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“What, me Laird?”
“Surely ye have managed to find out who the lass is?”
Evander hadn’t managed to get her name. She might have said it sometime during their time together last night. It was hard to remember exactly what she’d said. He might have had a bit too much whisky himself, but he could handle it, unlike the lass, who had thrown a lantern at his head unprompted.
Simply waking up beside someone is no reason to throw a brass lantern at them.
“Aye, I asked around. Yer woman—”
“She isnae me woman,” Evander muttered.
Callum chuckled. “Well, ye can say that, but in the eyes of the Lord, she is.”
“When has the Lord ever given me so much as a glance, Callum?”
Callum opened his mouth, frowned, and shut it again.
Evander let the silence stand for a moment, before speaking again. “Callum, ye were saying?”
“The lass was traveling to meet her sister. She is Laird Muir’s sister and Laird MacKinnon’s sister-in-law. She might be worth keeping.”
Marriage had always been out of the question. An exile had no name to offer a wife, and he had watched his father’s grief for his mother curdle into cruelty. He wanted no part of either.
Love was the same, but last night hadn’t been about that. This was strategic. The lass would be useful, and because she belonged to such an influential family, she could help his standing.
Evander had never set out to be a leader, but these people had started looking to him for guidance. Two winters into his exile, he had come upon a village burning under raiders, and when the smoke cleared, the survivors refused to let him ride on. Every year since, more broken folk had joined them.
He had told them that they could become their own clan. Find somewhere to settle, elect a laird, have him marry to secure an alliance, and live in peace.
Somehow, he had become that laird.
It wasn’t a position he had ever wanted, but everyone kept insisting, leaving him no choice but to accept. They had been traveling across the Highlands ever since, to find a place to set roots in and finally bring their families too without having to fight again.
The inn was only temporary. He had never intended to get involved with the lass, but when he had seen her beset in the taproom, he couldn’t help but step in.
He’d told himself it was simple—two drunks, one lass, a quiet way to end it without blood on Meg’s floor. Slip the ring on, say the word bride, and watch them run. It had taken less than a minute. He’d done harder things before breakfast.
What he hadn’t expected was the way she’d looked up at him when the ring went on. Not frightened. Not grateful. But quick. Her eyes had gone to the ring and then to his face and then to the two men, and he’d watched her understand and lift her chin and play along all in a heartbeat.
He’d thought that she’d have managed without him. He’d sat down anyway.
But that was neither here nor there.
“Ye may have a point,” he allowed. “Every laird needs an heir, after all.”
“Never thought I’d hear ye say that, me Laird,” Callum drawled.
“It’s a business proposal,” Evander emphasized. “All of us could make use of the marriage.”
Callum chuckled. “It willnae be difficult to find out where the lass went, me Laird.”
“Nay, it willnae.”
He scratched his beard. “Everyone in the inn heard the ruckus she made this morning.”
Evander glanced towards the doors. “Then we ride in the direction she went.”
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