Page 45 of Trapped with the Vicious Highlander
“It has never hurt anyone to check, M’Laird,” Darach had responded, and of course, Brodrick had let him leave.
He should be in the armory by now and see that nothing was wrong. In a few minutes, he should walk through the door and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to help Brodrick put a stop to the arguing.
“Enough!” Brodrick called, his voice slightly louder than before but still not enough. It was immediately drowned out by the voices of the loud men, all arguing strategies with each other.
He rested his elbows on the wooden table before him, rubbing his temples and feeling the noise echo in his skill. His head started to pound, and for a second, he wondered if he could just leave the room and head to Irene to ask for something strong.
The smell of wood and leather permeated the room, accompanied by the voices of almost thirty men trying to speak over each other. He looked out the window behind him, which overlooked the cleaner part of the courtyard. The place was filled with nothing but fresh grass, a few dry logs, and a metal swing he had placed there when?—
He swallowed. Now was not the time to start thinking aboutthat. For now, he needed to find a way to keep his men quiet. Deciding to resort to the very last weapon in his arsenal after calling for order twice, he reached for the handle of a small dagger attached to his belt, pulled it out, and threw it as hard as he could across the room.
The dagger whizzed through the air, barely missing the faces of some of the men who had suddenly frozen in shock, before landing on a metal plate attached to the wall on the opposite side of the room.
The silence that followed was extremely thick as all heads turned to the metal plate. They watched the knife fall flat on the ground right before them, and whatever words they were about to say died on their tongues.
Brodrick was a sharpshooter. One of the best, if not the best in the entire clan. He knew how to shoot a crossbow, how to throw a knife, and how to make sure the knife did as much damage as he wanted it to. If his knife grazed, it was because he wanted it to graze, and if his knife killed, it was because he wanted it to kill.
The silence grew even thicker as the men slowly turned their heads away from the knife and to Brodrick himself.
“Somebody get me that knife,” he called, his voice cutting through the thickening silence in the room.
One of his men, who almost got cut in the face by the blade, reached for the knife, grabbed it, and walked straight towards him.
“Now that I have yer attention,” Brodrick continued, taking the knife from the man, “I would like to say that I can see very clearly that what we’re currently doin’ isnae workin’.”
He was met with even more silence.
Usually, his men would descend into more arguments, but he must have really rattled them this time.
As he opened his mouth to speak again, Darach walked in, his face glistening with perspiration. He crossed the room straight to Brodrick.
“And?” Brodrick prompted, raising his eyebrows as his man-at-arm sat down beside him.
“It was just as ye said, M’Laird.”
“Of course. If only ye believed what I said.”
“Never hurts to be careful,” Darach responded.
Brodrick turned back to his men. “We need a change of strategy. We have been burnin’ through villages, lookin’ for the man who killed me wife and kidnapped me daughter, and yet we havenae found him. Why do ye think?”
Silence descended over the room.
“Nay one?”
Even more silence.
“I’ll tell ye. Because news gets to that bastard before us. So he always has the time to prepare. We raze through several villages once a day. We burn and burn and burn the roofs of several houses and search several abandoned castles, yet we never find him. The reason is easy—we are too predictable. And that needs to change.”
“We could start attackin’ the villages from the back of the Scottish border instead of the front like we usually do, M’Laird,” one of the men, Gavin, suggested.
“Nay. It willnae work. It will be the same thing. Do ye nae see? He doesnae need to escape to the border. He can just go back to the villages we have razed.”
“We may post guards at each village once we leave. If he returns, they can keep him prisoner and send word.”
“M’Laird, we dinnae ken what he looks like. How will they ken who to imprison?”
“What if he’s stronger than them? What if he kills them?” another man asked.
