Page 2 of The Highlander's Auctioned Hellion
“M’Laird?”
“The girls, Eilis and Amy. Are they well?”
He tried to keep the worry from his voice, but it was impossible to banish the emotion he felt at the thought of those twin girls. All he could remember was them screaming when he had gone to say goodbye—and the terror in their eyes at his freshly scarred face.
Duncan shook his head. “I dinnae ken, M’Laird. We will have to find out when we get there.”
“And who says we’re goin’?” Callum snapped, but Duncan just gave him a wry smile and continued on his way.
Callum wanted to punch his fist through the wall.
Stay in a crumbling ruin or answer me braither’s call? Remain in the darkness, or swallow me hatred and me pride and help me nieces live a good life.
He swore, watching the door close behind Duncan’s retreating back.
Callum turned, stomping back toward his bedchamber, irritated to find that his servants knew him better than he knew himself.
So much for never going back there. It seems I have nay choice.
The journey was shorter than he remembered.
When he had fled his family home, galloping over the boggy marshes and away to his grandparents’ castle, it had felt like an eternity before he arrived.
The dark shape of the castle in the distance made its presence known all too soon.
Once, he had known these lands like the back of his hand, but now they felt like foreign soil.
It all felt unknown and alarming in a way he hadn’t expected.
Has the world always been this big? I’m sure the sky was nae this wide before.
Murray Castle stuck out from the flat horizon ahead of him like an arrowhead in a bog, the familiar dark silhouette sending a wave of emotion through his body. He pushed it aside with callous efficiency.
The castle seemed smaller, less magnificent, now that he was returning to it as an exile.
What if this is all a trap, and when I get there, they are waitin’ to execute me?
But as the horse’s hooves clattered into the courtyard, the sight that greeted him was achingly normal.
Servants bustled about over the cobbled stones. A blacksmith was working on a horse’s shoe beside one wall, the sharp grinding of his stone loud across the air.
Callum took in the servants who scurried out of his way, but his eyes were drawn to one man in particular, standing tall and still in the center of the courtyard.
Alexander Monteith. The treacherous swine himself.
Callum dismounted from his horse, keeping the man in his sights.
To his credit, Alexander was no coward; he stood his ground, waiting for Callum to reach him. His long, red hair was tied back in a simple knot, broad shoulders tense, as if expecting a confrontation.
There was a strange kind of stalemate as they came level with one another. Alexander’s dark brown eyes lingered on the deep scars on Callum’s face, his throat moving as he swallowed nervously.
But then, after almost a full minute of silence, Alexander stepped forward, and Callum jolted back in surprise as the man embraced him.
The first human contact he had felt of such a kind in years. He was initially so shocked by it that he barely registered what was happening.
Then, he pulled himself roughly away, glaring at Alexander as his old friend retreated.
“M’Laird,” Alexander said reverently, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “It is good to see ye.”
