Chapter 2
“This is…remarkable.”Laird Kenneth McClure paused in his chewing to savor the combination of flavors his man Brodie had managed to draw out of the roasted rabbit. “By all the saints, man, this is remarkable.”
On the other side of the fire, Brodie—burly, scarred, and usually taciturn—grunted. “Remarkable good, or remarkable bad?”
Kenneth almost didn’t answer, he was so engrossed in enjoying the meal. But finally, he swallowed and shrugged. “Is there such a thing as bad remarkable?”
“Aye,” the giant rumbled. “Remarkable just means ‘able to be remarked upon.’ Ye could mean it’s so foul, ye cannae wait to tell others.”
Chuckling, Kenneth sat forward and used his dagger to slice another chunk of meat from the roast. “When did ye become a scholar?” Before his long-time friend could answer the insult, he hurried to reassure. “ ‘Tis remarkable in a good—nay, brilliant—way. I knew ye could cook, friend, but this is worthy of a feast in a great hall.”
The pair of them had been together for a long time. Kenneth was older, his dark hair beginning to go grey at the temples, his bones starting to ache more with each night spent on the hard ground in the king’s service. But Brodie, a kinsmen and bodyguard, had been with him since he’d entered said service, and Kenneth had enjoyed the man’s cooking over the years.
And once this task was complete, they’d both be able to go home and enjoy his cooking in style, in the great hall which had been Kenneth’s since the day his father had died, leaving leadership of the small clan to him.
His companion was quiet for a bit—not unusual, considering the pair knew each other’s thoughts and reactions well enough after being teamed up for so long—before pulling off a leg from the haunch and offering it to Kenneth. When his laird declined, Brodie chewed thoughtfully.
“Ye have a cook of yer own back home. I dinnae want to ruffle feathers by offering my recipes to the man who’s been there since yer father’s time.”
Aye, he was right. McClure Keep had been running smoothly in Kenneth’s absence. Thank fook, because he only managed to get home a few times a year, in between his missions for the King. But soon, he’d be home for good and would be able to take up the mantle of responsibility which was expected, and long overdue.
Which meant, despite the silver in his hair, he was going to need to find a wife and start begetting an heir.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled by this.
Oh, the begetting was going to be fun, he knew. In fact, he was looking forward to as much begetting as possible. Begetting twice a night, if possible, and perhaps during the day.
More than once, when he’d remember an out-of-the-way chamber at McClure Keep, or a pleasant valley within an hour’s ride, or that waterfall near the stream he fished in as a lad, he couldn’t help but imagine doing some begetting there with the hitherto faceless and nameless wife.
Aye, the begetting wasn’t the problem, but finding said wife was.
He wasn’t exactly a powerful laird; the McClures were a small and sturdy clan, with generations of proud history, but no one could call them powerful. It was only Kenneth’s position, as one of the King’s elite Hunters, which made him important in the Highlands, and at court.
But he didn’t want to find a wife at court. The ladies there were beautiful, aye, but calculating and jaded, and often conniving. And despite approaching forty years—and presumably being as calculating and jaded as the court ladies—Kenneth wanted something else in his life.
He wanted peace and happiness and perhaps laughter.
He’d worked hard enough for it, after all.
Brodie was still sitting across the embers, watching him solemnly, as he chewed, so Kenneth nodded. “Aye, ye’re right. I’m expecting to make some changes when I return for good, but perhaps it willnae do to rock the boat too much.”
“If ye rock it too hard, twill likely capsize, drowning us all.”
One corner of Kenneth’s lips twitched. “When did ye become a pessimist?”
The other man snorted. “What does drowning from a rocking boat have to do with pissing? If ye’re pissing a mist, ye need to see a healer.”
“As long as ye’re no’ pissing in the boat—”
His friend cut him off with an amused snort. “We’re going daft. How long until we reach Oliphant land and can be finished?”
Leave it to Brodie to focus on the mission.
Kenneth glanced around the little glen they’d found themselves in. “I’m no’ certain we’re no’ on Oliphant land already. But once we reach the castle, I’ll need to decide how to approach this.”
“McIlvain’s message hasnae deterred ye then?”
Shaking his head, Kenneth sliced another piece of meat free. “Leaving word with that innkeeper is what I would’ve done, had I kenned another Hunter would be following in my footsteps. But the message ‘Beware the Oliphants’ is shite.” He popped the meat in his mouth, and as he chewed, mumbled, “It tells us naught.”