Page 2 of Laird of Flint
This time Hew didn’t have to pretend offense. “I’ve never killed a man over a woman, and you know it,” he grumbled. Hehadgiven Sithech the butcher a good clout in the nose. But that had been in self-defense.
Logan grinned at him over his cup. “I do know it. I’d just rather see you snarling than moping.”
Hew narrowed his eyes meaningfully at his brother. “Ihavekilled a man for testing my patience before.”
Logan laughed. He wasn’t afraid of his big brother, even though Hew took after their hotheaded mother Helena. Logan had inherited their father Colin’s sense of humor, so he always knew how to incite—and quell—Hew’s rage.
“Hey,” Logan said, nudging him again with his elbow. He paused to finish off his ale, then wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Since you’re nototherwise occupiedwith Anne,” he said, raising his brows twice for effect, “why not come to the field and show me how to do that axe trick?”
“Maybe later.”
While Hew appreciated his brother’s efforts at cheering him up—Logan knew how much Hew loved demonstrating his axe skills—he wasn’t in the mood.
This last heartbreak felt like the culmination of all that had come before. He’d beenso sureabout Anne.So certainthis time he’d found The One, as his cousin Isabel liked to say. True, he’d said that at some point about most of the ladies he’d courted. But this time, he’d meant it. That Anne should so callously reject him for the feeblest of reasons—I fear I grow weary of your companythe missive had said—felt like the final layer of the burial shroud wrapped around his love life.
“Forget her,” Logan advised. “She wasn’t good enough for you. You’ll find another sweetheart soon enough. One more worthy.”
Hew smirked at that. His brother almost always found a way to soothe his aching heart. But this time, Hew didn’t think it was possible. He was weary of lust and loss.
“I’m going to take a vow of chastity,” he decided, only half jesting.
“What?” Logan exploded. “Chastity? How can you say such a thing? You know you’re my hero, right?” He shook his head. “Sard a bard, Hew, you’re only one-and-twenty. Still in your prime.”
Hew grunted. Today he felt like he was one-and-forty.
“On the other hand,” Logan added with sly innuendo, “maybe withyouoff the market,I’llstand a chance.”
“Who’s off the market?” Their mother Helena strode into the room, clutching a rolled parchment in her hand.
“Hew,” Logan told her. “He’s taking a vow of chastity.”
“Chastity?” Helena scoffed. “For how long? Two days? Three?”
“Maybe forever,” Hew grumbled.
“What is it this time?” Helena asked.
“Another broken heart,” Logan supplied.
“Ah. Done with Gormal?” she asked. “I had a feeling that wouldn’t last.”
Hew fumed in silence.
Logan rolled his eyes. “God’s hooks, Ma. Gormal was three sennights ago. Keep up.”
She scowled at Logan in disapproval. Then she arched a damning brow. “Out,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.
Logan trembled in mock fear. Then he called out “Farewell!” to Hew as he gave their mother a comically elaborate salute and made his exit.
When Logan had gone, Helena turned to Hew. Her face was grim. The sort of sober expression that told him she was about to make his day much worse.
“What is it?” he asked, eyeing the scroll she tapped against her thigh.
“News from Laird Deirdre.”
“Ah. How fares my aunt?”
“Well enough, considering.”
