Page 68 of The Highlander's Virgin Nun
The men looked at one another and tried to come to a silent agreement. But Caelan had a different plan.
“Each of ye will whisper the amount ye were paid in me man-at-arms’ ear. If ye all name the same price, then that is what we will go with. I will pay ye a bigger sum. If ye name different prices, the one who names the highest price gets his throat slit.”
The men’s bodies tensed further. They stared dead ahead now, not daring to look at one another for fear of seeming like they were scheming. Jayden collected their prices, and the plan worked. Caelan offered them a pittance more, and they succumbed.
“All right, who wants to share?”
Caelan saw the fattest of the men gulp, and sweat beaded on the brow of another.
“Ye only get yer money in exchange for the name, lads. We have an agreement here.”
He waited, and still, no one spoke. They were all trembling with nerves.
“Ye’re nae goin’ to like it, Sinclair,” the man who had come wielding two swords finally spoke.
“I’m sure I can handle it. Humor me,” Caelan said, smirking.
“It’s yer uncle. Harrison.”
And just like that, his smirk fell.
* * *
Caelan sat in the Great Hall alone. He had his sword on the table in front of him and a dagger in his hand. He twirled the handle on the table, spinning the blade so that the tip traced a circle on the tip of his finger. His touch was so light that the blade did not cut him, but if he pressed even a little, a droplet of blood would bead on his fingertip.
He waited patiently for his uncle to be brought to him, kicking and screaming.
“Let me go! Do ye ken who I am?!”
The shouts echoed through the corridors long before Harrison was dragged into the Great Hall, and Caelan leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck. He listened to the voice that had been present in his life for as long as he could remember.
While mostly unpleasant and never very close, his uncle had always been around. Now, Caelan understood why his father had kept him at arm’s length, if not further.
“What is the meanin’ of this, Caelan?” Harrison barked as he was shoved into the Great Hall by two burly guards.
“Uncle,” Caelan drawled as the man threw his arms about like a gigantic toddler. “Nice of ye to show yer face.”
“What is goin’ on, Caelan? How dare they treat me like this? I am the uncle of the Laird!”
“Ah.” Caelan tsked, still spinning his blade beneath his finger, amused that the brute hadn’t even taken the weapons in front of him as a threat. “That was yer justification, was it nae? Think that yer blood bought ye somethin’? Somethin’ that yer mind was never good enough to afford?”
“Excuse me?” Harrison growled through bared teeth, spittle flying from the side of his mouth.
“Ye can release him now,” Caelan instructed the guards, who let go of the man’s arms and left.
Harrison charged towards where Caelan sat and slammed his fat, grubby hands on the table. “How dare ye speak to me like that!”
“I, Uncle, will speak to ye however I like.” Caelan drove his dagger into the table, right between Harrison’s forefinger and middle finger, causing him to jump in fright. “As yer Laird and everyone else’s. Despite yer many attempts to have me killed.”
At that, Harrison dropped the act, and his fury transformed into hatred. His cheeks relaxed, his brow smoothed, and a hint of bloodthirst entered his eyes. His hand darted to his belt, from which he quickly drew a sword, but Caelan was already on the table, his own sword in hand, swinging down at Harrison.
“The Lairdship is mine!” Harrison bellowed, swerving out of the way just in time and backing up.
Caelan leaped from the table and slashed Harrison’s free arm.
“If it was yers, me faither would have passed it to ye. He gave it to me!” he shot back, taking another jab and slicing into Harrison’s side.
His uncle’s face reddened with rage. He lunged forward with an almighty swing from his unharmed side, and his blade cut through Caelan’s side. Blood seeped into his shirt slowly, but it was not enough to end him. He had sustained worse injuries.
