips held a ghost of a smile. She made him happy.

Cairine was right. Alec loved her. Now she just had to get the man who was denser than a Scottish Oak to realize that loving her didn’t weaken him. Silly man, he’d learn how strong love can make someone, after all she was about to cut down an oak.

* * * *

Alec stabbed at the roasted mutton and offered it to Portia. She closed her mouth around it. He knew the look she wore—desire and something more than that. She seemed pleased, determined and happy. Happy with him. That one look sent a rush through him.

He placed a peck on Portia’s parted lips. He finally understood why Hurley always kissed Leah. Hurley sent him a man appreciative look.

“So, Cairine, will you be returning home?”

Portia kicked him under the table. Her foot, not the smallest, felt like a midge biting him.

“Well…” Alec moved his foot. She pinched his thigh. He guided her hand upward. She yanked her hand away and banged her elbow against the table’s edge. He killed the smile fighting to break free.

“My place is with my husband.” Cairine shot daggers at him, not that he cared. “As his is at my side.”

“You hear that, Quinlan. You have learned your place.” Alec raised his cup.

“Aye, some husbands understand it quicker than others.” Quinlan put his arm around Cairine.

Alec set down his cup. He held onto the stem so he didn’t punch Quinlan in the face. “Some don’t need to learn that.”

“As long as they understand it.” Quinlan glared at him. Tense moments passed then died when Quinlan nodded at Alec.

He did understand. He was Laird of Clan Cameron and just as he didn’t need to remind anyone of his position, he didn’t need reminding of his duties as a husband. These two men, his brothers-in-arms and commanders, pushed him to love Portia. That was a turmoil he didn’t need. The clan came first and he wouldn’t be a good leader to the clansfolk if he became the same tyrant his father was. The clan had suffered during his rule because of his betrayals and machinations—the raids that burned crops, killed cattle and ravished homes.

The clansfolk craned their necks and whispered to each other. Portia smiled, not too wide and no teeth showing.

“Don’t fret, Lairdess. A feast isn’t fun unless there is a fight,” Hurley said then grunted when Leah elbowed him in the ribs.

“There will be no fighting,” Portia declared. “Tonight is about merriment and love.”

“But fighting adds to the night,” Hurley said, sounding like a surly child.

“Hurley, this is her wedding celebration. If you fight with anyone then you’ll have to deal with me.” Leah gave him a brisk nod, letting him know all talk was final. When he nodded, she gave him a kiss.

Alec watched them. They were so in love, just like Cairine and Quinlan. Both of these men who cut down highlanders, became mush when it came to their women. They never hesitated to share their love. Even this night, Alec vexed at the eye-making tossed over the table. When it came to him, he couldn’t do it, though he perked up when Portia was near. He always wanted to kiss her and keep her with him. She filled his thoughts even during battle.

He wasn’t his father. He had proven it every day of his life. Maybe he should be the man he hoped to be instead of the one he didn’t. And he could do it with Portia. Would she still give him her love?

* * * *

Alec fixed his attention ahead but he seemed to be in a different place. With each bite of the courses, he seemed to mull over something, chewing his food as he did his thoughts.

She grasped his hand. His spicy, woody scent lingered on her skin. He gave no reaction at first, then he flinched as if he only realized her presence.

After the meal was cleared, Alec slumped in the chair and stroked his bottom lip. She wasn’t the only one to notice. The exchange of questioning glances darted about faster than arrows cutting through the sky. She licked her lips. She wished someone shared a hint.

The maids caught her eye in between the glances. Portia gave the signal, then did it again then again before the servants swept in to the hall. The tables were pushed aside and the musicians, along with the harpist, came and took his place of honor.

Alec pushed his chair from the table. “Will you dance with me?”

Portia grimaced and tried to come up with a way to deny him. As lairdess, she knew that was impossible.

“Come along, Portia. Every lady loves to dance.” Alec lifted his brows, daring her to take his hand instead of denying him. Oh Lord, sometimes being a lady was torture.

Portia rose. She tried to be at ease but she felt her shoulders stiffen around her neck and wondered at the face she was wearing. She bet she was cringing. Dancing never began or ended well when she was included. She let him lead her to the floor. Other dancers joined them, including Brus and Diorbhail. Rosin watched from the edge.

Didn’t the man see that Rosin was the perfect wife for him? Then again, men were dense when it came to the subject of love.

The string instruments’ sweet lively beat reached to the very corners of the great hall. She could probably fake her way through it. In a circle, she clasped hands with the women at her side, including Diorbhail. Starting to move in a circle, she breathed a little easier. This wasn’t hard.

“Diorbhail, have you enjoyed the night?”

“Aye, Lairdess. I’m verra pleased by the honor given me.”

Portia bumped into Diorbhail and knocked the other dancers out of their form.

“And Brus, you have displayed an interest in him?”

Diorbhail took a great interest in the floor and Portia felt sweat in the poor woman’s palm. “Brus is a good man. He was a fine husband and can provide even at his age.” She sounded like a woman describing sheep and not a woman in love.

“I feel there is more you are not sharing. I only wish your happiness, please tell me.”

“I love Auld Andrew. I don’t see him often but when I do I am the happiest in my life.” Her cheeks pinked and she batted her lashes.

“Then he is the one you should wed. Have you told him?”

Diorbhail gasped at her. “I couldn’t.”

“Then you will never be happy. You must do it.” She squeezed Diorbhail’s hand, pouring support into the action and a little pleading for her to go after Auld Andrew.

She dropped her hands. The dancers halted. “You are right, my lady. He is to come in the morn.”

