Page 2 of Devil Black

“Only so much as she threatens to usurp my title as the black sheep of Clan MacRae. Truth be told, I curse the day she ever came home. How long has it been, now?”

“Eight months,” Lachlan supplied in a low voice.

“Eight long months since she murdered her husband and returned to the family bosom.”

“There is no proof she murdered MacDonald,” Lachlan objected, without much conviction. “Not but the bastard deserved it.”

Dougal scowled. “I do not argue that. If the rumors are correct, I might have crossed the Highland Line and settled him myself. Not that Meg needed my assistance. She poisoned him, Lachlan, and he died in agony. Never say you worry for such a creature?”

Lachlan shrugged.

Dougal went on with a hint of humor in his voice. “If I am a black devil, then she is a witch—the old sort, whose path men would do well to avoid crossing. She may live here, Lachy, but I do my very best to avoid her.”

“Perhaps that is your mistake.”

“I am certainly not going to coddle her. Might just as well coddle an adder. My sister hates me, Lachy. Far more than my neighbors do.”

Lachlan said nothing but stared at the fire moodily.

Dougal slopped more whisky into his cup. “A fine bit of drink here,” he said, after a moment. “Remind me—from whom did we steal it, again?”

“Robertson, over near Kippen,” Lachlan said gloomily. “You tied up himself and all his family before looting the place, remember? I thought his wife would succumb to apoplexy.”

Dougal laughed harshly. “Oh, aye. He has a bonny daughter, though, I recall.”

Lachlan rolled his eyes. “A daughter you saw fit to kiss and fondle before we left. You had your tongue well down her throat and your hands up her skirt.”

“Aye, and a sweet bit of female she was.” Dougal grinned wolfishly. “She enjoyed it, Lachy. Do not doubt that.”

“Perhaps you should offer for her,” Lachlan suggested a bit spitefully.

“Me?” Again Dougal crooked an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

“Because the King has virtually decreed it. Do not say you fail to remember the message that arrived from London last month?”

“London is a long way off.”

“Maybe so, but that letter was nothing save a veiled threat. He implied if you do not settle seriously into running your father’s estate, take a wife, and begin a family, he will have to consider confiscating your lands.”

“MacRae lands! We have held these hills since the time of Christ. No one will take them from me now.”

“He can do as he pleases—he is King.”

“On these lands, Lachy, I am king.”

Lachlan muttered, “There lies your problem, I am thinking.”

Ignoring his friend, Dougal tossed his head and laughed. “Besides, can you imagine me, with bairns? Now, there’s an unholy prospect—the Devil’s spawn!”

Lachlan scowled and said nothing. A brief silence fell, during which the fire popped and the wind heightened its wail around the stones of the keep until it sounded like droning bagpipes.

“What will you do,” Lachlan asked then, “if the King does require you to wed, if he issues a decree?”

Dougal MacRae’s teeth flashed white in an unholy smile. “Well, then, if it comes to that, I suppose I shall just have to steal myself a suitable wife.”

Chapter Two

“It is unacceptable,” Isobel Maitland said bitterly, much aggrieved. “Father, you cannot send Catherine away to marry. She is second born.”