Page 27 of Married to the Cruel Highlander (Unwanted Highland Wives #5)

27

T he mist rolled over on itself, hovering above the loch with menacing intensity as Keith and Ciaran rounded the last bend in the trail. Their horses eased into a slower gait, their breaths misting in the morning chill.

Keith had taken them along the narrow rise that curved around the southern edge, the best vantage point to see the width of the loch and the faint shimmer of the castle across the water. They had reached the side of the loch closest to the southern border.

Ciaran sat straight in the saddle, his posture easy but watchful. “She means to leave me service, ye ken?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “Who does?”

Ciaran’s lips thinned as he tilted his head to give Keith an exasperated look.

Ersie, of course.

It was plain on her brother’s face, and it made Keith chuckle lowly.

The thought of her hit him square in the chest, though he managed to keep his tone even. “She’s said nothin’ to me.”

“Aye, well, she’s said nothin’ to me either,” Ciaran said, pulling his horse to a halt. “She told Laura, and Laura told me.”

Keith pulled Brannoc alongside Ciaran’s stallion, the leather reins creaking beneath his gloves. “Why?”

Ciaran shrugged, but there was a hard glint in his eyes. “It’s just time that she does, that’s all.”

Keith didn’t respond immediately.

His mind was racing too quickly for his tongue to keep up. The idea of Ersie leaving the keep, the investigation, him—it lit a slow fire of panic in his gut.

Ciaran continued, his voice low, measured, “She’s been at it longer than most. And now that Laura and I are settled, there’s less need for her to guard me. Less excuse for me nae to find a man -at arms.”

Keith looked away, focusing instead on the small waves lapping at the shore. The loch was calm, deceptively so, and the serenity of the scene clashed violently with the storm now building behind his ribs.

Ciaran tossed a small stone into the loch. It skipped once and then sank into the deep. “It’s time she… aligns herself with someone. Permanently.”

Keith’s jaw tensed. He heard the unspoken meaning.

Align herself. Settle down. Marry.

He glanced sideways, but Ciaran only offered a faint smirk and an arched eyebrow.

“Is that so?” Keith said finally.

“Aye, she’s put it off long enough— her words, nae mine.”

They said nothing for a long moment, both men staring out over the shimmering surface of the loch. A thin breeze ruffled the tall grass. The same wind that stirred the water now tugged at the collar of Keith’s coat, cool and insistent.

He inhaled the scent of pine and damp earth, but underneath it all, there was something else. Something fainter. A memory.

Her skin, warm and slick from the bath. Her curves pressed against him. The look in her eyes right before he’d kissed her. The fire she ignited within him without ever meaning to.

He let the image linger for a while. His hands curled tightly around the reins as he tried to ground himself.

“I thought she’d stay,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

“She might,” Ciaran replied, watching him carefully, “if she has reason enough.”

Keith turned that over in his head.

Reason enough. Am I reason enough?

He wasn’t sure what that even meant. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to ask her to stay, even silently. Especially after everything he’d allowed to happen between them. Everything he ’d started.

Ciaran was silent beside him, lazily tossing another stone into the loch. “I’ve never seen her this unsettled. She’s restless. Like she’s reachin’ for somethin’ and doesnae quite ken if she should take it.”

Keith swallowed.

That sounds familiar.

“I thought I kenned her better than most,” Ciaran continued, “but these past few days, it feels like I’ve barely scratched the surface. Laura kens her better. Much as it pains me, maybe Doughall and Freya ken her best of all.”

“Aye,” Keith said quietly. “She’s… more than I expected.”

“She always has been. Most folks are too thick to see it.”

Keith cracked a small smile, but it didn’t last. The weight of what Ciaran had said pressed on his chest. If Ersie was thinking of leaving her brother’s service, it meant that she didn’t feel rooted as a warrior anymore.

“Ye said she mentioned this. When? Did she send a letter recently?”

“Och, nay. It was months ago. Back when Laura and I announced that she was with child.”

“I see…”

Keith raked a hand through his hair, dislodging the tie that held it back. His thoughts were unraveling at the same pace. The thought of Ersie on her own was suffocating.

A long moment passed, then another.

The breeze picked up again, rustling the reeds along the water’s edge. Keith turned slightly, and he could swear he heard it—her voice. Carried on the wind like a ghost. No words, just a tone, a shape. One only he would recognize. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He closed his eyes, let it settle.

Ciaran broke the silence first. “So… ye told me ye had a couple of prisoners? Ye never said what came of that.”

Keith exhaled and turned his gaze back to the loch. “Red Hugh’s name came up again.”

Ciaran’s eyebrow rose. “That boggart is still breathin’?”

“Aye. Breathin’, thrivin’. I’d wager he’s workin’ under someone now, though. He hasnae got the mind for strategy. Brutality, aye. But strategy, nay.”

