Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

" I f ye commit to doin' this, yer secret is safe with me," Hunter Winbury, the Laird of Clan O'Neill, spoke confidently, with the air of a man who knew that he held all the control of the situation in his hands.

The hateful glare of the man seated opposite him was undeniable. Alistair Peterson, the Laird of Clan McCann felt inebriated, although he had not had a dram of whiskey for the past several days. He was no fool. As soon as Winbury sent word of wishing to have audience with him, Alistair was certain that it was something that required a sensible head, devoid of any liquor.

"Ye want me to think that this is for the benefit of us both, but in reality, this is sheer blackmail," Alistair could not refrain from saying the truth, although he was holding his temper as much as he could. "Are ye aware of the fact that anyone else who dared to speak to me in such a manner would have already been beaten to a bloody pulp?"

"Aye," Winbury's simple, calm answer showed he wasn't intimidated by Alistair's words. "But I ken somethin' no one else does."

Alistair knew that this was the only thing keeping the silly lad unharmed… for the time being.

"Blackmail or not, look at it as ye wish," Winbury shrugged his shoulders, with the intention of someone who knew how all this would end, but he was willing to prolong the dance, for the mere heck of it. "I would see it as a good example of two Lairds helpin' each other in difficult times."

Alistair could tell this pup much about difficult times. Yet, Winbury did not seem to pay much attention to the steely glare his companion aimed in his direction. He did not seem preoccupied at all. As if Alistair had come here, for a damn tea party, and would be returning home having been served a cupful of orders and instructions. Alistair gritted his teeth angrily. Powerlessness was something he was not familiar with.

The brittle edge in his voice was palpable. "I would say that ye are makin' already difficult times even more difficult."

Winbury tilted his head a little, as if to take a closer look at him, then he released a boisterous chuckle. Alistair did not need to be reminded of many things, which he supposed Winbury would be more than happy to delve more deeply into. The truth was that marrying Winbury's sister, a desperate attempt to save a dying clan, was something Alistair did not consider even in his wildest dreams. Then, this little lad came waltzing in as if he owned the place, offering Alistair a done deal that was to benefit them both. The very thought was laughable.

"By offerin' ye a way to meld two powerful clans together?" Winbury suggested. "It can only be a good thing. Cannae ye see that?"

"I daenae need ye to tell me what I can and cannae see!" Alistair roared, but even this did not intimidate the lad opposite him.

"Calm down," Winbury spoke. "I daenae mean to antagonize ye."

"Ye have already antagonized me enough," Alistair sent daggers at him, but the truth was that he did need to calm down.

He endeavored to keep his temper under control, although he was never one known for such feats. Not many a man had lived to tell the tale that they survived a meeting with his fury. Now, much to his displeasure, Alistair came to realize that he was rendered powerless by his own past.

To be quite honest, Alistair was planning on remaining a bachelor, his intention being that he would simply pass off the lairdship to his nephews, his brother's sons. That seemed like a good plan. However, good plans always had a way of being ruined when one least expected it.

"Me sister is a fine lass," Winbury said, as if he were talking about a mare for sale. Alistair frowned at the description. "Ye could do much worse, I must say."

Alistair did not suspect that she indeed was a fine lass, but that was irrelevant when he would never give the lass a chance to prove whether she was fine or not. She was merely a means to a goal that her brother wanted to achieve, only he went about it the wrong way. Winbury did not even know it, but he had just started a silent war.

"I daenae ken yer sister," Alistair retaliated. "When I see her, I will tell ye whether she is the right choice to be a laird's wife." Slightly antagonistic, but Alistair could not keep his mouth shut.

"Our clans have always kept a peace between each other," Winbury reminded him, purposely ignoring the comment about his sister. "This marriage intends to do more. This will keep the already existing peace between us, I promise ye," Winbury suddenly got up, as if he had gotten bored of this conversation and he wished it to come to the pre-established end.

