Chapter Thirty

Several days later, Alaric came in from the lists, wiping the sweat from his brow. He enjoyed sparring with different people, especially the Ramsays. Torrian's son Lachlan was quite powerful, and so were Cadyn and Cailean. He headed to the sideboard to grab an ale, glancing over at the group of lasses studying something over a trestle table.

Eli had approached him about getting married as part of the group wedding, and he'd agreed. He'd been surprised it had come from her, but she wished to marry with the others. The more time he spent with the wee siren, the more he wanted her. This way he'd never have to worry about the year and a day shite. She'd not be leaving him in a year. Or ever. There was a large crowd of Grants on their way, along with many others—Mathesons, Camerons, Menzies, and Drummonds. It would be quite the celebration. He heard his wife's voice, so eavesdropped for a few moments.

"Nay, 'tis my color. Ye'll not be changing now, Ysenda."

He recognized that tone in Eli's voice. Ysenda was not going to win this argument. He hid his smirk the best he could.

"But I like it. Why can we no' wear the same? We're sisters."

"Listen, ye conniving harlot, ye cannae have it. Find yer own color." Eli glanced over her shoulder, noticed him by the sideboard and crossed to him with a piece of fabric in her hand. "Look. What do ye think?"

He leaned down to give her a sultry kiss, but she wasn't having it. She cut it short and said, "I need yer opinion. Will this be a good color for my wedding dress?"

"I'll answer yers as soon as ye answer mine. Were ye cursing yer own sister out?"

She sighed and glared at him, tapping her foot. "Aye. She was trying to steal my color. I know her ways."

"Forgive me if I am wrong about this, but I thought brides wore their clan colors."

"We do, but this is for the under gown. The plaid is the skirt and the fold over our shoulder, but we need an under gown and I wish it to be a pretty color. What do ye think of it?"

Alaric took the swatch from her and studied it. "This is blue. Are ye no' wearing my colors?"

She tipped her head to look at him and snatched the cloth out of his hand. "I'm wearing a Ramsay blue skirt, and this is a lovely color for a Ramsay lass. I am a Ramsay or have ye forgotten? And I'm marrying on Ramsay land."

"To a Grant. A red plaid Grant. And ye were a Ramsay, but now ye are a Grant ever since we handfasted. Or have ye forgotten that?"

He knew she would wheedle her way to what she wanted, but he also knew that somehow, when she came down the lane on horseback, there had better be some red plaid showing somewhere. He knew her mind was scheming for some way to win him over. But then he saw something different cross her mind.

Desire.

She did that odd thing with her tongue, darting it out and then back in again. "Dinnae ye think ye should wear yer tunic inside the hall?" Her gaze ran down his bare chest to his belly and below. "Though I must admit, I am thirsty. I could lick that sweat off yer chest."

He chuckled and stared at her, his desire rising just as hers had. He glanced down at the place where her gaze had locked. He'd planned this, and it was working exactly as he wished.

She licked her lips, narrowed her gaze and said, "Follow me." Whirling around, she never looked back because she knew she wouldn't need to, instead swinging those saucy hips of hers in a way that drew his gaze. He smiled with satisfaction. Damn, but this lass of his was sweet.

"And Reyna," she called as she crossed the hall, "if ye wish to find out if I know how lads make lasses happy, put yer ear to the door in a few moments and ye'll learn."

The entire table of cousins erupted into a chorus of hoots and giggles.

But just as Eli's hand landed on the door handle, the front door opened, and with one look over his shoulder at who it was, Alaric stopped. "Eli, wait."

They both turned around to regard Kyler at the door, a look on his face that Alaric didn't like. Once he spotted Alaric, he strode right over to him.

"There are several Scots outside the gates, and they are asking for yer wife and Wenna. They are no' from any clan we know."

Eli looked furious, but Alaric had already figured it out. "Would one of these Scots be called Egan?"

