Chapter Eight

His father never raised his voice to his wife in public. But as Dugan drew closer to the closed door of his father's study, he heard his sire clearly.

"Are ye daft Alice? What do you think to tell me overlord to explain this action? When the earl hears ye sent Hay men across the border, he is going to be furious. Make no mistake about it!"

"I am making certain—" Alice argued.

"I know very well what it is ye want to make certain of, woman!" Laird Hay bellowed loud enough for the chickens to hear in the barn. "Ye want to saddle Dugan with a woman who will never be accepted by the clan! I have never demanded ye care for the boy, but ye go too far with this plan for him to wed an…Englishwoman!"

His father's personal retainers were on either side of the door. They moved into his path as Dugan headed straight for the closed door.

"This is one conversation I plan to be part of, lads," Dugan informed them in a hard voice. "Step aside now. This is a family matter, ye ken?"

The retainers weren't accustomed to Dugan taking a direct part in the running of the clan. But several retainers had fallen into step with Dugan on his way through the passageways and the men at his father's door stepped back rather than engaging.

Dugan pounded his fist on the door.

"Keep out!" his father bellowed.

Dugan opened the door.

"Forgive me, father, but I will be joining this discussion." Dugan firmly closed the door behind him.

His father scoffed. "Tis no a discussion. Me wife….will be learning that there are some things her so very fine blood can nae gain her."

His father stopped only because he needed to draw breath. Alice was set to argue with her husband, acting as though Dugan wasn't present.

"I will wed the lass," Dugan stated to bring his presence back to their attention.

His father turned around to stare at him, astonishment on his face.

"Ye see?" Alice was quick to swoop in and claim her victory. "Dugan understands—"

"I understand that ye—" Laird Hay faced his wife again. "—take advantage of the respect I have always afforded ye, no matter how much I disagreed with how harsh ye were toward my son!"

"The lass is here. Since it is Hay doing, we need to take responsibility for her," Dugan stated firmly. "I intend to wed her."

Alice preened. Cormac's eyes narrowed. He scowled at his spouse.

"I am not insisting that ye do so," Cormac said, looking straight at his wife. "Ye have not stained the girl's honor."

Alice narrowed her eyes. "The girl will be ruined, regardless."

"And it is yer doing!" Cormac slapped the top of his desk. He pointed at her. "Ye are a calculating bitch madam! Ye have made it so no matter what Dugan does, he will be labeled a blackguard!"

"When he weds the girl, his honor will be intact," Alice replied without remorse.

"But he'll never be able to become Laird of the Hay," Cormac snarled.

There was silence in the room. Dugan realized the moment had arrived that he'd heard whispered about his entire life. Truthfully, he was looking forward to silencing those wagging tongues.

"I do nae want to be laird, father," Dugan interrupted. "It's better for the Hay to have a laird related to a clan such as the Sinclair. I see the wisdom of that."

His stepmother's eyes glittered with her victory.

Dugan fought the urge to tell her what he truly thought of her manipulating ways but for the first time, he had more than himself to think about. If he took Braylin as his wife, she would be answerable to the lady of the house.

To Alice Sinclair.

It would be best if he held his tongue.

Cormac Hay drummed his fingers on the top of his desk. "Ye are a fine man Dugan. I'm proud to call ye mine. And ye are me son. Ye will not wed an English girl."

"I did go to the bonfire and tempt fate by being the Laird of Misrule," Dugan said. "Truthfully, I did nae think beyond the moment of frivolity. As yer son, I was raised to be mindful of me actions, lest they bring shame to the Hay. I acted as a boy, and the lass has suffered for it by being torn from her family."

Cormac tapped the desktop with one finger. Dugan recognized his expression—his sire was thinking. And he realized that he had to claim what he wanted, for if his father spoke, that would be the way things would be. A laird did not go back on his words.

"I am going to wed her, Father," Dugan repeated very firmly.

"And if I do nae give my permission?" Cormac asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dugan felt his body tighten. "Ye've always told me facts matter less than appearances. What is said here will never outweigh what was told to all in the main hall. You will be judged as being soft with me on a matter of Hay honor because I am yer son."

And Dugan was going to have Braylin.

It wasn't mere anger that motivated him. This was something which went deeper, all the way to his bones. It defied his attempts to understand it. In fact, the only thing he seemed to be certain of was the way he recalled, in vivid detail, how Braylin's hair smelled.

And how much he wanted to bury his face in it again. To do that, he'd need to take the blessing from the Church, so that was what he would do.

"Alice, leave us," Cormac ordered.

Lady Hay didn't argue but quit the room quickly.

"Ye keep that fire hidden well, my son, yet I know it's in yer belly," Cormac declared before he poured whiskey into two cups. "Aye, ye're mine by Christ, and ye are a man now. So I'll tell ye plainly…ye do nae have to wed the English girl. The Douglases have a lass ripe for marriage. I'll get her for ye next spring. Best for ye to marry up…not across the border."

His father reached out and pushed the whiskey toward Dugan to seal the deal.

Dugan stepped back. His father inclined his head and lifted one finger into the air to indicate that he was adding to the offer.

"I'll send the English lass off with enough of a dowry to make her family forget about this incident," his father said, sweetening the deal.

"Honor is not bought, father," Dugan said quietly. "Alice planned well this time. The girl's family will nae accept her. This family has come to the moors because they will not compromise their values to maintain their positions."

The grin melted off his father's face, leaving behind a frank look which twisted Dugan's insides. His father didn't argue because he knew Dugan was correct.

"I've made me decision," Dugan stated firmly.

His father took a sip of his whiskey. It was a long moment of silence before Cormac spoke.

"We'll see if ye can get the girl to the church doors." Cormac grinned. "Have the whiskey, son, for ye've set yerself a large task. One yer stepmother has made very difficult with her handling of the girl."

Dugan felt his mouth go dry. His father's words were full of hard, harsh truth. The sort of truth that most people could never overcome. He reached for the whiskey as something else surged through him—a burning in his gut that he recognized well enough. In his life, he had always had to work hard for anything he wanted. This would be no different.

He had no doubt that convincing Braylin to stand beside him and take the sacrament of marriage would be the hardest task he'd taken on yet.