“I’d take a blade for Connor,” Alex said, losing his humor, “but I’ll no take a wife for him.”
“Connor has a way of getting what he wants,” Duncan said. “I’ll wager you’ll be wed within half a year.”
“Ye must still be drunk.” Alex sat up and grinned at his friend. “What shall we wager?”
“This galley,” Duncan said.
“Perfect.” Alex loved this boat, which was smaller and sleeker than a war galley and sliced through the water like a fish. They had been arguing over who had the better right to it ever since they had stolen it from Shaggy Maclean.
The MacNeil castle, which sat on a rock island in a bay off the coast of Barra, was in sight now.
“You’re going to miss this sweet galley,” Alex said, as he guided the boat into the bay.
A short time later, a large group of armed MacNeil warriors were escorting them inside the castle’s keep.
“I see we’ve got them scared,” Alex said in a low voice to Duncan.
“We could take them,” Duncan grunted.
“Did ye notice that there are twelve of them?” Alex asked.
“I’m no saying it would be easy.”
Alex laughed, which had the MacNeils all reaching for their swords. He was enjoying himself. Still, he hoped he and Duncan wouldn’t have to fight their way out. These were Highland warriors, not Englishmen or Lowlanders, and everyone knew MacNeils were mean and devious fighters.
Almost as mean and devious as MacDonalds.
But the MacNeils had more dangerous weapons in their arsenal. Alex heard Duncan groan beside him as they entered the hall and saw what was waiting for them.
“God save us,” escaped Alex’s lips. Three twittering lasses were sitting at the head table. The girls were pretty, but young and innocent enough to give Alex hives.
One of them wiggled her fingers at him, then her sister elbowed her in the ribs, and all three went into a fit of giggles behind their hands.
It was going to be a long evening.
“Quiet!” the chieftain thundered, and the color drained from the girls’ faces.
After exchanging greetings with Alex and Duncan, the MacNeil introduced his wife, an attractive, plump woman half his age, and his young son, who sat on her lap. Then he waved his arm toward the girls, saying, “These are my three youngest daughters. My eldest will join us soon.”
The missing daughter would be the one they’d heard about. She was rumored to be a rare beauty who had been turned out by her husband in disgrace.
She sounded like Alex’s kind of woman.
Before the chieftain could direct them where to sit, Alex and Duncan took seats at the far end from the three lasses. After a cursory prayer, wine and ale was poured, and the first courses were brought out.
Alex wanted to get their business done as soon as possible—and leave. “Our chieftain hopes to strengthen the friendship between our two clans and has sent us here on a mission of goodwill,” he began.
The MacNeil kept glancing at the doorway, his face darker each time. Though he didn’t appear to be listening to a word, Alex forged ahead.
“Our chieftain pledges that he will join ye in fighting the pirates who are harassing all our shores.”
That caught the MacNeil’s attention. In a sour tone, he asked, “Isn’t it his own uncle who leads them?”
“His half uncle,” Duncan put in, as if that explained it all.
The MacNeil chief tilted his head back to take a long drink from his cup, then slammed it on the table, sputtering and choking.
Alex followed the direction of his gaze—and almost choked on his own ale when he saw the woman. Ach, the poor thing had suffered the worst case of pox Alex had ever seen. The afflicted woman crossed the room at a brisk pace, her gaze fixed on the floor. When she took the place at the end of the table next to Alex, he had to move over to make room for her. She was quite stout, though not in a pleasing sort of way.
Alex tried not to stare at the pockmarks when he turned to greet her. But he couldn’t help it. God’s bones, these weren’t old scars—the pox were still oozing! Blood never troubled him at all, of course, but he was a wee bit squeamish about oozing sores.
“I am Alexander MacDonald.” He put on a bright smile for her, which she missed altogether because she kept her gaze on the table before her.
He waited, but when she didn’t introduce herself, he asked, “And you are?”
“Glynis.”
Since she refused to look at him, Alex could stare freely. The longer he looked, the more certain he was that the pockmarks weren’t oozing—they were melting. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“I confess, ye have me curious, Glynis,” he said, leaning close to her ear. “What would cause a lass to give herself pockmarks?”
Glynis jerked her head up and stared at him. Despite the distracting red boils that were easing their way down her face, Alex couldn’t help noticing she had arrestingly beautiful gray eyes.
“It is unkind to poke fun at a lady’s unfortunate looks,” she said.
