he was old enough to sail on his own, he had spent as little time here as possible. He was always off having adventures—or getting into trouble, depending on your point of view—with Connor, Ian, and Duncan. He’d made himself a regular guest at both Dunscaith and Ian’s house.
Sorcha went to the window to look out, and Glynis looked everywhere but at him. Alex glanced at the small bed. His feet would hang off the end, but Glynis could not avoid him in a bed that size. He was desperate to have some time alone with her—both in and out of bed. He would ask his mother to take Sorcha to sleep with her.
He was pleased then when his mother appeared in the doorway.
“Do ye have what ye need?” she asked.
Though his mother had moved out years ago, she always assumed the role of hostess the moment she stepped foot into his father’s house. Before Alex could ask her about changing the sleeping arrangements, his mother forged ahead with what she had come to tell them.
“Our clansmen on this side of Skye didn’t get word in time to come to the wedding feast at Dunscaith.” She clasped her hands together and beamed at them. “So I’ve invited them all here tonight for another wedding feast!”
Alex was furious with his mother. The last thing he needed tonight was a second wedding feast.
“That was kind of ye,” Glynis said, but she had gone pale as death. “I’m a wee bit tired from all the… excitement…of last night. So if ye don’t mind taking Sorcha, I’d like to take a rest.”
“I could use a lie down myself,” Alex said, feeling hopeful.
“I’m sure ye can find a bed somewhere,” Glynis said, giving him a look that would sour milk.
“What in the hell have ye done, Mother?” Alex demanded, as they went down the stairs. “Ye should have asked me before inviting everyone.”
“I wanted to make your wife and daughter feel welcome,” his mother said, smiling down at Sorcha.
Alex was not appeased by his mother’s professed good intensions. Both his parents always did precisely as they wanted with no thought to anyone else. The deed was done, however, so tonight would be spent entertaining every man, woman, and child within a half day’s journey of his father’s house.
A short while later, he was sitting in the hall contemplating his grim future with a cup of ale when his parents’ voices pierced his thoughts. When he turned, he saw his daughter squeezing the life out of her old doll as she looked back and forth between his parents.
“I don’t care what ye say,” his mother said, leaning forward with her hands on her hips. “I’m taking Sorcha home with me tonight.”
“Ye will no take my granddaughter out of this house,” his father shouted.
His parents were far too engrossed in their argument to notice Sorcha was watching them with eyes as big as platters. Alex stormed over and picked up his daughter. When she leaned against him with her thumb in her mouth, he brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead.
“I won’t have this,” he said to his parents, who had paused long enough to look at him. “The two of ye will get along in my daughter’s presence, or ye will not see her.”
His parents spoke over each other. “But she is my only grandchild!” “You’ve no right!”
“I do have the right,” Alex said, fixing his gaze on each of his parents in turn. “And I will no allow ye to fight over her the way ye did with me.”
Alex had never voiced his feelings about their fighting before, and they were both—for once—too shocked to speak. He supposed that was often the way of it with families. The obvious truths were never spoken aloud, as if that somehow made them less true.
“I won’t tell ye again,” he said. “If ye can’t be civil to each other in front of my daughter, we’ll leave and we won’t come back.”
* * *
Things were going from bad to worse. Ach, why did Mary have to come to the feast?
Alex felt lower than dirt as he greeted her husband. Now that he was a husband himself, he saw the whole situation quite differently. Mary’s husband was a sniveling ass, but that did not excuse Alex taking his wife to bed. Alex would kill any man who did the same to him. The mere thought of another man’s hands on Glynis sent murder roiling through his veins.
Through seven courses, Mary tried to catch Alex’s eye. Alex steadfastly ignored her and tried his best to converse with Glynis.
“I’m sorry for all the guests tonight,” he said, leaning close to Glynis’s ear.
“Why would ye be sorry?” she said, her back as stiff as a board. “Is it me or your daughter that ye are ashamed to have them meet?”
Alex clenched his jaw to keep from shouting at her.
“Ye know damned well I’m no ashamed of either of ye,” he said, when he could manage to speak in a low voice. “Can ye no meet me halfway and attempt to be pleasant?”
“If ye wanted a pleasant wife, ye should have picked someone else,” she said in a fierce whisper. “I warned ye from the start about my sour disposition.”
With that, Glynis turned her back on him to talk to his mother, who sat on her other side. Ach! His head was already pounding when Mary got up and gave him a broad wink over her shoulder as she left the hall. Damn it, at least he could put a stop to that.
He waited in the vestibule for Mary to come back from the privy. When she came in and saw him, she broke into a wide smile.
“Alex—”
