Chapter 9
He foundLaird Oliphant still in his solar. Luckily, the man had stopped singing, and was now only occasionally muttering to himself as his stylus scratched over the vellum, in between consulting one of the four folios spread around him. Leanna hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said her father was a scholar with no interest in subterfuge or politics.
Nay, McIlvain wasn’t here and never had been here. Kenneth trusted the Oliphants enough to accept this.
Pausing in the doorway, Kenneth took the time to look around, which he hadn’t during his earlier search for Coira. The laird’s solar was a large room; ‘twould have to be in order to accommodate all the petitioners and sycophants who might’ve been present had the laird of the clan been a bit less…mad.
As it was, the man was alone in the middle of the room, hunched over a desk, which was entirely too large for his work. Behind him, cubbies dotted the back wall, filled with scrolls and books and missives. Off to one side, positioned under the window where it might catch the best light, was a table and chair. This table wasn’t ornamental, but obviously well-used, based on the stacks of ledgers and missives.
Is that where Coira sat in order to keep the clan functioning? What a strange family.
Since the laird still hadn’t seen him, Kenneth cleared his throat.
The older man, his hair completely white, muttered, “Pelicans, aye,” and scratched out some words on the vellum. “Six willow sprigs, a tall ladder and a black pudding, I think. Bend her over and give her the old heave-ho, eh?”
The Oliphant chuckled drily, as he glanced over at one of the books spread before him.
Suddenly worried he was interrupting some strange ritual—possibly of an illicit nature—Kenneth stepped forward and called out, “A moment, Laird.”
“Laird, aye,” the man muttered, carefully placing his stylus down. He interlaced his fingers and rested his hands on the desk, then looked expectantly at Kenneth. “Ah, Sluice-Brewart-Smith-Sample! What brings you to see me today?”
It was the worst butchering of his alias yet, and Kenneth winced at the reminder of his lies.
Trusting this family meant telling them—telling Leanna—everything. And if he wanted her as his wife, he’d have to start now, with her father.
“Actually, milord, that isnae my name.”
The older man nodded solemnly. “Name, aye. Well, lad, ye ken what they say: a frog has nae legs if he cannae be found asleep. Bith-Cruce-Sampbell-Stewart, was it?”
Kenneth blinked over the frog statement—what was that supposed to mean?—then shook his head and cleared his throat. “Actually, milord, ‘tis McClure.” Since Leanna’s father was still staring at him expectantly, he clarified. “My name is Kenneth McClure. From the Hebrides.”
“The Hebrides, aye.” But the laird was looking confused. “Lad, ye told us yer name was— Well, I dinnae recall what name ye used, ‘twas verra complicated.”
It had been approximately two decades since anyone—even Kenneth’s own father—had called him lad. But he decided pointing that out to the Oliphant would only confuse the man more, and besides, that wasn’t why he was here.
Straightening his shoulders, Kenneth stepped in front of the desk, clasped his hands behind his back, and lifted his chin. “I ken, milord. I gave ye a false name in order to hide my reason for coming to Oliphant Castle.”
“Castle, aye. But yer real reason for coming, what was it? To woo one of my daughters, eh? Ye’d heard about my proclamation?”
Kenneth opened his mouth to remind the laird about his search for McIlvain, but slowly shut it again. What was the old man talking about?
“Proclamation?” he asked hesitantly.
“Proclamation, aye,” the laird agreed with a nod. “I have nae son to be my heir, ye see. A shame, because a man with nae sons is like a fish with two stirrups, as ye well ken. I love my daughters, even if I they all look alike to me, and I’ve decided they will decide the next Laird Oliphant.”
The old man looked so damn earnest, sitting there and smiling, as if he was certain Kenneth would understand exactly what in damnation he was talking about.
Well, I dinnae.
‘Twas possible no one understood what the man was talking about.
In an effort to stave off the headache which was slowly building pressure behind his eyeballs, Kenneth switched his gaze to the cubbies over the laird’s head. “And how exactly will the next laird be determined by yer daughters?”
“Daughters, aye.” The old man suddenly laughed, a surprising cackle. “They’ll marry, aye! Fine, strong warriors like ye, lad, who will get on with the begetting!”
Kenneth blanched, knowing this man was as excited about the begetting as Kenneth himself was. “Children, milord?” he clarified weakly.
“Children, aye! I want a grandson and soon!” The Oliphant was still beaming happily. “Therefore, I’ve declared to my daughters they each must marry. I want them to choose men like ye; men who can lead other men, and who will be fine warriors.”