MacKinnons' Hope: A Highland Christmas Carol by Tanya Anne Crosby

so easily. He saw visions of Constance running about as a dirty old maid, lifting up her skirts for all the married men to see—not that she would ever do so, mind you. She had long outgrown the need to show everyone her lily-white arse, and yet the image plagued Iain nonetheless. He turned to address Kellen. “How old are you, lad?”
    To his credit, Kellen’s gaze never faltered. “Sixteen, laird.”
    Iain remained silent, contemplating what best to do. He tapped his fingers angrily on the arm of his chair.
    “But we didn’t do anything,” Constance wailed, shrugging free of Kerwyn’s constraints. “Let me go,” she said defiantly. “Ha’e ye not embarrassed me enough already? I’m going to tell your minny!” she declared.
    A few of the men snickered at her threat, because Kerwyn, the lump of clod, still lived with his mother and some suspected she still took a switch to his bum now and again.
    Iain waited for the hall to quiet, rubbing his brow wearily. The mystery of the huts properly forgotten for the time being, he gave his niece his full regard. There was only one way to handle this, and he feared it could come to blows.
    If Kellen’s father would not have it—if Aidan rued the thought of losing even one more of his kinswomen to another clan—it would not bode well.
    His voice was deceptively soft when he spoke again. “Get out everyone,” he commanded. “Out,” he said. “All save the boy and his Da.”
    “And you!” he shouted at Constance, when she suddenly made to leave.
    “Och, Da!” Malcom exclaimed, realizing that Iain meant for him to leave as well.
    “Out,” he told his son, a bit more gently. “This does not concern you, Mal.”
    “Only gi’ me two men to search the woodlands,” Malcom begged. “I will not bother you again. And if there is naught to be found I will speak of it no more.”
    “Malcom,” Iain said tightly. “Dinna try me, son. We have no cause to believe there is aught amiss, and the men have worked hard enough. Please go.”
    Malcom stood stubbornly, glaring at him.
    “Now,” he said.
    As the crowd disbursed, Aidan moved forward, and finally, Malcom turned to go, casting Iain a baleful glance as the dún Scoti laird came to stand behind his son. Thankfully, Malcom said naught more. He marched down the steps, his hands forming fists by his sides.
    Iain sighed. His only son and rightful heir was nearly a man now, fueled by the fears of a little boy. He felt far more comfortable with the notion of passing down his legacy to his daughter, Liana. At least he knew Liana had an even temper and a level head. He watched Malcom go, torn between his unwavering love for his firstborn child and fear for the future of his clan. Only once Malcom was out the door did he turn to address the youths presented before him.
    “I stand by whatever judgment you make,” Aidan said and Iain felt a surge of relief.
    Kellen had no need to turn to look at his father to speak. He peered up at Iain and said, “I love her and I will wed her here and now, if you please.”

Chapter 4
    “ G reat gods who create and bring forth life, we ask your blessings on this day of celebration.”
    A sea of faces stared up at the wedding couple, but Lìli was not among them to see her firstborn son take his vows. Aidan imagined all the possible ways he could die at his wife’s hands. She was an accomplished alchemist, and with Una’s help, she was bound to know a few ways to make him suffer hideously before he departed this plane.
    For his part, Kellen looked far more pleased than he had a right to. The lad stood next to his bride, grinning broadly. The girl was merely fourteen, Kellen sixteen, and both were little more than babes to Aidan’s eyes.
    He remembered the day Kellen arrived at Dubhtolargg, with those deep-brown eyes. He’d given the lad a safe haven, and as a result Kellen lived a far less guarded life than most. Aidan had to remind himself that his own parents were already wed by