"Aye. He said he wished to propose to Eli. I told him ye were already handfasted and getting married soon, and he said that she would be marrying him. We tried to send him away, but he refused. My sire went to find Torrian, but I thought ye should be aware."

"Ye would be correct, Kyler, and I thank ye verra kindly." His erection had died as soon as Kyler had told him who was outside. Desire turned to a fury that wouldn't be sated this time until the bastard's heart was on the end of his sword. Eli moved up next to Alaric and he reached for her hand, then kissed her forehead. "I'll go get rid of him, love. He'll no' be bothering ye."

"I'm coming along."

"Eli," he said, holding her by the arms. "If ye are there, ye'll be fueling his demands. I think 'twould be best if ye waited here." He wished she would take his advice but he knew it wasn't her way.

"I'm coming," she said, pulling out of his grip and crossing her arms.

He sighed. She'd follow as soon as he walked out the door. "Fine, but ye'll stay behind me. Promise me that ye'll not step in front of me."

She dropped her arms to her side and leaned forward. "He willnae hurt me. He wishes to marry me."

Her movements told him she was upset, but he also knew she did not understand exactly what was at stake.

"Nay, men like Egan will hurt ye if he wishes to, though he'll likely no' kill ye. But know that he's a bride-stealer. Have ye never heard of the like? He is large enough to overpower you. He'll grab ye and toss ye across his horse in a flash." Alaric crossed his arms to let her know he would not allow anything other than his conditions. She was stubborn, but she had a quick mind.

"A bride-stealer? They exist? Truly?" She glanced at Alaric and then to Kyler, obviously shocked by this term.

Kyler nodded. "Aye, my lady. Some men think stealing a bride is the proper way to get a woman. Not here, but other clans do it often."

Alaric made one more offer. "Eli, do ye agree to stand behind me or beside me?"

She settled a hand on her hip and let out a loud whoosh between pursed lips.

"I can tie ye up if ye dinnae agree."

"Ye'll no' tie me up unless we are in our bedchamber alone." Her gaze narrowed but his widened.

That comment surprised him, but he'd not bend. Eli was his. He'd never love another, and he would no' lose her to the bastard outside.

She finally grumbled a bit but then nodded. "Fine. I agree."

Hell, but he loved her. Feisty, smart, more than a wee bit stubborn. She had fire. If he was going to consider taking the lairdship, he needed a wife who was smart and fiery. Two thoughts crossed his mind.

They made a great pair.

He'd never give her up.

He nodded. "I'll meet him, Kyler. Lead the way." He took Eli's hand and the two followed Kyler out, a few cousins hurrying to follow the trio without saying a word. "I need to stop at the stables to retrieve my weapon."

He strode quickly enough that Eli had trouble keeping up, but she did. Once at the stable, he retrieved his sword, cleaned it, then kissed the blade. Before he sheathed it, Eli's hand stayed his. She leaned over and kissed the blade too, then kissed him.

He thought he saw a bit of misting in her gaze so he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Elisant Ramsay, I'd never let another touch ye. I love ye."

"'Tis Elisant Grant to ye."

He grinned at that, then took Eli's hand again as they exited the stable. Torrian and Kyle both approached but remained off to the side. He was pleased the chieftain and his second were there to witness what was to take place.

"What the hell do ye want, Egan? She's no' available. Ye still have the broken nose to remind ye. And what rock did ye crawl out from under? Go back to yer kind. Ye'll never patrol with Maitland Menzie either."

Alaric noticed Logan on horseback off in the distance, Gwyneth in front of him. He hoped he knew enough to stay the hell out of this. His keen eyes would miss nothing though, of that he was certain.

Gavin Ramsay came up behind him. "Do what ye must, Grant. If ye need my assistance, ask for it."

Egan looked quite smug, a group of five men behind him, all carrying swords. "We'll fight six of yer men. Winners take their pick of yer archer lasses."

"Ye hedge-born sot," Eli yelled. "Did ye consider asking me first, ye ugly troll?"

