Catriona MacGregor Posted June 4, 2010 Share Posted June 4, 2010 "I forbid it! Do you hear me, Jane Elizabeth MacGregor? Absolutely forbid it!," Cat all but shouted at her 18 year old daughter. "No daughter of mine is going to marry an O'Roarke. Over my dead and rotting corpse!" At 40, Cat still carried the beauty she had been known for in her youth, but the auburn streaks were now assaulted by silver ones, and she blamed each and every one on her four children. "But Mother!," came the reply that had been on Jane's lips for the last half hour as she tried to convince her mother to put aside petty differences for her happiness. "I love Caleb and he loves me. You promised I could marry for love." Adam sat nearby, watching the women in his life battle, admiring the way his looks and his wife's had mingled to make the stunning creature currently giving his wife a raging headache. Jane had Adam's dark hair but her mother's eyes, the willful chin that matched her Uncle Douglas' for stubborness and a willowy form that was reminiscent of her Aunt Aileen. He decided he would let the two duke it out for themselves. It would be dangerous to step between them, what with both knowing how to handle both daggers and swords (and Jane knew how to handle a pistol, a gift that began on her 8th birthday from her Uncle Douglas). "Don't pull that with me, young lady. I don't even know how you met him," Cat fumed, pacing the room. Sitting in a chair next to the fire, her eldest son, Robert MacStuart, sipped his whiskey and enjoyed the show. He had his father's coloring; dark skin, dark hair, the Stuart nose, but he also had a wild streak from his Scottish roots and his mother's eyes. Each of her children did. "Mother, you're not going to change her mind. She's as stubborn as you are. Hell, Jane got a double dose of stubborn, for both you and Da," as he referred to Adam, while Charles Stuart was referred to as Father and only in private, "so she's probably more stubborn than you. And you've always told us, when one of us falls in love, you'll give us your blessing. Can't back out now." Cat whirled on her eldest, her eyes narrowing. "I don't care if you are 22 years old, Robert Henry Adam MacStuart. I brought you into this world and I can take ye oot." Her accent slipped, as it always did, when her temper was flying. Robert shared a glance with Adam, who merely shook his head. "Ye canna be in love with an O'Roarke. Nay, nay, nay." "Aye, aye, aye," came Jane's retort, a perfect imitation of her mother's accent. It was smoother than her uncle Douglas', now a captain in the King's Life Guard. "Don't make me have to go behind your back." A dire threat. Cat gasped, holding her hand to her bosom, her chest heaving. "You'd do that to your poor, old, frail mother?," she asked, incredulously. A snicker sounded from the corner. "Frail, my arse," came the low sound of Urich MacGregor, heir to the Earl of Alyth, and Cat's second son, first with Adam. The picture of the giant Scot, he towered over his siblings and mother, but was just shy of his father's impressive height. He had inherited most of his personality from the older rogue, though. Not an actress on Drury Lane didn't sigh when he walked into a theater, hopes of being his mistress running high. "Mother, you made the King quake in fear of you. Why, even now, King William allows you to get away with whatever you want, and you're not even his mistress." He rose and came to his mother's side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "I'm hungry and dinner is getting cold. Can we not just jump ahead to where you cave, as you always do when we want something with all our hearts, and give your blessings?" Cat grumbled, elbowing her son in his stomach. The large lad gave and inelegant 'oof' and released his mother, who went to stand by Adam. "Do I always cave?" Adam chuckled and grabbed Cat's hand, tugging her down into his lap. Even now, after all these years, he loved to cuddle his little spitfire of a wife. "Aye, ye do, lassie. Caleb's a good lad and while you and his mother have been best of friends and worst of enemies, you know Heather raised a good boy. Just do it. Like Urich said, tis past time for dinner. And I don't want to dodge any flying rolls at the dinner table." A small voice piped up from in front of the fire, where the youngest of the MacGregor children played. A surprise child that had arrived on Cat's 35th birthday, little Douglas looked up with his serious eyes and said, "Can I still throw rolls anyways, Poppa? Can we throw rolls at Jane's wedding? That's much more fun than throwing flowers." Cat sighed. It was 4 against 1. How was she supposed to stand against this? Jane was smart enough not to show her victory on her face, but she knew that sigh. Her mother was going to allow it. She couldn't hold it, though, and shouted, "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Momma!" before flinging herself into her mother's arms and her father's lap. "You won't regret this. I promise." "Tis not my regret I'm worried about," Cat murmured then sighed. Her babies were all growing up and needed to spread their wings. "Alright. Come on. Uncle Douglas and Aunt Fiona and your cousins should be here soon." She wondered how Douglas was going to take this. Probably about as well as she did. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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