“What makes ye think he’s involved at all?”

Keith’s grip tightened on the reins. “The lad Ersie stopped me from killin’—he mentioned the name. He didnae say much, but it was enough. And the lads we have… they, too, said it like it meant somethin’ more than just family.”

Ciaran nodded slowly. “So we’re thinkin’ this protection is loyalty to Red Hugh?”

“Or someone Red Hugh owes. Either way, the lines lead to the same place.”

Ciaran studied his face. “Ye think this ties back to the bairn?”

Keith met his gaze. “I’d bet me name on it. If Red Hugh or his brutes had any hand in that night, then I’ll drag them through every circle of hell until I have answers.”

Ciaran gave a slow nod, his jaw set. “Then we ride to him. Speak with him. If he’s protectin’ someone, then we should ken who. And why.”

Keith’s nod was a fraction slower, his mind already racing ahead. “Lucas and I are meant to cross into Airdhollow today. I told Ersie to stay behind—he’s much too dangerous.”

“Aye, I’ll go too. Two lairds are better than one, especially for a scoundrel like Red Hugh. Let him panic for a bit.”

Keith chuckled, and Ciaran joined him. “Aye.”

“Ye ken she’s going to follow us.”

“Aye.” Keith nodded his head, crossing his arms. “I ken that well enough, Ciaran.”

They stood in silence a while longer, the only sound the wind and the distant lapping of water. But Keith’s thoughts had long since left the loch. They were with her .

With the whisper of her name on the breeze.

And the ache that sat square in his chest.

* * *

Ersie woke up to a thump, followed by a flurry of purrs and tiny paws landing squarely on her stomach.

“Trouble, ye little beast,” she muttered, her hand instinctively coming up to catch the kitten as he attempted a clumsy leap onto her chest. “Ye have a death wish, wee one,” she growled.

But the kitten simply plopped down beside her with a triumphant mewl.

Ersie sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, still half-draped in the thick blanket. She blinked the sleep from her lashes, and the warm, comfortable silence in her room almost lulled her back to sleep. Until the voices outside rose sharply.

She was already out of bed, her tunic pulled hastily over her head, her blades strapped before Trouble could fight his way out of the sudden tangle of blankets. Her pulse quickened as she slid into her pants and put her boots on, untied, before storming toward the door.

The shouting turned into chaos the moment she threw open the door and charged down the hallway, through the main hall, and past the servants, who gasped as she rushed by. The air thickened with tension. Then came the clash of steel.

She burst outside just in time to see Lucas in the center of the courtyard, covered in blood, standing over three men.

One was slightly older than her, the other was graying and portly, and the third was familiarly lanky.

The portly man lay twisted in a heap, a dagger embedded deep in his chest. The lanky man sported an angry slash across his throat. And the last man gurgled weakly, a fatal gash across his middle.

Lucas turned at the sound of her approach, his breathing ragged, his hair clinging to his temples, damp with sweat. His eyes bulged out of his face, wildly.

Ersie didn’t ask. Didn’t speak. Only held her hands up and sidestepped the scene.

She stepped forward, her sword drawn, scanning the yard for more threats. “Are there others?”

Lucas shook his head. “Just these.”

“Are they…? Are these two the prisoners?”

“Aye,” he said, his chest heaving.

“And the third?”

“Helped them escape.”

That’s when she noticed him stagger backward. Her eyes swept up and down his body to check him for injuries.

“Och! Are ye injured, Lucas?” she asked quickly, rushing toward him as he fell to his knees and laid his sword at his feet.

“Bastards got me,” he said, wincing as he lifted his hand from his side. Blood trickled from the gash there.

“Call the healer! Help! Help!” she bellowed at the top of her lungs.

Lucas’s limbs grew weaker then, and he toppled over on all fours with a wheezing groan.

“Lucas! Lucas, ye just have a flesh wound. Ye will be fine,” she reassured him, even though she wasn’t entirely sure. She kept him talking nonetheless. “Why did they do this? Who sent the third man?”

“The third man worked here—a guard. Mason,” he grunted.

“Why did they attack ye?”

“Because I tried to stop them, Ersie.”

He twisted to lay on his side, and Ersie slid across the gravel to stay next to him while they waited for the healer.

“In the courtyard! Help! There’s been an attack!” she screamed louder.

She caught sight of the blood trickling down Lucas’s head.

“Are ye bleedin’ from yer head as well?” she asked.

Behind the man’s ear was a dark red stain. Or so she had thought.

Then, the light shifted.

It wasn’t blood.

It was a mark. A small, oddly shaped birthmark. Like a crescent moon.

“Nay. It’s just a birthmark, lass,” Lucas said, heaving out a chuckle and then wincing back into ragged silence.

“Bloody hell! Someone help! HELP!” Ersie called out again.