“If you must leave to ready yourself for his arrival, then please. You have my blessing.”

Diorbhail ran from the great hall. There was some skipping.

“Portia, what did you say to her? Portia!”

She turned to Alec, pleased with her first accomplishment. “I told her to get the man she loves even if he is as dense as an oak tree.”

Alec gave her a strange look, one of befuddlement and amusement.

“Don’t fret, husband, all of this is part of my plan.” She couldn’t stop herself and placed a peck on his cheek.

Cheering and the slam of cups drowned out the music. Alec blinked and shook his head. “I have learned that a woman with a plan is dangerous.”

“And I have learned everything you have learned is wrong.” She spun on the balls of her feet and left him standing in the center of the great hall.

Portia returned to the dais to plot her next step. Cairine and Leah grimaced at her.

“I cannot dance,” she pronounced, refusing to be shamed by her lack of the genteel arts.

Quinlan and Hurley nodded while their wives sent her sympathetic smiles. “Perhaps if you practice,” Leah offered, her girlish voice sounded hopeful.

“That doesn’t even help. I am too tall, and all arms and legs and feet with different plans than the rest of my body.”

Quinlan chuckled, pleasing Portia. She sat back and watched others dance. Brus joined in, leaving Neoinean and Rosin, while the men did the sword dance.

This might be her chance so Portia wasted no time, she skirted the crowd and joined the women.

Neoinean was younger than Brus with black hair and dark eyes. If forced to describe her in one word, Portia would say witchy. She bewitched a few men.

“I fear a man might cut his foot off.”

“Then he isn’t worthy of fighting for the clan.” Rosin appeared happier but there was something changed about her demeanor. She stood straight without tension yet impatience for whatever may occur next.

“That is not all, Lairdess. If a man knocks a sword, that means he is going to die,” Neoinean explained in a honeyed voice that lured a man into her snare like a water nymph calling a sailor.

The men began chanting. “Laird! Laird! Laird!” The deep drum of their raspy voices boomed, shaking her from her ears and down.

Alec swaggered forward. His broad shoulder puffed with masculine pride. His hand in the air as if he was a modest man who redden at the attention. Portia froze. The music began and drowned out the frantic beating of her heart. With each step, Portia’s throat closed, not letting her cry out or even gasp. She clasped her hand around her neck, slowly rising to her mouth.

He might have been nimble on his feet. That didn’t stop Portia from waiting for a misstep. Each move, her ribs tightened until she struggled for air. A chant began in her head.
Don’t knock the sword. Don’t knock the sword.

She stretched out to catch him. Her eyes dried. She couldn’t miss a moment even to blink.

Chapter Fourteen

The music ended. Alec knocked the sword and let out a curse.

“Too much to drink, Alec.” Hurley cuffed him on the shoulder, making him teeter.

“You can never have too much to drink.” Someone thrust a cup at Alec. He downed it in a gulp.

Portia lingered among the revelers. He hurried to her, afraid for her although in the comfort of the great hall, she had no reason for her stricken look. Her bright complexion dulled a few shades to pale.

To help her knock off her fear, he called out, “My cup is empty.” He turned the empty cup underside down and not a drop fell.

“Bring some for the lairdess.” He grinned for her benefit. That failed so he put his arm around her. Hurley was always doing little touches and seemed to appease Leah so he figured it would work with his wife.

She put her arm around him and burrowed half her face in his plaid.
Did she just do what he swore she did? Aye, she breathed him in.

Hurley’s second in command rushed over with a flagon. “Here, Laird.” He filled the cup but his attention was fixed on Neoinean. She sent him a flirty grin and tossed her hair back.

“Enough, Hagan, before you spill it.” Hagan quickly lifted the flagon, a few drops landed at Alec’s feet. Alec raised the cup to his mouth.

“Neoinean, I have not seen you in some time. You look very bonnie this night.” Hagan moved to her side and ran an appreciative glance over her slim form.

She glanced away then back at him. “Tis been a while. The chores are requiring my attention and I haven’t helped at the castle in a while.”

Alec grinned at her flirtatious tone. “It seems her interest might lie with Hagan and not Brus.”

Portia popped up to watch them. “That pleases me.”

“That’s one less woman for Brus,” he said.

“I just need one. You two seem to be friends.” Portia slid up between them, as if she were the devil promising her most earthly desires. Rosin blinked. Her brow furrowed.

“Aye, when I serve here, Hagan is always a great help to me.” She laid her hand on his arm.

“Neglecting your duties, Hagan?” Alec cut in. Portia glared at him and he’d wager she wanted to tell him to close his mouth.

“That’s kind of you,” Portia said. “Camerons are gentlemen.”

Rosin frowned. Displeased or as confused as Alec?

Hagan blushed and cringed. “Can I escort you home?”

“Aye, that would be lovely.” She tucked her hands behind her back, pushing her breasts out, and did a little twist of her body.

“Perhaps, you two should speak and share what has occurred since you last saw each other.” Portia dismissed them with an amicable dismissal and the command of a lady.

Hagan looked about for a place to set the flagon. He shoved it at Rosin, who took it before any spilled on her. Rosin looked to Alec. He shrugged.

Neoinean took his arm. Hagan covered her hand with his own. His eyes fixed on her and a grin on his face.

Rosin swung her head between the departing couple and Portia. She even glanced at him, seeking assistance. “Lairdess, that was Brus’ last choice. Who will ye pick now?”

“You.”

Rosin gawked much like Alec did. She shook her head repeatedly.

“You love him. Do not deny it. You wish to wed him so here is your chance.” Portia waited for Rosin’s reply.