Gargouille Ch. 02

"Are you okay?" Eyon asked softly, looking intently into her eyes. He saw the instant denial in her large expressive eyes and before she could answer, he squeezed her hand in reassurance.

Bronwyn felt Eyon's sincere touch and hesitated slightly, before nodding. "Thank you."

Though she smiled at them, they could detect a trembling in her voice. Eyon looked over at a now frowning Kieran and sighed loudly. He knew other shifters treated her unfairly due to the nature of what she did, but one thing was clear, Bronwyn loved what she did. Their sense of honor and duty toward their clan, who were like extended family, meant they had to try to help her. One day, she might come to her senses, he hoped.

Eyon's eyes flicked back to her. "You do know that we are always here for you?"

"Thank you," she whispered, "but I am fine." By then, her tears had dried.

Bronwyn attempted another smile. She glanced over at Kieran, his expression was serious again, but less harsh in its scrutiny. He nodded his head in acknowledgement of her thanks, and her face creased in a broad smile.

Both men watched Bronwyn carefully. They knew her too well. But, if she needed any help, they were always available to assist. Their eyes conveyed their compassion and understanding.

"Okay." Eyon replied, deciding to let the matter rest.

Once Bronwyn departed, Kieran looked at his cousin. "Think there'll be more?"

Yes," Eyon replied. Kieran was certain he heard him chuckle under his breath.

.............................

Eyon had instructed their steward, Aodh, to send a message to both Laird McCarran and Laird McClain, saying that he and Kieran were ready to meet with them and discuss the future of Aryan.

The two older men arrived together in their formal wear. They both had an event to attend after their meeting with the Lairds. The large hall was bright, the drapes drawn to let the sunlight in. Despite the sun, it was still cold. The cold, however, had little effect on them. In fact, they fared better in the winter.

Kieran had left instructions with the household saying that they would receive the older Lairds in the upper stateroom of their mansion. He deliberately chose that room because it was airtight and no one would be privy to their conversation. As Eyon and Kieran entered the room, the aura of their power was unmistakably apparent to the awaiting occupants. The pair's sharp eyes scanned the area quickly.

At the far left, facing the mantelpiece, stood another large painting of Eyon's mother Abigail. Eyon's father, Callum, sat in a high-backed chair that was once used by King Henry the VIII. To his father's left stood Aryan's father, Laird McCarran, with a bell-shaped decanter of whiskey in his hands. Also present was Bhaltair of Dunkeld.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Eyon hissed in disbelief. His father had gone too far this time.

Bhaltair was unwelcome in their house after he attempted to rape and beat a female Were. He was later pardoned by some of the elders, after the young girl refused to come forward and testify. But, both men knew he had threatened her to keep her from testifying. With little evidence to support their claim, they had let the matter rest, but not before Eyon had given him a beating that had him bed-ridden for weeks.

"Sire, what is the meaning of this?" Kieran asked tightly, looking over at Eyon's father.

Laird Callum sighed tiredly, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Bhaltair is Aryan's godfather, and as such, he deserves to be here to discuss her future," Callum replied.

"I will not have my daughter bartered off as if she was a ram for slaughter," Laird McCarran suddenly said, as if in a trance, trails of spittle evident on his graying beard.

It was then that Bhaltair decided to speak up, as if someone had asked him to. "I heard both you and Laird Eyon wish to take a human female as a mate instead," he injected. An ugly expression spread across his face, which he tried to unsuccessfully conceal.

"Tell me, fiend, where did you hear of such news?" Eyon demanded angrily, his nostrils flaring, his eyes fiery red. He glared at Bhaltair unflinchingly.

"Speak up, coward, or I'll cut your vile tongue from its base," he barked.

Bhaltair froze, shifting his weight uncomfortably. He visibly paled and began to sweat. He was no match for an angry Laird Eyon, especially coupled with an equally angry Laird Kieran.

Bhaltair stuttered, "I...Excuse me, my Lords, I spoke without thought."

Bhaltair quickly turned away. How could he admit to plying the old hag Manig with alcohol to loosen her tongue so she would relay her visions to him?

"Enough of this incessant talking, we are finished here," snapped Kieran, his face taut and rigid with fury.

"Neither Eyon nor I will tolerate insolence, especially from you, Bhaltair. If you value what's left of your pathetic life, you will leave our house before I do something I will not regret," he managed, livid. With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Bhaltair fled shortly after.

"So, that's the end of it? Neither of you will take Aryan as mate?" Laird McClain asked dryly.

"No," replied Eyon, softly, his face expressionless. "We are sorry, but it's for the best."

Eyon wasn't sure if it was relief or sadness he glimpsed in his father's eyes. He shrugged. Neither he nor Kieran were indifferent to Aryan's feelings. Although they had only met her twice, she was still part of the clan and deserved a proper mate. It was just not either of them.

Both he and Kieran had been steadfast in their conviction not to marry for the sake of the clan. His father and other elder clan members had been disappointed in their decision and had told them as much. But this wasn't the medieval times. Sure, they honored the olden ways, but they wouldn't be pressured into marriage.

Eyon sighed wearily and raked his hands in his hair in frustration. He glanced over at a now drunk Laird McCarran, shook his head in disgust and walked out.