“Aye, a call to battle,” one of the other men growled, and all seven of them moved a threatening step closer.
Greer eyed the men warily and pursed his lips, trying to recall what he’d written. At the time, he’d been rather eager to return above stairs to Saidh’s room and had rather rushed his way through it so that he could pass the message on to one of his men. He’d wanted the message delivered at once to set things into motion. It was possible he’d—
“Ye said ye’d ruined Saidh,” Aulay snapped.
“What?” Saidh squawked.
“Aye,” one o’ the men assured her. “He said he’d ruined ye like a gooseberry pie left out in the rain.”
“The hell I did,” Greer snapped, embarrassed at the very thought that someone might believe he’d write such utter nonsense. “I wrote nothing about gooseberry pie.”
“Oh, nay,” the man agreed apologetically. “Ye just said ye’d ruined her. I added the gooseberry pie for effect.”
“Oh, leave off, Alick,” one of the other men snapped. “Do ye always ha’e to sound like a troubadour?”
“What the devil’s wrong with sounding like a troubadour?” the man asked with affront. “ ’Tis a much-valued skill.”
“Enough,” Aulay barked, bringing immediate silence. He then glowered at Greer, which would have been more effective if Greer hadn’t seen him roll his eyes in exasperation just moments before. The man wasn’t the emotionless warrior he showed to the world.
“Ye ruined me sister,” Aulay accused.
“Aye, but I plan to marry her. And I asked fer yer blessing in the message.”
“And then ye added that with or without it, ye’d marry her anyway,” Aulay snapped.
“And I will,” Greer assured him.
“The hell ye will,” Aulay snarled and the other men all growled like hungry dogs and moved in closer on another threatening step.
“Ye handled yer brothers most masterfully.”
Saidh dragged her attention from the men surrounding Greer and glanced around with surprise to see that Lady MacDonnell had stood and moved to her side without her noticing. Smiling crookedly, she murmured, “Thank ye. But I ha’e an unfair advantage as I told ye.”
“I did notice that they tried very hard to subdue ye without hurting ye, while ye were unhampered by such a restraint,” Lady MacDonnell said with a grin. “Still, they are seven fine, strong lads, and I was quite impressed,” she assured her, and then patted her arm and said, “I think I should like it verra much if ye’d call me Aunt Tilda from now on.”
“Oh,” Saidh said with surprise, and then smiled and nodded. “Thank ye, m’lady . . . I mean Aunt Tilda.”
Lady MacDonnell nodded and then patted her arm once more. “I also think ye should take control o’ the situation again ere these men decide yer future fer ye. Men often do what they think ye want and get it wrong without yer guidance.”
“Aye,” Saidh said on a sigh. She’d been so flummoxed by the bit about marriage, that she’d simply stood there afterward, completely bemused. Thanks to Aunt Tilda, she wasn’t bemused anymore, though. Sticking two fingers in her mouth, she let loose a piercing whistle like the one she had earlier.
The men fell silent and turned to peer at her.
“I am no’ ruined,” she said firmly.
“Aye, lass, ye are,” Greer assured her solemnly. “Well and truly, thrice or four times by me count.” He frowned. “Surely ye recall last night?”
Her brothers turned back to him growling and Saidh rolled her eyes, glared at Greer, and asked dryly, “Are ye trying to get yerself killed?”
“Last night?” Aulay asked suddenly. “But we got the message last night.”
“Aye, I sent it ere I went back up to Saidh’s—”
“That is why ye left me sitting naked on the bed?” Saidh asked with disbelief. “To write me brothers?”
“Well I could hardly take yer innocence without first making provisions to protect ye,” he pointed out reasonably.
“I do no’ need protecting,” Saidh snapped.
“Just a minute,” Dougall said. Scratching his head, he faced Greer and asked, “Do ye mean to tell us that ye wrote to tell us ye’d ruined our Saidh, and that ye were wedding her, and then went up to do the actual ruining?”
“The man’s daft,” Geordie muttered when Greer nodded.
“Aye,” Alick agreed. “Ye can no’ marry a daft man, Saidh.”
“I am no’ marrying anyone,” Saidh said shortly.
“Well ye ha’e to marry someone if ye’re ruined,” Conran said reasonably.
“I am no’—” Saidh bit off the denial, her jaw clenching, and then asked, “Conran, are ye ruined?”
“What?” he asked with surprised amusement. “Nay, o’ course no’.”
“And what o’ you, Rory? Are ye ruined?”
“Don’t be daft, Saidh,” he said with a shake of the head.
“What of the rest o’ ye? Dougall? Niels? Geordie? Alick? Are any o’ ye ruined?” Before they could answer, she added, “Because I’ve seen e’eryone o’ ye, save Aulay, backing giggling maids into corners and tossing up their skirts at Buchanan. So why am I ruined fer tossing up Greer’s plaid?”
“She did no’ toss up me plaid,” Greer assured her brothers when they all turned to glower at him. Just as they began to relax, he added, “I took it off meself the minute I got back to her room.”
“Ye really are trying to get us to kill ye,” Alick said with wonder.
“Mayhap he hopes to escape marrying Saidh that way,” Rory suggested grimly.
“I am no’ marrying anyone,” Saidh snapped.
Sighing, Aulay moved over to take her hands. Expression gentle, he peered into her eyes and said, “Love, if he ruined ye, ye’ll ha’e to marry.”
Saidh frowned. “Do you see me as ruined, Aulay?”
“Nay, o’ course no’, but—”
“Do any o’ ye?” she asked turning her attention to her other brothers. “Do ye somehow see me as less because I did what ye all do?”
“Nay, o’ course not,” Alick said quickly.
“Ne’er, loving,” Rory assured her.
“We do no’ blame ye,” Dougall added. “ ’Tis all our fault fer treating ye like ye were just another brother.”