At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle 3)

Lady Fiona finally turned to Ian who sat so stiffly he looked as if he might shatter with a touch. “And my son?”

That’s when John knew what Fiona was up to. She wanted to give Ian the clean break he so desperately sought. She wished to wipe the past away so that he might start again fresh. But to do it, he would have to renounce Heather. Renounce ever having loved her. Renounced having touched her. Renounce any child she might ever have…

The torment of it played out across Ian’s face, such that Heather whispered, “Stop it. Leave him be.”

Fiona smiled at Heather with something almost like warmth. “Don’t you want to know your standing in the clan, my dear? It should be spotless…and my son’s honor can vouch for yours.”

The whole table full of guests seemed to hold its breath in the tension. Ian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes lifting to the wooden beams overhead as if he were praying to God to deliver him.

It was too much. It was too much to ask of him. “Enough Fiona,” the laird snapped.

But the damnable woman was relentless. “It’s a simple question for my son. Ian, if the laird were to take Heather for his bride, and someone were to say that she had bedded with you, how would you reply?”

Ian’s eyes met John’s. It was a moment of agony. Slowly, Ian made a fist of his hand on the table. He looked ready to sweep away every dish and goblet upon the table. But in the end, his croaked, “I would say it was a damnable lie. And I would cut the heart out of any man who repeated it.”

The laird knew what it cost his kinsman to say this. It was an act of loyalty beyond that which any other man had ever shown him. And John’s heart, which he had once been so convinced didn’t exist, now swelled to the bursting point, and tears filled his eyes.

“It’s settled then,” Lady Fiona chirped. “It’s unwise and short-sighted and recklessly sentimental for a laird to wed a common crofter’s girl without a coin to her name. But you’re the laird and if you say she’s innocent, then she is. And

if we say she’s a girl of good reputation, what could possibly stop you from marrying her? Quickly, of course, to prevent anyone from counting back should a child be born prematurely…”

John Macrae had loved his clan all his life; but for the first time, he felt this love in return. “You would do this for me and Heather?” he asked around the table, hoarsely. “All of you?”

When they nodded solemnly, it humbled him to the breaking point.

Truly, John would have blubbered like a child were it not for Heather slipping her hand in his to give him the strength he needed. The strength she always gave him. He was supposed to be the strong one. The big warrior with the giant sword. But he wanted to wield it for her. And, if she would consent to be his bride, he always would.

~~~

HEATHER

I was undone. They were all, all of them, willing to let the laird and I be happy together as man and wife. Even Lady Fiona. Even Ian, though having said as much, he looked now as if he couldn’t bear another moment at our table.

Yes, I was undone. A glow of hope in my heart warmed me to my soul. But the laird…oh, the laird. His lower lip trembled and he dabbed at his eye with a napkin, muttering, “Pardon, there’s something in my eye.”

Tears, I thought. But the good kind.

Once he had them under control, my laird squeezed my hand and said, “Well then, Sweet Heather, Clan Macrae has spoken. I must call upon your father and make amends so that we may be wed. If he will consent to it, then I will do everything proper, on bended knee if I must.”

“And if he will not consent?” Arabella asked while my heart fluttered madly.

The laird grinned. “Then I must steal your sister away to make her my bride.”

Everyone laughed at that.

“I don’t suppose you will have to steal her very far,” Arabella said, with a smirk, and her grudging approval.

Then Davy cried, “Three cheers for the laird and his lady!”

The crowd in the hall applauded and knocked their cups together.

Even as Ian quietly pushed from the table, and slipped from the room.

When the hubbub died down, I leaned in to Lady Fiona. “Why take my part in this, when you knew it would pain your son so?”

“Sometimes a festering wound must be seared,” the dragon said.

I didn’t blame her for likening me to a festering wound. She was a protective mother. As protective as I meant to be to my own babe when it was born. “Still, you didn’t have to make my path easier. Ian is soon to take a MacLennan bride. That would seem like a searing enough.”