Again the urge to laugh. Although it wasn't exactly funny. Some members of his clan opposed his plan, and quite enough Mackinnon lassies were sulking because he chose to wed a Drummond.
"Aye, one or two. But you're the one for me."
"But ye dinnae know me."
"I do now."
Another glance dripping with abhorrence. "Stop speaking in riddles."
With a sigh, he walked across to drop into a high leather chair against the wall. He wondered if he should have had that wine after all. Mistress Drummond wasn't the only one who had had a rough night. At this precise moment, he wasn't sure he was up to presenting his scheme in the best light. But he'd started this so he had to finish it.
"I didnae steal ye away from your home for personal reasons."
Although the stark truth was that right now, he couldn't imagine wanting to marry anyone else. He'd set out yesterday in the grim knowledge that he walked a path unlikely to bring him the close, loving relationship his parents had enjoyed. If he married the Drummond girl, he put forever out of reach any boyhood dreams of finding a lassie he liked and setting her up as his lady.
Except they weren’t out of reach after all. He liked this gorgeous firebrand. He liked her fight and her defiance and her quick mouth. He'd love to teach that mouth to please him instead of snipe at him.
The idea of seizing all that beauty and passion in his arms and taking her to the stars and back filled him with blazing anticipation. By God, she'd give him bonny children, all as troublesome and stubborn as she was.
He couldn't wait.
Although it became clear that he must. That threat of slipping a dirk between his ribs hadn’t been an idle remark. By heaven, she’d already drawn blood. This was no mere domestic cat he'd captured for himself. Mhairi Drummond was as fierce and unpredictable as a lioness.
She was still thinking about his answer. "Are ye seeking revenge against my father?"
"No." He gestured toward the window seat again. "Please, mistress, sit down. I told ye you're safe, and I meant it. And you must be tired."
He saw her consider arguing for pride's sake. Then with a shrug, she crossed to the window seat. "Ye have nae intentions of hauling me into that bed?"
He wouldn't say that. But he meant to give her time to get used to the idea of wedding him.
Who was he trying to fool? He’d take her this minute if she expressed an instant of interest. Unfortunately while he saw she was curious enough to listen to him, her hatred and suspicion hadn't shifted an inch.
He'd won himself a bride. Physically at least. Winning her heart and mind was still a thousand miles away.
He avoided the question. "Ye accused me of being mad. What is mad is two fine families…" Well, one fine family and the Drummonds, but under the circumstances, flattery was called for. "…spilling enough blood to turn these glens red. And all for what?"
"The feud."
"Do ye ken what started it?"
"A Mackinnon murdered a Drummond who came in peace to talk about a marriage."
Callum shot her a faint smile. She didn't smile back. "I was told at my mother's knee that it started when a Drummond put aside his Mackinnon wife so that he could wed another and had the lady locked in a cell until she starved to death."
"Your version is more colorful," she admitted.
"The truth is nobody kens how the discord began. I suspect the facts are more prosaic. Some stolen cattle or a brawl, but nobody kens for sure."
"There's been enough blood spilled since to keep the fight alive, nae matter how it started."
"Aye, too much. I'm sure we could both list kinsmen and women lost to this folly. However it started, both families place a marriage at the heart of the strife. I'm hoping a marriage will end it. I dinnae want more deaths. I want to live in peace. Your father is old. Surely he wants the same thing."
Callum wasn't so convinced about the younger Drummond clansmen. He'd had trouble persuading his own more hot-headed retainers that at the dawn of the new century, it was time to choose a new way. For wild young men, the feud provided a reliable source of excitement. But excitement didn't trump a grieving mother weeping over a dead son. And for what? None of the skirmishes resulted in lasting victory for either side. Instead, the years just rolled out, marred with more futile bloodshed.
The girl watched him with an unreadable expression. "Laudable intentions, Mackinnon."
Her dry tone told him she wasn't convinced. "Ye dinnae agree?"