Page 60 of The Highlander's Auctioned Bride
James made his way to the village dressed in farming clothes, trying to blend in as much as possible.
He knew that many in the village would recognize him if they saw him in his house colors or in the context of the castle, but he’d wager with his hair tied back and ordinary clothes; they might not be so quick to notice him.
He intended to search the taverns and alehouses in town and ask around. The clan was small enough that a newcomer with a scar down his face would have been remembered. Everyone had to sleep; it could be that he’d taken a bed for the night somewhere close by.
James was well aware that his choice of bride had ruffled a few feathers. In truth it had ruffledhisfeathers—he had certainly not expected to wed Maisie when he first met her.
But there was no excuse for the type of attack she had endured. Images of her slumped over Lily’s back with an arrow in her heart, blood streaming over that white coat, kept flitting through his mind. He would find the culprit and make an example of him.
The third establishment he entered was far less pleasant than the first two, and exactly the kind of place he’d been hoping for. It was at the back end of the town, under a black awning that used to be some kind of apothecary. The pub smelled of chemicals and something musty and unpleasant that stung his nostrils.
He took a seat at the bar, bought a pint of ale, and looked around at the patrons. Many were elderly men sitting in groups, stooped over their tankards, or discussing the state of the world. All of them were tired and run down—this was just the type of place the man might come.
As he sat there nursing his pint, he became aware of a man in the corner, slumped over his drink, a knife held at the tip in hisfingers as he spun it repeatedly into the wood. The light was not good enough to see him well.
James stayed perfectly still waiting for the man to catch his eye. As soon as he did, his fingers tightened on the handle of his knife, and after the briefest pause, he made a run for it.
James launched himself from his stool in pursuit.
He barged through the door and into the street, seeing the fleeing figure several houses down from him. James was impressed that someone so wide could move so fast.
Unfortunately for the scarred man, however, James knew the town like the back of his hand. He skipped sideways down an alley, coming out by a rear wall where he sprinted down another street and cut the man off before he could turn right.
James drew his sword, but the man was ready for him. He did not stop, throwing his sword arm up with a clash of steel as he ran past James and through a dark street with barely any illumination.
Wary of a trap, James followed him, his sword still out, his eyes looking into every corner for any other opponents.
He rounded the corner and saw the fellow trip ahead of him. He sprawled onto the floor but was on his feet in seconds. James was too quick for him and kicked his legs from under him as the man hollered loudly.
James flipped him onto his front, binding his hands in a makeshift knot and dragging him across the uneven flagstone to the edge of a small fountain.
James placed the tip of his sword at the man’s throat.
“Who paid ye?”
The man spat on the blade. “Go to the devil.”
“I will ask ye only once more, and I may spare yer life. Who sent ye after me wife, ye dinnae look intelligent enough to come up with that plan yerself.”
“Ye dinnae ken a thing,me laird.Ye should watch those closest to ye,” the man said cryptically.
“Tell me who paid ye!” James bellowed, and the man cackled gleefully just as James saw a flash of metal at his belt as he tried to bring a blade up and into his thigh. With little thought, James sliced his sword through the man’s throat. Blood spurted as he collapsed to the ground.
James stared ahead of him, furious that he had had his suspicions confirmed. It was a member of his staff or council who had betrayed him. He was sure of it. He looked down at the dead man at his feet, and his heart pounded with unsatisfied rage.
Who would wish to hurt her? Who would be so bold as to try?
CHAPTER 22
“Just let me by, Harris, please,”Maisie begged as she stood at her doorway in the early hours of the morning.
When James had not returned, she had grown increasingly worried. Eventually, she’d managed to drag herself to the door of her room, assuming at such a late hour that Harris would have taken a rest or gone to sleep.
She had inched the door open a crack only to be met by a highly unimpressed stare and Harris standing before her with his legs spread apart, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Laird’s orders, miss.”
“But where is he?” she asked.
