A Hellion for the Highlander

Nathair was the opposite of everything that anyone saw when they looked at Alexander. As well, he wore the opposite of every personality trait the Laird held dear. The two men could not be more different, nor could they have been closer friends.

I sometimes wonder if we’d be so close if we had nae grown up together.

Possibly not, but it did no good wondering. Despite his charade of irritation, Alexander valued Nathair above all else and did not know how he would have succeeded in the Lairdship without him.

In a very real way, he’s the only family I have left aside from me sister. He’d mock the life out o’ me if I said as much.

So instead, Alexander said, “What do ye want?”

Nathair snorted, leaning casually forward on his desk. “An’ ye criticize me for me charms! Shockin’. Do yer people ken what a dobber ye are to yer Man-at-arms?”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Me people dinnae care to ken much about me, an’ that’s the way I like it. Ye ken that better than anyone else.”

“True, true. Ye like to retain yer secrecy for sure. Helps ye hide tha’ golden heart ye hide under tha’ pin o’ yer da’s,” Nathair teased.

With an exasperated sigh, Alexander repeated, “What do ye want, Nathair? Some o’ us have to work.”

With a loud belly chuckle that seemed to reverberate around the entire room, Nathair said, “What do I want? Well, a castle o’ me own would be nice. For me Mither to stop goin’ on about how at nine-and-twenty I should be long wed. A tumble wi’ yer sister wouldnae go amiss.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Me married sister, ye mean?”

“To me eternal disappointment. Catherine was the love o’ me life, an’ I may never recover.” Nathair sighed dramatically.

“She’s six years yer senior an’ she never saw ye as anythin’ but an even more annoyin’ wee brother than the one she already has,” Alexander told him.

“Och, ye wound me, Sandy,” Nathair replied sadly. Alexander was never sure how serious he was about his feelings for Catherine. Still, it had been a running joke since they were boys, and it hadn’t stopped him from courting others in any way. “Och well. In tha’ case, then, I’ll settle for five eligible lassies all for meself.”

“Did ye barge in here to talk abou’ yer flirtation needs?” Alexander asked. “Or did ye have somethin’ to report?”

“Oh, aye, tha’s right,” Nathair said cheerfully. “Yer man, Cunningham’s back. He’s a gibberin’ wreck. A couple o’ the kitchen lassies are sittin’ wi’ him as we speak.”

Alexander sat bolt upright. “Is he hurt? Do we need a healer?”

Nathair laughed again. “Och, nay, he’s just bein’ a big jessie. Must o’ seem something that had him right scared out at thon farm.”

Well, that explains why ye’re in such a good mood, at least.

Nathair’s dislike for the accomptant was well known. He ridiculed him—in private—almost as often as Alexander sang his praises. Alexander tried to ignore it. He knew that Thomeas wasn’t the most likable of men, especially to someone with Nathair’s cheer, but even Chieftain Leòmhann couldn’t deny his worth for the clan.

“I should go to him,” Alexander said, getting to his feet. “How about next time, ye try leadin’ wi’ the news rather than natterin’ on about me sister?”

“Och,” Nathair said, looking wounded again, one hand fluttering to his heart. “And where would be the fun in that?”

“Laird,” Thomeas said as soon as Alexander entered the kitchens. The women attending to him scurried off into other areas, leaving them in privacy.

Alexander was stunned at his accomptant’s appearance. Thomeas was pale and drawn, his eyes wide, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “What happened to ye, me good man?”

Thomeas shook his head, sipping at the ale one of the kitchen maids had slipped into his hands before vanishing. “Laird,” he said hoarsely, “Dinnae send me back there.”

Alexander paused in place, trying to process the disheveled appearance of a man usually so organized, and fending off the familiar itch of discomfort at the sight as much as he could. “Did they hurt ye?” he said uncertainly. “Did ye speak wi’ Farmer O’Donnel?”

“Only his bairns were around,” Thomeas told him, shaking his head. “I stayed for a few days, but they were…the two younger bairns yonder, Laird, I am sure they must be demons.”

“Demons?” Alexander repeated incredulously. “Come on now.”

Thomeas shook his head. “Nay, dinnae mock me. Ye dinnae see it for yerself. Twins, they are. Ye ken that’s rarely a good omen, and one o’ them is bound to be blessed by the Great Deceiver himself.”

Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh aye? An’ which o’ these twins is a devil-child?”