The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(13)

He wasn’t rash—or a hothead—damn it!

Magnus MacKay had been his enemy, nemesis, and all-around thorn in his arse since Kenneth had been old enough to hold a sword. MacKay had bested him on the field when they were youths more times than he wanted to remember. But he did remember, every one of them. No more. Kenneth was done coming in second. He’d spent the better part of the past three years honing his skills in battle, becoming one of the best warriors in the Highlands. He was determined to prove it by winning a place in Bruce’s army. If MacKay didn’t stand in his way, that is.

He smiled at the man his sister planned to marry at the conclusion of the Games. “As I recall, neither did you.” Magnus’s face darkened. He didn’t like losing any better than Kenneth did, and they’d both lost at the hands of Robbie Boyd that year. “But that was four years ago. Perhaps we’ve both improved?” And because he never could resist taunting the bastard back, he added to the women around him, “Although I’m afraid you won’t get to see MacKay fight. He is still nursing an arm injury.”

The women immediately expressed their disappointment and well-wishes for his swift recovery, while Kenneth grinned at the glowering Highlander. He knew full well that MacKay’s arm was fine, but Bruce had prohibited him from entering the competition. He also knew just how much the warrior who prided himself on toughness would bristle at the idea of “nursing” anything. He would feel the same.

“I’m not—” MacKay stopped so suddenly and with such an “oof” of air that Kenneth suspected his sister’s elbow had just connected rather firmly with his ribs. After looking down at Helen, who smiled angelically back up at him, MacKay’s anger fizzled. “Fortunately, I have a very talented healer to nurse me back to health.”

It was Kenneth’s turn to glower. Although no one else at the table had picked up on the sensual innuendo of MacKay’s words, he sure as hell had. The idea of MacKay marrying his little sister was bad enough, but the bastard had better damn well keep his hands off her until after the wedding. Noticing the heat rising to his sister’s cheeks, however, Kenneth suspected it was too late.

He was reconsidering his vow not to fight with MacKay, when the door to the solar opened and men began to emerge from the room. Intent on reaching the king before he left, he quickly excused himself and crossed the twenty or so feet to the solar. The guardsman standing at the door would have refused him entry if the king hadn’t glanced over and waved him in.

“Just the man I wanted to see. Come in, Sutherland, come in,” Bruce said.

As the king had seemed to be avoiding him, Kenneth was surprised by his words. “You wished to see me, Sire?”

Bruce motioned him forward toward a seat opposite him at the council table. Only a few men remained in the room. Kenneth recognized the famed swordsman and trainer Tor MacLeod on his left, Sir Neil Campbell on his right, and to his surprise, William Lamberton, the Bishop of St. Andrews, next to him. He’d heard the bishop was part of Edward’s truce delegation, but why was he here now?

After greetings were exchanged, Bruce said, “Have you given any more thought to our last discussion?”

It took Kenneth a moment to realize to what he was referring.

Then he remembered. The last conversation he’d had with the king was after Kenneth’s brother William, Earl of Sutherland, had announced his plans to marry their clan’s healer, Muriel, rather than the king’s sister Christina when she was released from English captivity. The king wanted an alliance with the Sutherlands, and now that duty would fall to him, as William had named him his heir. Kenneth didn’t know the details, but Muriel apparently was barren. At some point—he hoped many years from now—the earldom would fall to Kenneth or his son.

But finding a wife hadn’t been foremost on his mind. It wasn’t that he didn’t want one; it simply didn’t matter to him who he wed. As long as she was noble with the right connections and could bear him a few sons, one woman was as good as another. He supposed he’d prefer if the lass was attractive, as it would make the begetting of those heirs easier, but he had enough experience to call on memories if he needed a little help.

It wasn’t as if a wife would have any effect on his day-to-day life. He’d go on as he had before. His sister and brother might feel differently, but Kenneth was not moved by emotion. For men like him, marriage was a duty. He’d loved lots of women; he didn’t need to love his wife.

“Aye,” he lied. “I have. Did you have someone in mind?”

Kenneth was expecting the king to put forth his sister Christina, as he had to his brother Will. The former Countess of Mar was still being held in England, as was her young son, the current Earl of Mar. Kenneth knew how important it was to Bruce to unite all the Scottish earls under his banner, and the countess’s next husband might help influence that decision.

But it was a different widowed countess that Bruce spoke of—Atholl. “I’m not sure whether you are aware, but my former sister-in-law, Mary, is a part of Edward’s delegation.” Suddenly, the bishop’s presence made a little more sense. He vaguely recalled seeing Atholl’s wife once years ago when he was still a squire with the Earl of Ross. She’d been quite pretty, he thought, and much younger than her husband. He also knew she’d been kept a virtual prisoner these past few years in England after her husband’s execution.