Page 39 of Love Beyond Time (Morna’s Legacy #1)

Donal MacChristy found himself unable to sit still.

He felt an unexplainable sense of unease as he paced back and forth down the halls of his castle.

He suspected this was what life felt like for the many ghosts that roamed the halls of the ancient castle, and when he unexpectedly collided with a figure around the corner he thought momentarily that perhaps he’d run into a real one.

He started at the sight of his most trusted housekeeper, Blaire’s old maid and tutor, reeling back from the impact. “What are ye doing awake at this time o’ night, lass? Ye should have been away long before now.”

The elderly woman nodded and extended a plaid cloth in his direction, nearly screaming to accommodate the laird’s bad ear. “Aye, perhaps. I’ve no been sure whether I should show ye something, but I’ve decided tis best that I do.”

Donal took the strip torn from the bottom of a kilt into his hands and turned it over as the sense of unease crept back into his mind. “Where did ye find this?”

“It was in the bedchamber of the lad that came from Conall Castle.”

“Aye?” The colors on the tartan were not the same as the Conall colors.

“Aye, sir. And there is something else as well, sir.”

“Get on with it then. Tell me please.”

“When the lad set out this afternoon, he didn’t ride in the direction of Conall Castle. He rode in the opposite direction. I thought it odd at the time, but when I found this in the room, my suspicions grew. Are these no the colors of Ramsay Kinnaird?”

Donal instantly understood, and his heart nearly stopped for fear of his daughter and allies. “Christ, the bastard’s fooled us! Sound the alarm and gather all the men at once. We must ride for Conall Castle immediately and hope they are no all dead already!”

* * * Conall Castle

Once Arran was certain Eoin was retired for the evening and Ramsay and his men had set up camp, he quietly snuck away to the dungeon to continue his interrogation of the runaway.

Arran had stood quietly in the castle’s main entrance, listening to Ramsay’s story, and while it was worrisome, there was an untruth laced in Ramsay’s sad words and somber face that Arran could see—even if Eoin was too besotted with his wife to see anything else clearly.

His brother was a good man, better than himself, but at least Arran knew that sometimes a person’s eyes told more truth than their mouth.

Eoin was too trusting of the man their father had called friend, but Arran could see the almost pleased expression in Ramsay’s eyes as he told Eoin his tale of woe.

And he was now more certain than ever that the lad he kept in the dungeon knew something about what was going on.

“It seems that yer master has already attacked one of our allies. Why did ye no tell us that he would attack other territories as well?” Arran twisted the leather and wood contraption he’d laced around the runaway’s arm, popping the lad’s shoulder out of socket.

The runaway screamed in agony before choking out a response. “He’s no my master.”

Arran smiled at the small progress. “Nay? Well, that’s a start at the truth.

Let me leave ye with something to encourage ye to tell me the rest.” Arran wrapped the leather around the man’s other arm and quickly twisted the wooden handle until a snapping sound caused the man to nearly pass out from pain.

“I’ll visit ye in the morning, and if ye are nay ready to tell the truth, expect to lose some of yer less necessary bits, piece by piece.”

Even if he had to kill the bastard, the truth of what the lad knew would come out tomorrow.