Page 62 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
The man went inside the hut, and Grant wrenched his arm free. Gesturing with his head, he began to move toward the hut, and he sensed the guards flanking him. McWirthe’s nephew, who was faster than all of them, was already behind the hut.
Only when Grant was sure that the slippery bandit could not escape again did he step inside.
The man whirled around and lifted a butcher’s knife, sneering at Grant. “Ye picked the wrong house, boyo.”
“Did I?” Grant asked as he lifted his own blade.
The man went as white as the chicken feathers on the table, and he stumbled, his back hitting the wall hard. His blade fell from his hand, hit the ground point first, and remained there, shivering with a high whine.
“The Laird. Nay, I was—” His eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh, Banrose is full of bloody snakes, ain’t it? Always lookin’ after their own hide.” His lips curled into a strange smile. “Cannae escape yer destiny, lad. Nay matter how much ye try to outrun yer faither’s dark shadow, it’s right there at yer heels.”
“Is that so?” Grant asked.
“Aye, and one always waits by the door,” the man said and suddenly threw a blade at him.
But Grant easily dodged it, then threw his sword at the bandit, who’d been attempting to stand up. It drove right through his chest, and the man wheezed out a laugh, grinning at Grant through a mouthful of blood.
“Nay escape from the devil, boyo.”
And then, his head lolled to the side, the light leaving his eyes.
Grant approached him and pulled his sword free as his men filed inside. The strong smell of whisky invaded his nostrils, and he shook his head.
“That was uncanny, nay?” McWirthe asked quietly as he joined him and nudged the man’s leg with his boot. “Bletherin’ on. Never heard a man who was afraid of ye mock ye.”
“Aye,” Grant uttered, slightly disquieted. “Look into this.”
“Och, ye’re both fussin’ for nothin’,” Reuben drawled. “He was a drunk and a bit mad. It’s well-kenned, Me Laird. I told ye this.”
Grant and McWirthe exchanged a glance, one that they usually shared on the battlefield when they sensed that there was more work to be done. That the quiet was heralding a coming storm.
His man-at-arms nodded at him, and Grant relaxed slightly, knowing he’d look into it.
“Burn the body,” Grant ordered and turned on his heel. “And have the men tear down these damned huts.”
With that, he strode out of the rotten room and into the early evening. Stars were appearing overhead, and he pulled in a deep breath, grateful that at least this part was over.
“Thank ye,” he said to the maid, who was clutching a guard’s arm. He glanced at his guard. “Take her home, lad.”
They took off, while Grant decided to make his way through the village. He stuck to the shadowed paths he’d once known, though Banrose Village had grown considerably in his absence.
Everything was at peace here. No one knew what had happened back in the abandoned huts. They did not suspect ruin still dogged them.
No.So long as I live, this village will be safe.
And he would destroy anyonewho might threaten that, no matter who they were.
Grant took longer to return to the castle than he meant to, and night had fallen, with a crescent moon hanging low over the loch. A breeze rolled in from the sea, warm and inviting, but soon spring would end, and summer would come—and he wanted none of it.
These two nights would pass too soon.
He thought then of Laird MacLarsen and how he’d married a lass the Queen had not chosen. She was Emma’s twin sister, to be sure, but from what he’d heard, the lass had told him at the altar what her true name was. How Matthew Wells had attempted to deceive him, how she had been raised in a convent, and yet MacLarsen had still chosen her.
Something about that gnawed at Grant’s chest, an idea that he did not dare to voice yet.
Not until he saw Emma waiting at the front doors, wearing a silver-blue gown, her eyes round and wide. She tried to surreptitiously wipe her tears away, but he could have told her it was no use.
She did not come down the steps as he approached. He slowly climbed up the stairs and paused a step below her, not caringwho saw him. He was nearly at her eye level, but she was simply too petite.
