The younger man panted as he came to a stop. It looked as if he’d run the entire way from where he came.
Ewan turned from the sheepherder, who was giving him a detailed accounting of McCabe stocks, and frowned.
“What is amiss, Owain?”
“ ’Tis Lady McCabe. The entire hall is in an uproar. She’s ordered a group of your men to take over the women’s duties!”
“What?” Ewan demanded. Then he put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath. “Tell me exactly what goes on, Owain.”
“Heath angered her but I don’t know what transpired, Laird. She’s ordered him and the group of men with him to do the washing! And the cooking! God help us all. And cleaning the kitchens and the floors …”
Owain broke off, winded, and then plowed forward again. “They’re all ready to revolt because your brothers can’t control the lass.”
Ewan frowned and swore under his breath. Heath was a hotheaded young soldier who’d only recently come to the McCabes. He was a bastard son of Laird McKinley—one of many—who’d been unacknowledged by his father before the laird’s death. The result was that he had no home. Ewan had gathered such men over the years, adding to his numbers when so many of his own clan had been eliminated by Duncan Cameron’s attack.
Ewan had already had problems with Heath and a group of younger, cocky, arrogant soldiers who had allied themselves with Heath shortly after his arrival.
They’d been disciplined before, and Ewan had already decided that it would be his last effort to turn them into McCabe warriors.
If Heath was involved, it couldn’t be good. Match him to Ewan’s equally hotheaded wife and an explosion was sure to follow.
“Where are my brothers?” Ewan demanded.
“They’re with Lady McCabe in the hall. ’Tis a very tense situation, Laird. There was a moment that I feared for the safety of Lady McCabe.”
That was all Ewan needed to hear. He ran for the hall, and as he rounded the corner into the courtyard, he saw all of his men, who had been out training, standing still, their heads cocked as they listened to the din coming from inside the keep.
Ewan shoved past them, vaulted up the steps, and barged into the hall.
The scene before him was chaos. A group of younger soldiers was across the room, surrounded by Ewan’s brothers and Mairin and Gertie.
Cormac and Diormid were being roundly scolded by Gertie. Gertie was so riled that she shook a spoon at the two men and managed to hit them with it about every third stroke. Alaric and Caelen both wore expressions of fury as they sought to place Mairin behind them. But she was having none of it.
What caught Ewan’s attention, however, was Mairin, who stood in the middle of the fray, her face so red from anger that she looked fair to exploding. She was on tiptoe, shouting insults at Heath from around Gannon, who was also valiantly trying to keep her at a distance.
Heath’s face was purple with rage. The lass had no idea the danger she’d put herself in. But Ewan knew. He’d witnessed the younger man’s brash temper more than once. Ewan had already started across the room when he saw Heath raise his hand.
Ewan let out a roar, drew his sword, and launched himself over the remaining space. Mairin ducked, but Heath’s fist still grazed her jaw as she turned away. She went flying back just as Ewan slammed into Heath.
If Caelen and Alaric hadn’t pinned both Ewan’s arms back, he would have killed the younger man on the spot. As it was, Heath lay sprawled on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.
Ewan twisted in their grip but they wouldn’t let him go. “Leave off!” he roared.
They wrestled him back several paces before he finally managed to break their hold. He yanked his arm away and went to where Mairin was picking herself up off the floor.
He caught her elbow and helped her to her feet. Then he cupped her chin and turned it up so he could see her jaw.
“He barely touched me,” Mairin whispered. “Truly, Ewan, it doesn’t pain me at all.”
Fury sizzled over his skin. “He had no right to touch you at all! He’ll die for this offense.”
He dropped his hand from her face and then turned to fix the rest of the room with his glare. “Can someone tell me what in God’s name is going on?”
Everyone started talking at once. Ewan closed his eyes and then roared for silence. He turned to Mairin. “You tell me what happened here.”
She glanced down at her hands but not before he saw the betraying quiver of her lip.
“I’ll tell you, Laird,” Diormid said loudly as he stepped forward. “She ordered Heath, Robert, Corbin, Ian, and Matthew to take on the tasks of the women.” The disbelief and outrage Diormid felt on behalf of his men was evident. “She instructed them all to do the cooking and the cleaning and the scrubbing of the floors!”
Ewan watched as Mairin’s expression went flat. Her lips drew into a thin line, and then she simply turned away and would have walked out of the hall if Ewan hadn’t quickly caught hold of her arm to prevent her departure.
“Lass?” he asked pointedly.
Her chin wobbled, and she blinked furiously. “You’ll just yell, Laird, and I have no desire to be humiliated again in front of my clan.”
“Tell me what happened,” he said in a stern voice. He was determined that he not show weakness in front of his men. What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss those trembling lips. She was on the verge of tears, and he’d do damn near anything to prevent her crying.
But what he had to do was be fair and disciplined. He had a duty to everyone involved to be fair and impartial, which meant that if his wife had hatched another of her hare-brained schemes, he was destined to make her cry.