"Shut her up!" Egan shouted, pointing his sword at her. It was smaller than any of the Ramsays and Alaric's, a toy in comparison. "Lasses dinnae speak unless they are given permission."

"I'll speak when I wish, ye arsehole." She took a step forward, but stopped as Alaric moved in front of her, his hand crossing the front of her waist to protect her as he moved her behind him. She stuck her head around him and shouted, "And dinnae ever tell me what to do. Ye are as daft as a horsefly."

Eli wanted the last word. He didn't like the way this was going. He'd never guessed the fool wanted six brides. Nor was he expecting six men wishing to fight. He stole a quick glance to assess their weapons. Most were paltry compared to the great swords of the Grants and Ramsays.

Egan's face turned the darkest shade of red he'd ever seen, nearly purple. "I said shut her up." Then he moved so he could look straight at Eli. "When ye are mine, I'll teach ye to listen to me. Ye willnae like it, but ye'll do as ye are told. I'll beat yer arse until ye can do naught but wait on me."

"The hell I will, ye churlish bastard."

Egan made a move toward Eli, but Alaric was faster, unsheathing his sword and stepping farther in front of her, his sword aimed right at Egan's belly. He stared straight into the fool's smug gaze. "Get back. Ye dinnae deserve to stand near her. The battle is between ye and me."

Torrian called out, "I have many guards who will escort them off our land. Yer choice, Grant."

A crowd had begun to gather in a half circle in front of the gates, guards moving wherever Torrian directed them, along with a line of archers on the parapets, but he would not be distracted from his purpose. This would end here and now. He'd had enough of this arrogant bastard's bullshit.

How dare he threaten his wife!

"Nay, Chief, no one speaks to my wife in such a way. I'll take care of him," Alaric replied. "'Twill be my pleasure. This fool wouldn't listen on Cameron land. Now he will. Once ye are dead, Egan, yer friends will take their leave and never come back."

One of the men behind Egan dared to draw an arrow, aiming it at him, or perhaps Eli behind him. An arrow landed between the fool's feet so fast that the idiot dropped his weapon in shock.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alaric saw Eli's mother with her bow in hand.

"Stand down!" she bellowed. Merewen was as good as her daughter at archery.

Torrian raised his hands. "Stand back, all of ye. This is between Alaric and Egan. Ramsays, unless ye are a guard, ye belong up on the curtain wall."

"Chief?" Gavin asked. "I'd like a good view since this involves my daughter."

"Gavin, ye may stay with yer daughter, but we need room," Torrian said with a wide grin, pointing to a line of approaching horses. Torrian met the group and directed the riders to fan out into a circle surrounding Egan and his men.

Alaric couldn't believe his eyes. First came Grant warriors, including his brothers and his sire. Aye, he was certain he saw Els with Joya on one horse and his father in a cart behind Jowell. Loki Grant's small group was behind them. Then came Menzie warriors, Camerons, and a line of Matheson warriors. The last group was led by Micheil Ramsay, a long line of Drummond warriors now behind Egan's men.

He glanced at Eli who was now grinning from ear to ear. She moved over next to him and stood on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek. "Take care of this, husband. I'll be up on the wall with my weapon and my mama. Ye know what ye need to do."

"I do, lass."

Alaric moved to the middle of the circle, waiting for Egan. As soon as Egan had taken his place, Alaric looked to Torrian.

"Ye give the word, Chief."

Chants and yells of support echoed across the landscape, but he vowed to ignore them, because now he had to focus on one thing and one thing only.

The enemy. His beloved grandfather, the renowned swordsman Alexander Grant, had taught his grandsons how to fight one-on-one with a fool. There'd been much more to it, but his advice came down to one word.

Focus.

"Chief?" Alaric would bow to whatever Torrian wished.

He glanced at the Ramsay chieftain, and Egan showed his true colors.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alaric caught Egan running to his side and attempting to hit him from behind. Alaric's blade swung to defend himself, and their weapons clashed.

The fight was on.