Stephen stood behind his wife and put his hand possessively on her shoulder. “She’s taken and I’ll fight—”
“Stop it, both of you!” Bronwyn demanded, shrugging Stephen’s hand away. “You’re like two rutting stags clashing. Stephen, if you do not behave you’ll have to return to Harben’s.”
The MacGregor laughed.
“And you, Lachlan! I’ll have you know there’s more to the MacArran than a face! If you can’t deal with me on an intelligent level, perhaps you can send one of your chieftains.”
It was Stephen’s turn to laugh.
Lachlan MacGregor raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps I don’t envy you after all, boy.”
“She has compensations,” Stephen added smugly.
Bronwyn wasn’t listening to him. “Davey,” she whispered.
Stephen stared at her as he began to understand what she meant. “He tried to kill us,” he said quietly, but Bronwyn’s look stopped him. He understood what she felt: blood was thicker than water.
He turned to the MacGregor. “She has an older brother, about twenty. The boy is going crazy with jealousy. Rather than stay in a clan where his younger sister is laird, he’s hiding in the hills somewhere. Recently he made an attempt on our lives.”
The MacGregor frowned, nodded his head. “I can understand the boy. I would have done the same thing.”
“Understand him!” Bronwyn said. “I’m his laird. He should have accepted what our father said. I would have accepted him.”
“Of course,” Lachlan waved his hand. “But you’re a woman.” He ignored her sputters.
Stephen smiled warmly at the MacGregor.
“I have a daughter,” Lachlan continued. “She’s sixteen and a pretty little thing and as sweet and pliable as a woman can be.” He gave one look at Bronwyn. “Perhaps we could arrange a marriage.”
“What else do you offer him besides your insipid daughter?” Bronwyn asked levelly.
Lachlan winced before he answered. “He can’t be laird, but he can be chieftain. It’s more than he has now, and he’d be the laird’s son-in-law.”
“He’s a hot-tempered lad,” Stephen said. “That’s why Jamie MacArran didn’t name him as chief.”
“You’ve never even met him!” Bronwyn said. “How do you know what he’s like?”
“I listen,” Stephen said in dismissal.
“I can handle him,” Lachlan asserted. “I’ll not die as early as Jamie did and leave the boy alone. I’ll keep him with me always and teach him the right ways. I’d rather have an angry young man than a placid one. I can’t abide a man, or woman,” he smiled at Bronwyn, “with no spirit.”
“I can vouch for the spirit of the MacArrans,” Stephen laughed.
“I’ll wager you can,” the MacGregor chuckled. “This Davey should make my daughter happy if he’s anything like his sister.”
Stephen grew serious. “What will your clan say when you bring in a MacArran?”
“They’ll not say anthing to me, but they’ll have a lot to say to young Davey. Let’s hope he can handle it.”
Bronwyn stiffened. “My brother can handle any MacGregor.”
Lachlan laughed, then put out his hand to Stephen. “It’s settled then.”
The MacGregor turned to her. “Now you, young woman, I owe you for a B I still carry on my shoulder.” He grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth heartily.
Bronwyn looked quickly at her husband, worried about his jealousy, but Stephen was looking at them fondly. They stood together as Lachlan rode away. Bronwyn turned to him. “In the future I wish you’d remember that I am the MacArran, as I have shown you tonight.”
Stephen smiled lazily. “I plan to change that.”