Page 26 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

The thought sent heat through her chest, though she masked it with a smirk. “Ye would like that, would ye nae? Perhaps ye would find some dark corner in the market.”

His eyes glinted, and he opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“Daenae answer. I already ken.”

She turned, her skirts brushing the flowers, and his voice called behind her, “Lily.”

She stopped and half turned back.

“Thank ye,” he said simply.

Her heart stuttered, and she forced a smirk. “Daenae thank me. I had nay choice, remember?”

“Ye remind me often enough.”

She turned again and walked away, her back stiff, though she felt his gaze burning into her skin until the stables swallowed her whole.

Alasdair watched her go, her figure disappearing beyond the garden paths. She was not aware of the effect she had on him. Perhaps she did and was playing into it.

He exhaled gently, then turned to the man he was training with earlier. “So… where were we?”

The guard shuffled his feet and wiped sweat from his brow, breathing hard. “Perhaps it would be best if we take a break, me Laird?”

Alasdair raised his eyebrows. “A break, huh? For me or for ye?”

The man opened his mouth, but before the words could come out, Alasdair swung his sword hard at him. The guard could barely defend himself as Alasdair hooked his ankle and swept him clean off his feet. The man hit the ground hard, flat on his back, his sword clattering to the side.

“Groan all ye like,” Alasdair said, leaning over him and holding out a hand. “But never let talk distract ye. Nae in battle or in training. Sometimes a single word or even a single thought can be the difference between life and death.”

The guard swallowed, gripping Alasdair’s hand as he pulled him up. “Aye, me Laird. I understand.”

“Good.”

The man brushed dust from his tunic and glanced toward the barrels by the wall. “Shall I fetch ye water, then?”

Alasdair shook his head. “Nay. There are things I must see to first.”

The man nodded, though his mouth opened again as if to argue. Before he could speak, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor that led to the training yard.

Alasdair stiffened. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his sword. He lifted a finger to his lips.

“Quiet,” he whispered.

The guard nodded, his face pale.

Together, they crept toward the sound. Each step was measured, their blades ready, their eyes sharp. The footsteps drew closer, steady and unhurried. Alasdair pressed his back against the stone wall and waited until the shadow loomed.

“One… two… three,” he hissed.

They leapt out together, their blades raised.

“Saints preserve us!” a voice bellowed. Nathan stumbled back, his hands raised in alarm. “It is me!”

Alasdair halted, his sword still in hand. His jaw clenched. “Bloody hell, Nathan. Must ye enter like a thief? Announce yerself next time, or one day ye will end up skewered.”

Nathan frowned, lowering his hands. “I have never had to announce meself before.”

“Aye, and I have never been shot at by an archer before,” Alasdair snapped. “But it happened once, and once is all it takes to change everything. Daenae give me another scare like that.”

Nathan’s mouth tightened, and he inclined his head. “As ye say, me Laird. I apologize.”

Alasdair exhaled and lowered his sword. “What is it?”

“I come with news,” Nathan said.

Alasdair turned to the guard beside him. “Go. Bring water.”

The guard nodded and hurried away, leaving them alone in the yard.

Alasdair fixed Nathan with a sharp look. “Well?”

Nathan shifted his weight. “I spoke with the villagers again. I heard the same grumblings. The same doubts about yer place as Laird. Some whisper that the clan is cursed. Others blame yer wife. It is nothing new.”

Alasdair’s teeth ground together. “Aye. Finn said the same.”

“But there is more.” Nathan’s voice dropped as he stepped closer. “I caught a whisper from a woman in the market. She only told me because her son lies in the wounded hall and Lady MacRay herself treated him. She said she owed her a favor.”

Alasdair’s heart sank. “What did she tell ye?”

Nathan’s eyes hardened. “There is talk of another attack. Nae just against ye this time, but against ye both . Ye and Lady MacRay. And they plan to do it on the night of the cèilidh.”

Alasdair froze. “Nay. Ye are certain?”

“There is nay way to be certain when it comes to whispers,” Nathan admitted. “But I believe the woman spoke the truth. She had nothing to gain by lying. And if there is even the smallest chance that it is true, we must act as though it is.”

Alasdair dragged a hand down his face, his palm rough against the stubble on his jaw. “They would be fools to stage an attack in the heart of me own castle,” he said. “And on the night of the cèilidh? With half the clan gathered?”

“They may be fools,” Nathan relented. “But they daenae care for their lives. All they care for is seeing ye fall. And they ken that striking at yer wife would wound ye more than any blade.”

The words twisted deep, and Alasdair’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.

Nathan lowered his voice. “Me Laird, we should cancel the cèilidh. It is the only way to ensure yer safety and hers.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

Alasdair’s gaze drifted to the garden wall, to where Lily had stood not long ago. He could still see her face, still hear her laughter. The thought of her in danger again, the thought of arrows cutting through the air toward her, made his chest clench until he could barely breathe.

“Cancel it…” he muttered.

He ran a hand through his damp hair. The thought gnawed at him. Canceling the cèilidh would most likely protect her. But it would also confirm every whisper that he was weak. That his clan was divided and that fear ruled him.

Nathan stepped closer. “It might be the only way. Safety must come before pride.”

Alasdair sucked in a sharp breath and was about to speak when the guard returned, carrying a wooden cup. He offered it with a bowed head.

“Water, me Laird.”

Alasdair took it and drank deeply, the cool liquid easing the burn in his throat, though it could not calm the fire in his chest. He lowered the cup and met Nathan’s eyes again.

“I will think about it,” he said.

Nathan frowned. “There is nothing to think about?—”

“I said I will think about it,” Alasdair cut him off. “And that is final.”

Nathan’s jaw tightened. He gave a short nod and turned on his heel, leaving the training yard.

Alasdair stood alone, his sword heavy in his hand. He lifted the cup again, drained the last of the water, and listened to the echo of his heart. It pounded hard, steady, and relentless, as if it, too, sensed the danger drawing near.