Page 3 of Bride of Mist
There was Gaufrid now. Drunk again. Already, and not yet noon. He leaned against the gate of the wattle fence that bordered the field, beaming, as if pleased by Dougal’s victory.
Dougal knew better.
Gaufrid’s smile might be indulgent. But his eyes simmered with long-burning, deep-seated, rumor-nourished resentment.
His brother wanted nothing more than to see Dougal soundly defeated. Only when Dougal was felled in shame would Gaufrid finally feel like he’d triumphed. Like he’d earned the lairdship. Like he deserved it.
But they both knew Gaufrid wasn’t fit to be laird. Nor would he ever be.
The brothers might be similar in appearance. Both had their mother’s coal black hair and their father’s keen blue eyes. They were striking enough to turn the lasses’ heads. They were tall and powerful in stature, with wide shoulders and commanding voices that demanded attention and deference.
But in character, Dougal was nothing like his brother. Gaufrid was petty, greedy, foolish, insecure, and utterly lacking in empathy. A weak and wheedling bully.
Nonetheless, he was the chosen head of the clan. He deserved Dougal’s deference, if not his respect.
Dougal acknowledged him with a nod. “M’laird.”
The new maidservant, a timid, young red-haired lass, came up beside Gaufrid, bearing a cup on a tray. When she hesitated, Gaufrid seized her roughly by the arm, shoving her through the gate. “Well, go on. Can’t ye see our champion needs refreshment?”
The lass blushed and stumbled toward Dougal. She slowed as she approached, eyeing his claymore with trepidation.
She needn’t have worried. Dougal was nothing like his brother. He didn’t assuage his own inadequacies by browbeating others. And he would never raise his blade—or his hand—to a lass.
To put her at ease, he laid down his sword and hauled off his helm. Scraping the damp locks of his hair back from his sweaty brow, he managed a disarming smile. “Merraid, isn’t it?”
She smiled in pleased surprise. “Aye.”
There was an awkward moment of distraction as she stared up at him in wonder, almost as if she’d forgotten what she was doing.
“Hand me the cup, lass,” he softly warned, “lest ye want to suffer the laird’s disapproval.”
She blinked. “Och. Aye.”
He downed the ale all at once. It soothed his dusty throat. But it couldn’t wash the bitter taste of injustice from his mouth.
It was a travesty that maidservants like Merraid should have to cringe from the laird who was supposed to protect them.
It was outrageous that warriors like those he’d just defeated were driven to murder to keep from starving.
“Go on now,” he urged the lass. She was looking up at him with the sort of lovesick gaze that would only get her into trouble.
As she scurried off, Campbell brought Urramach, saddled and ready, to the field. The destrier had shied at his last battle and was worthless in tournament. But Dougal didn’t have the heart to get rid of him. Besides, the beast loved to run. Dougal took the reins, giving the horse a pat on the neck, and then narrowed his gaze at his brother.
Ordinarily, the daily trouncing that Dougal gave the laird’s warriors tested Gaufrid’s temper. His eyes would glitter with rage. His teeth would grind with frustration. He’d try to wound Dougal with his sharp tongue.
Today he didn’t seem as out of sorts as usual. Instead, he gave Dougal a simpering smirk, looking curiously pleased with himself, as if Dougal hadnotjust defeated his entire army of warriors.
Before Dougal could wonder what his brother’s good mood meant, he heard desperate bellows from the courtyard.
“Help!”
“Come quick!”
He acted at once, snatching up his claymore and tugging Urramach toward the cries.
Gaufrid was still sputtering in confusion when Dougal raced past him to see what was going on.
The two Fortanach brothers stood in the courtyard, bent over and heaving. Sweaty, breathless, and exhausted, they looked as if they’d been chased by a devil. Their faces were smudged with char. Their hair was coated in ash. They reeked of smoke. Their garments were torn and bloody where cloth and skin had been scraped.
