At Kester’s side, Robena was busy trying to swallow her laughter, and Kester felt his lips twitching once more.
Lady Elspeth Murray was a lassie. Barely more than a bairn. And her father wanted to marry her off to an enemy like Kester MacBain to keep the peace?
‘Twas ludicrous.
Almost as ridiculous as the way the lassie wailed and threw her bouquet at her father.
“I’ll no’ marry him, Da!” she screamed, yanking her arm from her guard’s hold, and stomping her foot. “Ye cannae make me!”
Her father whirled on her, one finger raised, and bellowed right back, “Ye’ll do what I tell ye, ye ungrateful bairn! Ye owe it to yer clan to make peace!”
“I dinnae care about peace!” She stomped again, her face going red. “I dinnae want to marry him!” One skinny arm flung out, a finger pointed at Kester.
He felt the need to defend himself. “For what ‘tis worth, milady, I have nae interest in marrying ye, either. My heart belongs to another.”
“See, Da? I cannae marry him!”
Her father ignored both of their arguments. “Ye will marry the MacBain, Elspeth! As yer laird and father, I’m telling ye ye’ll marry the man I choose, and nae one else.”
The lassie froze, a look of fury on her face fading to one of determination.
“Fine,” she snarled.
Kester suspected something amiss, and had already lowered his arms to be ready, when the girl gathered up her skirts, whirled about, and ran for the cliff.
She went over before any of them could reach for her.
Her father’s bellowed, “Elspeth!” almost drowned out the sound of the splash, far below.
Kester was moving toward the cliff face when a blur in Oliphant plaid streaked past him. He didn’t have time to react before Robena—because of course ‘twas Robena—tucked her legs, straightened her arms, and dove off the cliff after the girl.
He skidded to a stop at the edge, peering incredulously at the double splashes far below.
Murray thundered to a halt beside him. “Elspeth!” he bellowed at the loch, as if that would help, his gaze frantic.
Almost as frantic as Kester’s own. Why wasn’t she coming up for air? Had she hurt herself?
“How deep is it down there?” he snapped at Murray.
“Deep enough,” the older man snapped right back, leaning as far as he dared over the ledge. “I dinnae see them. They should’ve landed aright. Do ye think yer lad will be able to save her?”
“I doubt it,” Kester muttered, kicking off his boots and dropping his sword belt to the ground. “She cannae swim.”
As he went over the edge of the cliff, bracing himself for the splash, he heard Laird Ian Murray bellow, “She?”
Idiot. Robena’s no’ even wearing her mustache.