some keys, and scrolling some more. “Shay and I already drew up a lineage of everyone on Kinloch, going back several generations, so all I had to do was extend the branches out on those who have left the island over the past, say, fifty years. He spun the laptop back around again so the monitor faced Graham. “There’s a direct link. She’s the veritable needle in a haystack.” He grinned, quite self-satisfied. “And we found her.”
A knot fisted tightly in Graham’s gut. It felt a lot like a noose, tightening around his neck. “Even if I was willing to remotely consider the idiotic idea of pursuing the poor lass—and I’m most emphatically not—what on earth could I say to her that wouldn’t make me sound like an utter loon? I mean, consider it, Roan. Truly. I approach a total stranger, and propose marriage, and if that same well-documented family of hers has even the slightest bit of protectiveness, they’d have me in a white jacket, locked in the nearest tower. And I could hardly blame them.”
He turned to Shay, needing the voice of reason he would surely provide. “Tell him this is utter lunacy.”
Shay didn’t so much as glance at Roan. “You should at least consider it,” he said, leaving Graham momentarily speechless. He lifted his hand before Graham could regroup and lecture them both on the rest of the vast and varied reasons why considering it was the very last thing he was about to do. “Think of it as a contract, of sorts. In fact,” Shay said, his aristocratic features lighting up in a way they rarely did, “I’ll gladly draw up a legal agreement that you can propose with. Approach it like a business deal.”
“Because every woman dreams of being proposed to with a legal document,” Graham said darkly, unable to truly believe he was even having this conversation. “You two canno’ be serious.”
But it only took looking at them to prove that they couldn’t be more serious.
“You have to at least try,” Roan said. “I mean, we did find a candidate. That’s a start—more of a solution to all this than we had before.”
“You’ve both gone stark ravers. Mad as hatters.”
“If you don’t at least try,” Shay said, “there will be nothing to stop Iain from taking over Kinloch, if he decides to show up and claim a MacLeod as a bride. Then everything we’ve all worked for will have been for naught.”
“You were right when you said this wasn’t just about you,” Roan added. “It’s no’ like we all don’t have an ancestor or ten who’ve had to make far greater sacrifices in the name of clan unity and prosperity.”
“Besides,” Shay went on, “there’s nothing in the law that says you can’t dissolve the union at a later time.”
“How much later?” Graham asked, still not actually considering following through on it. He was more set on getting the island to turn the law over than ever before. When he was done, not only would he not have to face the ridiculous stipulation, but neither would any MacLeod or McAuley after him. And it would effectively render Iain’s claim on Kinloch null and void as well. Win-win, the way he saw it.
“The original documents don’t address the topic directly. I suppose because divorce or dissolution of a marriage, especially an arranged one between two clans, wasn’t something that happened often, if ever. Especially in our case, where there was too much riding on the union to allow the participants that kind of luxury.”
“You’re saying none of them ever did? Divorce or dissolve, I mean?”
“I’ve gone all the way back,” Shay said. “Traced it all, looking for loopholes or precedent.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Then shook his head. “No’ a single union ended in anything other than death.”
“And no,” Roan said archly, “you can’t dump her off the cliffs.”
“Very funny.” Graham shook his head, then swore under his breath. “So you’re saying I could dissolve the union, but that I’d be the first in four hundred years to do so. Brilliant.”
“Well, you’re talking about dissolving the pact itself,” Roan said. “Surely if you think our fellow islanders will agree to such a thing, then they’d be equally amenable to you making a mockery of the law all together.”
Graham ducked his chin. He’d never once, in all his years, felt his birthright to be a burden. It was a vital, albeit sometimes difficult life path, but a challenging one he’d taken to with dedicated interest rather than complaint. Yet, in that moment, he’d be a liar if he said the mantle didn’t weigh heavily on his shoulders…and he wished he were merely the scientist farmer he felt himself to be.
“You truly dinnae think they’ll agree to abandon the law, do ye?” he said quietly, as the most likely eventuality sunk in and took hold for the first time. “Even though it might mean the very survival of this island?”
Both Shay and Roan shook their heads. “You could try,” Shay said.
“But, as I said, you’ll be wasting time that could be spent courting one”—Roan shifted the laptop back around and peered at the screen—“Katie McAuley.”
“Which isn’t a guaranteed win, either,” Graham reminded them. “I’m either asking my own clansmen to abandon the auld law, or allow me to make mock of it by finagling a marriage agreement from a woman I’ve never even met.”
“Ye’d hardly be the first in our history to do that,” Roan said. “And she’s no’ exactly hard on the eyes, lad. Have a look. Besides,” he said, his mischievous charm surfacing, “you were the one blessed with the MacLeod good looks and charm. We’d place our bets that you’d be able to win her over. Who knows, perhaps it wouldn’t be in name only. You would make quite the bonny couple.”
Graham scowled at him. He felt far from charming at the moment.
“Go on,” Shay urged. “Have a look. Then decide.”
“I can even pinpoint an exact location and time for you to meet,” Roan said.
“And however would you know that?”
Roan nodded at the screen. “She’s chatted about it with some of her girlfriends.”
“How is it you’re suddenly privy to chats she’s had with her mates?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You really should consider using your own computer for something other than research. Perhaps if you had, we’d already have solved this problem.” He sighed when Graham merely continued waiting a response. “Facebook,” he explained, with exaggerated patience. “It’s all there on her wall.”
“Her what?” Graham waved a hand. “Truly, don’t elaborate. I dinnae want to know. There is work to be done. I can’t be dallying about on some online site, trolling for…” He shuddered, just thinking about it. “Ualraig is likely rolling in his grave right now and I couldn’t blame him. We havnae struggled and fought and worked so hard to have it all hinge on”—he waved his hand in the direction of the laptop—“that. Her.”
“Katie McAuley,” Roan supplied helpfully, clearly undaunted in the face of Graham’s disgust. “She’ll be at the St. Agnes chapel Saturday hence. Half past two. I’d strongly suggest you be there a might bit earlier.”
“At a chapel?” Shay asked.
“Mm
