The Curse of Clan Ross Read Online Free

nor Isobelle were quiet.” Ewan snorted and removed his hand from Monty’s shoulder as footsteps sounded on the steps outside.
    “Exactly.”
    “Oh, cousin.” Ewan pulled his shoulders back and stretched to his full height. “I’ve a foul feelin’ about this...”
    The great door opened and The Gordon finally entered looking none too happy, most likely for not being greeted out of doors. When Monty nodded permission for the man to descend the steps into his hall, the laird paused as if he might not wish to accept permission after all.
    “Come.” Monty waved the man forward, holding a smile he did not feel. He had to prove his control in all things now, or the other man would never respect him enough to keep him as an ally, let alone a son-of-the-law, especially with all the trouble Morna had been.
    The Gordon gradually came forward, all the while eyeing the statue as if it might come to life and draw steel.  
    Well done, Mickey . Poor Italian. He really had hated being called Mickey.  
    “Welcome, Laird Gordon, to my humble home.” Montgomery inclined his head but did not stand. “Ewan, bring The Gordon a chair.”
    “Hold, Ross.” The visiting laird raised a hand and pointed to Isobelle’s tomb. “I’ll no’ take me rest in a graveyard, aye?” He turned his back. “We’ll speak out of doors, or not at all.”
    The insult Montgomery felt for his sister lit his belly, and dread filled his chest as his temper jumped free of his control, as it used to do. He’d held it in check for months now. Perhaps he could at least avoid a war. As the words bubbled up, however, hope washed away.
    “Then I suppose there will be no speech between us, Gordon.” Monty’s venom got the departing man’s attention. “ If I’m to wed yer daughter, auld mon, the ceremony will take place here, on ground I consider sacred .”  
    The Gordon’s entire head turned redder than his hair had once been.
    “Yer sister’s grave could not be consecrated and ye ken it.” Gordon retraced his steps until he was once again standing before the grand Ross chair. “How dare ye speak to me—”
    “Nay, sir. How dare you?” Monty stood and towered over the man who was too proud to retreat a step or two. “This ground is sacred to me in honor of the sister I lost as the unbearable price for an alliance with you .” Monty paused to catch his breath and capture his tongue with his teeth. Slowly lowering his arse back on his chair, he allowed the other man a fleeting sense of relief before he continued. “And if ye’d not see yer daughter wed to me here, then ye may take her home. But do not neglect to leave Morna and her dowered lands behind.”  
    Monty pointedly ignored The Gordon’s Runt, Morna’s husband, who now stood fuming at his father’s shoulder—or hip, rather—and instead, looked up at his own stone likeness, searching not only for control, but for a miracle. What could he possibly give The Gordon to stop this wedding from slipping through his fingers as his temper had done?
    The answer smirked back at him. He waited for the other laird to follow his notice.
    “The pity of it all would be yer lack of Ross grandsons, would it no’?” Monty waited patiently while the Cock o’ the North took in the details of Mickey’s work, no doubt imagining lads of a like build sporting ruddy manes.
    The Gordon looked for a time and then some.
    “Don’t just stand there, Ewan Ross. Fetch me a chair and a drink.” The old laird waved away his small escort, his gaze still admiring the statue.
    The Runt narrowed his eyes in a miniature threat before making his way back outside, and Monty hoped his sister would not have to pay for the insult he’d just dealt her wee spouse.
    “My condolences, Ross. I heard Isobelle was as great a beauty as my daughter-of-the-law.” The Gordon sat and accepted wine. “I fancy a ceremony on the morn as I wish to be headed North by the nooning hour.”
    The meeting could not have gone