Page 5

“WHO GOES THERE?” The guard called down.

“The name’s Bain MacEacharn,” came the rough, answering croak. “I’m a merchant bound for Ceann Locha.” The newcomer halted there as if having difficulty speaking. “I was attacked on the road south this afternoon.”

“Raise the portcullis,” Kerr ordered the guard before descending the narrow steps leading down from the watchtower.

In the barmkin below, he helped Lennox unbar the heavy oaken gate, while the portcullis slowly rumbled up. Meanwhile, Kerr motioned to the other guards who’d descended the wall to form a semi-circle a few yards back from the gates.

With the civil unrest these days, one couldn’t be too careful. This ‘merchant’ could be an outlaw—for there were plenty of them running from the crown at present—and he might have friends waiting in the darkness.

Kerr then took a flickering torch from where it hung on a chain by the gate and moved forward to get a look at the man.

As soon as the light found him, Kerr knew he was in a bad way.

The man’s face was ashen, and he crouched over his horse’s withers, one hand clutched at his belly.

Lennox stepped up and took the reins, leading the stocky horse into the barmkin, the interior courtyard that ran around the base of the broch.

“Who did this?” Kerr asked, even as he glanced over his shoulder at the open gateway. There didn’t appear to be anyone else lurking outside, yet he motioned to his guards to lower the portcullis once more.

“They didn’t introduce themselves,” MacEacharn wheezed, attempting a rueful smile and failing.

“But when I stopped at Claonaig yesterday, there was talk of a group of Douglases who’ve turned feral following a skirmish with the king’s men.

” His face twisted then, his eyes glittering.

“I’m sure it was them. They killed my brother and stole our cart of goods. ”

Lennox muttered a curse at this announcement, while Kerr’s stomach hardened. Murder was a serious business.

“I’m sorry about yer brother,” he said finally as he and Lennox helped the man down from his horse.

MacEacharn nodded, his throat bobbing.

“What were ye carrying?” Lennox asked then.

“Wine and ale,” the merchant grunted. “They took what coin we had too. My brother and I tried to fight them, but they cut his throat … and managed to stab me in the guts before I fled.”

“Were they on horseback?” Kerr asked. His mind was immediately fixed on the details. He needed to know everything about these criminals, for they’d soon be out hunting them.

The merchant shook his head.

Kerr’s mouth pursed. Somewhere in the darkness, there would be a merry band of thugs, drinking to their victory. It had been a vicious attack, and they would be punished for it.

But first, they had to help this wounded man.

“Come, Bain.” Kerr pushed his shoulder under the merchant’s armpit. “Let’s get ye indoors and take a look at that wound.”

“I fear it’s too late,” MacEacharn replied, his voice weak now. “I’m done for.”

“Not yet, ye aren’t,” Lennox told him firmly.

The brother’s gazes met then, and Kerr nodded to the broch. “Fetch Iver … he needs to hear about this.”

Kerr’s belly tightened as Graham MacAlister’s cottage hove into sight. He never looked forward to these visits. In the past, being able to see Rose had made it bearable. But not these days.

Not when she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

It didn’t help that he was exhausted this morning, after having not slept the night before.

Bain MacEacharn had known he was doomed.

The merchant had died just before dawn, after hours of agony.

As soon as they got him indoors and examined the wound to his stomach, the gravity of it became clear.

All they could do was make him as comfortable as possible.

Both Bonnie and Davina had attended him, for there wasn’t any time to fetch a healer from Ceann Locha.

But in his last hours, MacEacharn had managed to tell Iver all he could about those who’d attacked him.

The assault had taken place in a wooded area.

There had been six of them. The outlaws had all been armed with dirks and carried bows and arrows.

Some of them bore bandaged limbs and scratches to the face as if they’d recently been in a skirmish.

And if they were indeed Douglases, they likely had.

Lennox had gone out that morning, with a band of men, traveling north to hunt them.

Meanwhile, Kerr kept his word to the bailiff.

It was now the beginning of December. Yule was closing in on them, and the king demanded his clan-chiefs deliver their taxes by then.

Unfortunately, Dun Ugadale had a few farmers who hadn’t yet paid their rent to the Mackays.

Graham MacAlister was one of them.

Kerr cast a sidelong glance at the man riding next to him. Kyle MacAlister’s bearded face was unusually grim this morning, his gaze trained on their destination. No, neither of them was anticipating a pleasant meeting.

Shifting his attention back to the cottage, Kerr studied it.

Located at the bottom of a shallow vale, a short ride from Dun Ugadale village, the dwelling appeared a bit ramshackle these days.