Nay. That was what Alistair wished to tell this deluded lad who had no idea what he was getting himself into. But the deluded lad had a good set of cards to play with. That was the problem. He was not to be easily disposed of.

Facing him boldly, Alistair stared the young man straight in the eyes, pinning him with his cold, blue ones. "If I marry yer sister, we are never to speak of this again. Ye are never to breathe a word of this to another livin' thing, are we understood?"

To be quite honest, he could easily make this impudent lad silent for the rest of his days, by tearing out his tongue and showing him what happened to those who thought it was a good idea to blackmail Alistair Peterson, but the Laird of Clan McCann knew that he lost this battle. For the time being, he had to admit defeat, something that did not sit well with his proud nature.

His jaw worked fervently, as if he were chewing the stringiest of haggises, his mind twisting and turning in an effort to find a way out of this. But there was none.

"I give ye me word," Winbury agreed, his Adam's apple bobbing up, then down as he swallowed nervously. "Nae one will know."

"Nae one better," Alistair growled, but it was a weak effort at revolt. The matter had already been settled. Both men were aware of that.

"I hope ye daenae expect me to sign anythin'," Alistair mocked the lad.

"Nay," Winbury shook his head. "No such thing is necessary. Yer word is enough, Laird McCann. As two lairds, I expect mine to be of the same value to ye."

"That is to be expected, isnae it?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. Once again, the lad pretended not to recognize the menacing tone of Alistair's statement.

Winbury offered him his hand. It lingered in the air, the promise of nothing good to come. This entire situation was madness. He was sure of it. Yet, he also knew that it was also out of his hands. Rather, it was in the hand that still lay outstretched towards him, waiting.

Alistair gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. Then, he shook Winbury's hand. That sealed the deal, and with it, his fate as well.

"Aye," Winbury said with a smile.

Alistair looked at the man's brooch, resting on his rich, dark leather shirt. It glinted proudly, denoting his clan. Alistair pulled his hand away as if he'd been scorched.

"I'll come to take… the lass to me home in seven days," he announced, trying to regain some semblance of control. Also, he did not wish to refer to her as his wife. She would be that solely in writing and official standing. Never in his heart or in his bed chamber. Never.

Winbury shook his head. "We shall bring her to ye, with her trunks packed, daenae worry."

"Aye," Alistair nodded. He didn't wish to argue. He might have lost his battle, but he still had his dignity. "In seven days' time. The wedding, when it comes to it, will be small. I daenae like the idea of hundreds of guests."

"As ye wish." Winbury did not contest. Alistair nodded. It was a small victory, but it was a victory, nonetheless. He would take it.

"If that is all," Alistair said, glancing at the door. "I daenae have time to linger."

"Of course." Winbury nodded once again.

Alistair felt like punching his teeth in, but only after punching a hole in the wall of his luxurious study, with all the things their clan could not afford any longer, with the death of his father. That was, after all, the real reason why Alistair was being blackmailed into this marriage.

"I doubt yer father would approve of the manner in which ye chose to lead eyer clan," Alistair pointed out, unwilling to leave until he showed this impudent lad that he might have won the battle, but the war was yet to be won.

"That is me own concern," Winbury smirked at his guest. "As for yer own, it is to treat me sister with dignity and respect."

"I can only promise to return what she herself will bring," Alistair reminded him. "Respect is to be earned, Laird O'Neill, not given away as if it were nothin'."

He watched as Winbury swallowed heavily, feeling uneasy. Alistair smiled. He obtained his goal.

"Good day to ye, Laird O'Neill," Alistair announced his departure with a strong, determined voice. He had proven his point. "I shall find me way out."

And that he did, noiselessly and as swiftly as he could. Just as he was about to head to fetch his horse, all of a sudden, a miniature dog jumped in front of him, growling loudly and baring its teeth at him. Though the dog was nothing but a mere pup, especially compared to Alistair's own hounds, the little mutt was ferocious. Alistair could not help but look upon the little wretched creature with awe.

