“Nay, I dinnae ken that many people.”
It annoyed Brian that he wanted to laugh. “Sigimor, ye cannae ignore the simple truth that she is higher born, richer, and from a clan that continues to gain power and honors. I am a MacFingal, a son of Fingal MacFingal who, whilst apart from his clan because he had a feud with his brother, decided to breed his verra own clan. He bred so many bastards it makes even the greatest of lecherous goats gasp in shock.”
“Might be envy.”
Brian ignored him. “He thinks an argument is polite conversation, says whate’er is in his mind without one thought to the consequences, and he paints himself blue and dances naked round a stone circle when the moon is full.” He narrowed his eyes when Sigimor chuckled. “Aye, laugh. Ye dinnae have to claim the old fool as your fither. Ye also dinnae have to have people looking at ye as if they fear the madness they are certain inflicts the old mon might be running in your veins.”
“Nay, I just have to claim him as my uncle, something I worked verra hard to do despite his refusals, if ye recall. So, if your wee lass doesnae grab those lads and run screaming from the place once she kens whose seed ye sprung from, I ask again—what will ye do?”
Brian dragged his hands through his hair. “Cousin, talking to ye is much akin to slamming my head into a wall. I repeat, no land, no house, and little coin. A bonnie Murray lass such as she is can do far better than me.”
“As could the daughter of an English earl do far better than a laird with more kin depending on him than most would tolerate, but that didnae stop me. I won her.”
“Naught can stop ye. Ye are like some thick-horned bullock,” Brian muttered.
“And it should nay stop ye, either. She already wed as her family bid her to once, didnae she? And just where has that gotten the poor lass? A puling coward of a husband who wasnae really her husband, who betrayed her and scorned her, and now a hard run to save her life and her husband’s sons from the greed of the bastard’s brother. The family that should have welcomed her as a new bride, as a new daughter, that spat on her and still took all her dowry. Are ye telling me that, even with that old fool we must both claim as blood, ye cannae give her better than that?”
“Oh, aye, I could, but I doubt her clan would want a mon like me to have her. If naught else, once they met my fither, they would fear madness ran in the blood.”
“Ye mean that clan that let a daughter marry an Armstrong? Another marry that mad MacEnroy? And another wed your brother Gregor? And let us nay forget that some fool of a Murray let one of their lasses wed my cousin Liam. That clan?”
“All those lasses didnae have much choice as they were maids who spent far too long alone with an unwed mon. It doesnae matter that they wanted to marry the men. E’en if they hadnae someone would have demanded it. Arianna is a widow. We both ken that the rules are a wee bit different for such women.”
“I believe Liam’s wife Keira was a widow.”
“Sigimor ...” Brian struggled to think of what else he could possibly say to shut the man up.
Sigimor cocked his head to the side and studied Brian for a moment before saying, “I think ’tis your own pride choking ye, cousin. Ye just dinnae want to wed a lass who might have more than ye do. I was mistaken. I had thought that ye cared for her.”
Before Brian could respond to that Arianna and Jolene joined them. Arianna smiled at him as she took the seat beside him and Brian felt his heart clench. Perhaps Sigimor was right, although it galled him to even consider the possibility. Maybe it was his own cursed pride holding him back from just grabbing hold of what he wanted and not letting go.
He wanted to soundly deny that but was unable to. Brian also knew that it was not as simple as Sigimor thought it was. Arianna had already suffered through a bad marriage, one that had hurt her in ways many would never see or truly understand. She had earned the right to have all any woman could want from a husband who cherished her with rich gowns and fine jewels. He could give her the former but the comforts she deserved would be beyond his reach for a long time yet. Yet, he began to think he needed to try and find out what she wanted. His own opinions of what needed to be done began to taste a little too much like a condescending male deciding what was best for a poor, weak woman.
“Will we need to worry about Amiel as we journey to Scarglas?” Arianna asked as she helped herself to some porridge and sweetened it with honey and cream, struggling not to let the fear she felt reveal itself.
“Nay, I dinnae believe we will and I willnae leave ye alone again,” he replied, glad of the diversion from his increasingly confused thoughts. “Two days, three at the most, and we will be safe behind the walls of Scarglas.”