Beyond the cottage, a row of narrow rectangular fields— run rigs— stretched down the glen.

This time of year, there wasn’t much growing.

Although, unlike many of the fields they’d passed on the way here, these were either overgrown, fallow, or in need of mulching.

This glen formed part of a sizable baile that stretched around Dun Ugadale to the west, north, and south—where local families, the Mackay chieftain’s tenants, farmed the land.

Drawing closer, Kerr spied dark smoke drifting from the chimney. And then his gaze alighted upon the comely figure drawing water from a well. Rose’s chestnut-brown hair glinted, even on this dull day, tumbling down her back in heavy curls.

Kerr’s gut twisted hard then as both dread and longing hit him.

“Good,” the bailiff grunted. “At least someone is home.”

“It’s Graham we need to see,” Kerr reminded Kyle. “He’s the one owing the rent, not Rose.”

“Aye … but she’s the best of the lot to deal with.”

At the sound of their approaching hoofbeats, Rose glanced up. Her gaze swept over them, her face freezing when she saw Kerr.

He stared back at her, refusing to let her dislike penetrate his shield. He was doing his job; she’d just have to put up with it.

“Good afternoon, Rose,” Kyle greeted her pleasantly. “Is yer father about?”

“He’s inside,” she replied cautiously.

“Can ye fetch him for me?”

She nodded slowly. “Is this about the rent we owe?”

“Aye, lass.”

Lips compressing, Rose turned and retreated into the cottage, lugging the heavy pail of water with her.

“They work her too hard,” Kerr murmured, watching her go.

“Aye,” Kyle replied. “As they did her mother. Why do ye think she died so young? The men in this family expect to be waited on like princes.” The bailiff paused then, casting Kerr a lopsided smile. “I tried wooing Rose, ye know … last summer.”

Kerr tensed, an unexpected shaft of jealousy lancing through his chest. “Ye did?” he said lightly. “What happened?”

“She made it clear my attentions weren’t welcome.”

“And now?”

Kyle inclined his head. “Now what?”

“Are ye still hopeful?”

The bailiff snorted. “Of course not. Only a fool pines after a woman who has spurned him.”

Kerr stiffened.

Aye … only a fool. If only he had Kyle’s pragmatic approach to women. As a widower, left to bring up three daughters on his own, Kyle didn’t have time for lasses who didn’t want him.

Kerr should have taken his lead.

Even so, he didn’t want to discuss Rose with the bailiff. Fortunately, their conversation ended then—for a big man with greying brown hair and a scowling face ducked out of the cottage.

Graham squinted at his visitors. His hair was tussled, and his clothing rumpled, indicating that they’d likely woken him up. Rose followed at her father’s heels. Unlike Graham, she didn’t look vexed, just worried.

Kerr didn’t blame her for being concerned.

“What is it?” Graham barked.

“Ye know why I’m here, Graham,” Kyle greeted him.

His voice was pleasant, yet there was steel just beneath.

His manner impressed Kerr. Lennox had said his friend would make a fine bailiff, and he did.

He had the right balance of temperance and strength.

“The final installment of yer rent is past due, while ye still haven’t paid the last one. ”

The farmer screwed up his face, as if this was the first he’d heard of it. However, Kyle let the silence stretch out between them. Graham then glanced over at where Kerr sat, unspeaking, upon his courser. His grizzled eyebrows crashed together. “Why have ye brought him ?”

“I decided it was a fine afternoon for a ride,” Kerr replied before Kyle could answer, his tone dry.

In response, Graham spat on the ground. He then untied the leather purse at his waist. “Here … ye might as well take the last coin I own.” He threw it at Kyle.

The bailiff caught it easily before tipping the pennies out onto his palm. After counting them, he glanced up, meeting the farmer’s belligerent gaze. “I’m sorry, Graham, but this is less than half of what ye owe. Ye know that.”

Graham growled a curse. “I have nothing else. What do ye want me to do … whore my daughter so I can pay Mackay’s rents?”

Rose’s hissed breath followed this comment, while Kerr’s grip on the reins tightened into a fist. Of course, Graham wasn’t speaking in earnest, yet it was a coarse thing to say all the same.

“When yer kin took over these run rigs, ye agreed to pay the laird of Dun Ugadale rents,” Kyle answered calmly, deliberately ignoring the comment. “If ye can’t pay, then Iver Mackay will have to take this land off ye and give it to someone else.”

Graham’s face turned the color of liver. “Over my dead body,” he snarled.