“I should think my clansmen feel the same way,” Ian said.
Kelbrue looked thoughtful. And it struck Ian that the man was riding around in the snow, in the middle of the winter in Scotland, without a hat or gloves. He was a beast.
“We may be allies, but we disagree about many things.”
Ian would just have to come out and say it.
“Like our allegiance to the Bruce family?”
Ian wasn’t prepared for the man’s response. Kelbrue’s already-red face turned a shade redder. Could all this anger be because Bruce hadn’t informed his allies before attacking Balliol? No, there had to be more to it than that. His was the only clan that pulled support for that one reason.
“Bruce and his intentions to oust the babe be damned.”
Ahhh, so that was it. Kelbrue didn’t think Bruce should be positioning himself for the throne since the Guardians had publicly declared their support for the Maid of Norway as Scotland’s next queen.
Ross himself was one of the Guardians. This was more common ground.
Plant the seed.
“I agree.”
The man’s surprise was evident. As they rode into the gatehouse, the same one Ian had approached on foot just a week prior, nearly frozen to death, he considered his next words. One week, and he’d found Grey, married, and embroiled himself in the beginnings of what would blossom into an all-out war sooner rather than later.
He said nothing until they reached the stables, where both of them dismounted. Ian looked back. No servants or deer in sight, just Ross and Grey riding behind them.
“Margaret will be Scotland’s queen, and Bruce should accept it,” he said, and Kelbrue grunted his agreement. “But more importantly, my bollocks are nearly frozen off. Should we go into the hall to warm?”
Kelbrue slapped him on the back. As fathers-in-law went, he wasn’t such a bad one. But before he could follow him inside, Grey pulled him back as Kelbrue walked away with Ross.
“Are you out of your mind?” His frantic whisper reminded him of the many times one of his brothers had said this very thing after he said something they didn’t like in front of the cameras. Inevitably they’d back off a few hours or days later, when they realized his strategy made sense. He might not like working in publicity, but he was damn good at it—the only McCaim who was a true chess player when it came to managing people.
“We need him to back Bruce,” Grey pressed. “Keep Margaret out of the conversation. She won’t be a factor.”
As if he didn’t know that. Ian rolled his eyes, ensuring his brother’s anger. The thought of which, of course, made Ian laugh.
“This is not a game.”
Baby brother. No matter what he did.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Grey. It is very much a game, and I just made the first move. But unlike you, I can see the final one as well.”
Grey cursed under his breath.
“It feels like we’re right back home,” Ian said, not unkindly. He looked into his brother’s eyes. “Will you please just trust me?”
His brother sighed, frosted air coming from his mouth. “I always do.”
Ian smiled. “Now can we talk about something more important than who may or may not win some battle that changes the course of history forever?”
His brother laughed, his good humor restored. “And what could possibly be more important than that?”
“My wife, Grey. I have a huge problem with Màiri.”
Unlike some of his brothers, he wasn’t shy about asking for dating advice or talking about girlfriends. Or in this case, his wife.
“And what problem is that?”
Ian decided to be brutally honest.