However, that special moment lasted but a second, as Alistair remembered how everyone in this house was endeavoring to bend him to their will. He instantly raised an eyebrow.

"Be gone with ye, mutt," he growled back at the dog, his fist curling, as he tried to go around it, but the dog would not have it.

At that moment, just when he was about to order the dog to go away again, he heard a woman's laughter behind him.

"Haggis doesnae trust men, and for a good reason," the voice said.

He immediately turned around, about to put the disobedient lass in her place, when the sight of her big brown eyes made him swallow heavily, feeling as if he were parched. He quickly regained his composure.

"What Haggis needs is a firm hand to teach him some manners," he pointed out, giving Haggis a scornful look, which made the dog instantly cower away and hide behind the woman's wide skirt.

However, it was not her skirt Alistair was paying attention to, but rather her high cheekbones and the small explosion of freckles that spread from one rosy-colored cheek to the other.

What shocked him was the fact that she dared to speak to him and not look away first when their eyes locked. Their initial exchange left him oddly content, although he had no idea who she was. Perhaps one of the servants who was a bit too defensive of the dog.

"Haggis is merely a bairn," she suddenly jumped to the dog's defense, leaning towards it and allowing it to lick her hand.

"Do not be impudent when someone is givin' ye sound advice. Ye should start to teach it early, lass," he told her, still frowning. "If ye miss yer moment, yer dog will grow to be rebellious."

"I dinnae ken that being rebellious is such a bad thing to be," she dared to defy him.

His head tipped to the side as he listened. Inquisitiveness blossomed somewhere inside his hairy chest. She wanted to play? He could play.

"Not if ye're a dog…or a lass," he said amusedly, enjoying the look of shock on her face. Her cheeks were washed over by a tidal wave of poppy-red and she was doing her best not to show how nervous she was.

"Am I to take it that rebelliousness isnae the trait of a lady?" she wondered, quickly jumping back to her feet. This was so much more than about that damn dog. He could tell that much. What he couldn't tell, though, was why he was so incredibly amused by this stupid banter.

"No," he said confidently. "A lady is a bonnie lass with good manners." He wanted to add meek and obedient as well, but that might add insult to injury. He was already winning this argument, much to this lass' chagrin, which amused him greatly. Of course, he didn't mean a single thing of it, but it was fun to see her so upset.

"Cannae a lass be both?" she wondered. "And nay one or the other?"

He thought about it for a moment. "It doesnae make any sense. Rebellious means exactly that, disobedient."

She shrugged, petting the dog once more. "Some rules are meant to be broken. Yer a fool if ye follow them all, obediently. That is exactly what I am endeavorin' to teach Haggis."

Alistair had to admit that the lass made sense on this one. Much sense, to be sure. But he was damned if he was going to admit this aloud. He was done admitting things in this house, which he was desperate to leave.

"Ye'd best leave teachin' to those who have somethin' to teach," he pointed out. What he wasn't prepared was for how she watched him, with a shocked yet tantalizing gaze as she stood straight, refusing to look away first.

"Just because I am young, doesnae mean that I daenae have anythin' to teach," she rebutted.

"Ye are far too young to know much of life, lass," he reminded her. "Teachin' comes from experience, of which ye have none."

Her cheeks flared up once again.

The corner of his lip twitched in an invisible smile, then he nodded at her barely noticeably in an effort to say a silent goodbye, and walked around her and her dog, heading to fetch his horse. He was washed over with a strange sense of pleasure, although at the same time, he had enough of this house and its odd inhabitants, one of whom unfortunately, he would have to accept into his own home and make his wife.

The thought didn't sit well. It didn't sit well at all, but there was nothing he could do about it. He jumped on his horse and galloped back home, preparing to tell his family all about the happy news. There was to be a wedding in several weeks' time, and arrangements needed to be made.