Page 69 of Defy the Highlander

Laird Currie scratched his head in thought, reaching into his pocket and pulling forth one of his rats. He held the little beast as he moved away from his bookshelf, heading to the great table in the chamber that was so terribly cluttered. As he shuffled across the room, lost in thought, Lady Currie sighed heavily.

“Greer, do you understand me?” she said sternly. “I am trying to gain some quality protection for Hawkhill. The least you could do is cooperate. This warrior is relatively new to the Ludus Caledonia, which means they haven’t spent a good deal on his training yet. However, he could make them a good deal of money over the life of his oath there. I’ve heard that the good ones will make The Cal twenty pounds a year or more. If we pay them sixty pounds sterling for him, I am sure they will take it.”

Laird Currie reached his table and, still clutching the rat, seemed to be fumbling for something on the tabletop.

“My dear, we have plenty of soldiers,” he said. “I dunna see how one more will make a difference.”

Lady Currie pointed to the shelves and all of their expensive items. “If we were ever robbed, you would lose years’ worth of income,” she said. “All you have are fifty-one drunkards to guard us. You know what I say is true; those men spend more time drinking than paying attention to their duties. Every night when I go to bed, I bolt my doors and pray we are not robbed in the night.”

“And ye believe this great warrior will help protect us?”

“I know he will.”

Laird Currie didn’t seem interested in what his wife was telling him, but he knew better than to argue. She would peck at him until she got her wish, so he waved a hand at her as if to shoo her out of his solar.

“If ye feel strongly about it, then do as ye wish,” he told her. “Go, now. I’ll have the money for ye before ye leave for the Ludus Caledonia tonight.”

“How do you know I am going tonight?”

“Because ye go every night.”

Considering Lady Currie rarely spoke to her husband, the subject of the Ludus Caledonia had her uncomfortable. She lived her life and he lived his, and they rarely crossed.

“It is a welcome respite from the monotony of this place,” she said. “I refuse to spend my life boxed up in this… this tomb.”

“And ye find distraction at The Cal?”

“You know I do.”

Laird Currie put his rat down on the tabletop, petting the little beast before it scurried away. He busied himself with a piece of vellum that was in front of it, picking it up and pretending to examine it. But all the while, he had something on his mind, something that his selfish wife had failed to notice.

Behind those dark eyes, he was calculating.

“I am glad,” he said after a moment. “I suppose it is exciting, though it has been years since I last attended a game there. Is Sir Clegg still in good health?”

“He is.”

“He has bought many fine pieces from me over the years, ye know.”

“I know.”

“I consider him a friend.”

“I know, Greer.”

“Ye missed going tae The Cal for about a month, so I was told.”

That caused Lady Currie to falter. “I was… ill,” she said. “Had you come to visit me, you would have known.”

He chuckled weakly, but it was without humor. “I am not in the habit of visiting a woman, not even my wife, when she is ill with another man’s child,” he said. “Dunna let it upset ye, my dear. I’ve known all along. But there is something ye should know, too – any child ye bear will be my heir. I need a son and since ye will lay with everyone but yer husband, I’ll claim any child ye give birth tae as my own. So remember that when choosing those who will lie betwixt yer legs – make sure he’s strong and intelligent. I should like those qualities for a son since I dunna have those qualities in a wife.”

By the time he was finished, Lady Currie was red in the face. She stood over by the door to the solar, twitching with anger as Laird Currie continued to shuffle through the contents of his table as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I must look for a father for my child elsewhere since my husband is a shriveled shell of a man who can only produce daughters,” she hissed. “I must find a real man to produce a son.”

He glanced up at her. “I wish ye well,” he said. “I’ll have yer money for ye later. Mayhap it’ll buy ye the man ye want.”

Lady Currie departed in a huff, slamming the solar door behind her. Laird Currie stood there a moment, remembering the first woman he’d married, the fair Iris, and lamenting the tumor that had claimed her life. Had he known then what he knew now, he would not have married again so he could have a son. At least, he would not have married Blanche Ireby. It had been a dreadful mistake.