Page 56 of Wedded to the Heartless Highlander
“Sure, sure,” Calvin said, his voice light but laced with mischief. “Ye always look like a thundercloud anyhow, but today ye’re a real storm.”
Hunter couldn’t suppress a smile this time. Calvin was a nuisance, but at least he was a loyal one. “Careful, or ye will find yerself without a job,” he grunted.
Calvin laughed and shook his head, knowing his master was joking.
But by the time they reached the border, the tension in Hunter’s chest hadn’t eased. The guards were already waiting, their expressions a mix of anticipation and concern. They stood at attention as Hunter dismounted, their respect for him palpable.
“Me Laird,” one of the guards, a wiry man named Finn, greeted. “We found somethin’ this afternoon. It’s… odd, like the others.”
“Odd how?” Hunter asked, striding toward the small clearing where the guards had gathered.
Finn led him to a patch of ground that had been trampled, the grass flattened in irregular patterns. In the middle of the disturbance lay a wooden stake, its tip sharpened to a vicious point. Nearby, scattered in the dirt, were remnants of burned fabric—perhaps a banner or signal cloth.
Hunter crouched down, running his fingers over the wood. It was rough-hewn but sturdy, the kind of tool meant to test defenses or lay traps.
“Could be a warnin’,” Finn suggested.
“Or a message,” another guard muttered.
Hunter straightened, his expression grim. “Or a test. Someone could be testin’ our defenses, lookin’ for weaknesses.”
“Do ye think it’s the O’Farlanes again?” Calvin asked, folding his arms across his chest as he surveyed the scene.
Hunter’s jaw tightened. The O’Farlanes had caused trouble before, but this felt different—less overt, more calculated.
“It’s possible, but we’ll nae jump to conclusions. Finn, was there anythin’ else? Tracks or signs of movement?”
Finn nodded. “A few. The men found impressions in the mud headin’ southeast, but they disappeared near the rocky ridge.”
Hunter turned toward the ridge; its jagged silhouette was visible even from here. It was a natural barrier but also a potential blind spot for anyone trying to sneak across the border.
“We’ll search the ridge,” he said, his voice firm. “I want every inch of it scouted. If someone’s testin’ our defenses, we’ll find them out.”
The guards nodded, their respect for him evident.
Hunter had earned their loyalty over years of leading them into battle and protecting their homes, and it showed in the way they readily obeyed his commands.
As they prepared to set out, Calvin sidled up to him, his grin as irreverent as ever. “Ye ken, ye could have let me do the shoutin’. The men already think ye’re a legend.”
Hunter snorted. “A legend doesnae keep borders secure, Calvin. Discipline does.”
“Och, sure.” Calvin smirked. “But a legend gets men to follow without a question.”
Hunter didn’t reply, though he knew there was some truth in Calvin’s words. His men revered him, not just because he was their Laird, but because he didn’t ask them to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.
As they approached the ridge, his mind wandered briefly back to Erica. He could picture her expression if she learned about this—equal parts curiosity and worry. She had a way of demanding answers, of refusing to let him keep her in the dark. It was maddening and endearing in equal measure.
“Me Laird,” Finn called, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Hunter turned to see the guard pointing toward a cluster of rocks near the base of the ridge. There, partially hidden by a fallen branch, was another wooden stake, identical to the first one.
“Another one,” Finn said grimly.
The gravel crunched beneath Hunter’s boots as he approached. He studied the stake carefully, noting its deliberate placement. This wasn’t random—someone was leaving a trail, or issuing a challenge.
“Do ye think they’re tauntin’ us?” Calvin asked, his voice unusually serious.
“Perhaps,” Hunter said, his voice low. “Or they’re leadin’ us into a trap.”
