Chapter 11

The next day, after the evening meal, Madden, Arran, Bain, and Athol were sitting around the table near the great hall's large fireplace playing cards. Lorcan sat watching over them, not willing to stand down for even a moment until the culprit of the castle attack was found. The card game had been Arran's idea to get a better understanding of the man that his sister had married. He had told Madden and Lorcan of his plan beforehand and they had agreed to help him.

Madden greatly disliked Bain and was in no mood to spend any more time with the man than was necessary, but he too wanted to get a better understanding of the brute that had left all of those bruises on Isabelle's body. His anger burned just barely under the surface and was ready to erupt into violence at any moment.

"Games are fer children," Bain grumbled as Arran shuffled and passed out the cards. "They are a waste of time and money."

"If ye dinnae wish tae play, why did ye agree tae dae so?" Madden asked, his tone less than respectful.

"I chose tae play out of respect fer our host," Bain informed him as if teaching a small child manners.

Lorcan gave Madden a warning look not to respond.

Bain noticed and raised his brows in question. "Arran, is givin' yer guests dirty looks a part of yer guards' training?"

Arran shook his head. "It is nae unless the guest deserves it," slight amusement in his voice.

"I have noticed, Laird MacKay, that yer men train daily as if they are about tae go off tae war," Athol joined the conversation. "Dae ye expect tae face battle in the near future?"

"I always expect battle, that way it never catches me unprepared," Arran replied honestly.

"A tactic ye learned as a mercenary in France nae doubt," Bain observed. "Something that ye and Kinnaird have in common."

"Aye," Arran answered, sharing a look with Madden. "France taught me much, as did me beloved Scottish Highlands."

"Dae ye expect tae be attacked by any of yer neighboring clans?" Bain asked, taking a sip of his ale as he studied his cards.

"Nae more than the usual raids on cattle. Dae ye nae have the same problems?" Arran answered, laying a card down on the table.

"Aye, all lairds deal with such raids, but I dinnae train me men as if they are an army preparing fer war." Bain's voice hinted at something below the typical meaning of his words.

"More the fool ye are fer it," Madden retorted.

"What did ye say tae me?" Bain demanded.

"All fighting men should be trained as if they are preparing fer war. They stay alive longer that way. An unprepared warrior is nae good tae anyone," Madden explained.

The tension in the room was palpable. "Bain," Isabelle's voice filtered through the moment, as she appeared by his side. "One of yer men said that ye wished tae speak with me."

"Nae now, wife. Can ye nae see that I am busy," Bain snapped, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Dinnae interrupt me again." He gave Isabelle a hateful glare that made her shrink back away from the table.

"It was ye that called fer the lass," Madden reminded Bain, his anger barely in check.

Bain turned his angry glare back towards Madden. "Dinnae tell me how tae deal with me own wife. Go and find yer own."

"If I did, I would treat her with more respect," Madden snapped.

Bain looked as if he might leap over the table and strangle Madden. Arran noticed and did his best to keep the peace. "I have nae been so blessed meself, but I look forward tae the day."

"I would nae be hasty in yer choice," Bain advised, turning his attention to Arran. "Wives are necessary tae produce an heir, that is all. Ye are a young man and have plenty of time fer such things."

"Dae ye and me sister plan on having bairns soon? I would nae mind having a niece or a nephew running about the place," Arran asked, trying to change the tone of the conversation and smiling sweetly at his sister, who had retreated to the edge of the hall.

Bain snorted. "One cannae produce an heir with a barren bitch who will nae pup."

Anger flared in Arran's eyes. It looked as though he wanted to run his brother-in-law through with his blade. Isabelle gasped in distress, her hands fluttering to her throat. Her eyes were filled with tears of shame. Bain had publicly humiliated her. Turning, she ran from the hall. Seeing this, Madden could not stop himself from defending her. "Have ye ever thought that the problem might be with ye, Sutherland, and nae yer wife?"

Bain's fist shot out across the table and caught Madden square in the jaw. Madden fell off of his seat and landed on the floor. Jumping back up onto his feet, Madden launched himself over the table, tackling Bain to the ground, knocking over his cup and causing ale to fly through the air, spraying all of those within its reach. Madden landed several solid blows before Athol and Lorcan separated them.

"Is this how ye allow the guests under yer roof tae behave?!" Bain demanded to know of Arran as he panted heavily.

"If they are perfectly within their rights tae dae so, aye," Arran retorted, the displeasure in his voice plain for all to hear. "Ye threw the first punch. Madden was given nae recourse but tae defend himself."

"He insulted me!" Bain roared angrily.

"He spoke the truth. It takes a man and a woman tae make a bairn. Either of them can have difficulty," Arran pointed out calmly.

"I am yer brother-in-law! I am yer own kin! I deserve the respect that entails!"

"That fact that ye are me brother-in-law is the only reason that I did nae hit ye myself fer the way that ye spoke of me sister. I recommend that ye dinnae push me further, Bain," Arran warned.

All who were present knew that Bain was there seeking money from Arran. Bain knew that if he wished to gain financial support from the Laird MacKay, he would have to swallow his pride and stand down. Turning, Bain stormed out of the hall and Athol followed closely behind him.

Arran turned to Madden. "It was unwise tae provoke him. Bain Sutherland is a powerful man who is feared by many. Ye dinnae have the title of laird tae protect ye from his wrath."

Madden shook his head. "He deserved it for the way that he spoke about yer sister. If it had nae been me, it would have been ye and ye cannae deny it. I saw it in yer eyes. And it was better fer ye that it came from me, tae avoid ye problems."

"He is nae wrong," Lorcan noted.

"Aye," Arran sighed, lowering himself back down onto his chair. "I have enough troubles tae be dealing with as it is. But I loathe the man and the fact that he is married tae me sister!"

"Are ye any closer tae determining who is responsible fer the attack?" Madden asked, sitting back down beside him.

Arran shook his head. "Nay, I am nae." He looked up at Madden. "Ye are bleeding," he pointed to a cut on Madden's forehead that was dripping blood down the side of his face.

"Cara!" Arran called out.

"Aye, me laird," Cara's head popped out of the kitchen door.

"Please bring our guest a cloth and water tae clean himself up."

"Aye, me laird," Cara replied. She disappeared back into the kitchen, then reemerged with a clean cloth, a bowl of water, and a cup with an herbal salve in it from the healer. She began to clean Madden's wounds as gently as she could.

Smiling, Madden took the cloth from her. "I thank ye fer yer kindness, lass, but I can tend tae me own wounds."

"As ye wish," Cara replied, then returned to the kitchen.

"Why dinnae ye let the lass help ye?" Asked Arran.

"I'm sure she has plenty tae dae without fussing over me," he answered.

Arran looked up into Madden's face. "Ye are a good man, Kinnaird. It is a true shame that me sister didnae choose a man such as ye tae wed."

"A true shame," Madden murmured in agreement, his mind turning to the weeping woman upstairs.