Page 9

“YE SHOULD HAVE joined me yestereve,” Brodie said, helping himself to a bannock. “The Ardshiel was packed to the rafters … and a group of traveling minstrels from Edinburgh played the harp for us while we diced.”

Kerr swallowed his mouthful of porridge before shrugging. “Sounds entertaining, yet I couldn’t get away.”

Brodie met his eye across the table. They sat in the hall, consuming their morning meal just after dawn.

The two brothers were alone at the chieftain’s table, upon the dais, while men-at-arms, retainers, and their families lined the trestle tables below.

As usual, the laird and his wife were breaking their fast upstairs with Lennox and Davina in the solar.

His brother shrugged. “Aye, The Black Wolves continue to elude ye,” he replied. “But ye can’t work all the hours the Lord sends. The occasional trip to Ceann Locha would do ye good.”

Kerr’s mouth pursed, as it often did when anyone mentioned The Black Wolves—as locals were now calling the outlaws. He didn’t need reminding of his failure.

“Maybe,” he said tersely, “but I won’t rest until those whoresons have been brought to justice.”

Brodie raised a dark eyebrow before dropping his attention to the bannock. Splitting it open, he spread butter and honey on thickly before taking a bite. “Anne asked after ye last night,” he said when he’d swallowed his mouthful. “Wanted to know why ye no longer accompany me into town.”

Kerr’s hold on his wooden spoon tightened. He caught the teasing edge to his brother’s voice but wasn’t in the mood to entertain it. “And what did ye tell her?” he asked lightly.

Anne was a serving lass at the Ardshiel Tavern . Tall with a thick mane of chestnut hair and moss-green eyes, Kerr had once been struck by how much she looked like Rose MacAlister. One eve, after he’d downed too much ale, he’d tumbled her upstairs, in her attic chamber.

Anne was sunny-natured, passionate, and easy company—but she wasn’t Rose. She didn’t wish to be either, for the lass asked for coin from those patrons she let swive her. They’d lain together a couple of times before Kerr stopped accompanying Brodie into town.

“Nothing much,” Brodie drawled, reaching for his cup of watered-down ale. “Only that ye have become a wet blanket of late.”

Kerr snorted at the mild insult. “I’m sure she wasn’t heartbroken.”

“No.” Brodie flashed him a wicked smile then, one that let Kerr know how his brother had spent the rest of his night once the dicing and music had ended.

Kerr wasn’t jealous. There was nothing between him and Anne. Indeed, this conversation reminded him why he let his brother go off carousing on his own. Kerr no longer had the stomach for it.

These days, he was poor company anyway—easily irritated and impatient—even his men had earned the sharp edge of his tongue.

But the truth of it was, of course, that the elusive outlaws weren’t the only reason for his moodiness. His longing for Rose MacAlister was starting to wear him down. He was sick of wanting someone who could barely look his way without curling her lip.

He thought about Rose often and worried what the future held for her—but when he and Kyle had come to her and Eara’s aid the day before, Rose had made her disdain for him clear.

“Captain.” Kerr glanced up to find one of the guards, Ronan, approaching the dais. “The horses are ready.”

“Good.” Kerr pushed aside the remains of his bowl of porridge. “Let’s go.”

“Off on another patrol?” Brodie asked.

Kerr nodded, rising to his feet. “Aye … we’re heading west this time to see if we can flush The Black Wolves out of the hills. A shepherd swears he spotted them yesterday, near the Drum Crags.”

Drawing up his courser, Kerr swung down from the saddle.

Prionnsa—Prince—tossed his head and sidestepped.

Like Kerr, the gelding had been on edge all morning.

Murmuring to Prionnsa, Kerr left his side, moving forward to inspect the prints in the mud.

“They were here,” he muttered. “Yet the curs still elude us.”

Behind him, Ronan muttered a curse. It was in the tongue of éire, his homeland, yet Kerr caught the meaning clear enough. “What are they … wraiths?”

“The Wolves must have moved on, Captain,” another of his men, Fingal, pointed out. “There’s nowhere to hide out here.”

“Aye, but where?” Kerr answered, straightening up.

“Maybe they’ve headed north again,” Ronan said.

Kerr nodded. They could have, yet his gut told him that they hadn’t.

His gaze swept the bare glen they stood in.

A burn meandered its way through the center of the wide valley, and after the recent rains, the path that led along its eastern bank was muddy.

Beyond them, to the west, the Drum Crags rose against the sky.

Black and rocky, the hills lived up to their name.

His belly tightened then. The attacks on travelers hadn’t ceased. There had been another one, just a fortnight earlier—a couple traveling to visit relatives in Ceann Locha. The wife had been raped and her husband badly beaten. They’d stolen their ponies and all their coin.

Kerr and his men had set out in pursuit straight after the attack, but the outlaws had simply vanished.

“They can’t run, or hide, forever,” Kerr said finally, returning to Prionnsa and mounting. “Sooner or later, we’ll flush them out.”

Hazel hopped forward, picking up the small wooden spoon with her beak and tossing it off the window ledge.

Laughing, Rose crossed from where she was frying an oaten bannock upon a griddle to the window.

She then stooped and retrieved the spoon before placing it back on the ledge.

“Here ye are, lass,” she said, stroking the owl’s head affectionately.

“However, I must warn ye … I can’t keep picking that up all night. ”

“Why is that owl still here?”

Rose glanced over her shoulder to see that her father was frowning, his gaze fixed upon the large eagle owl perched on the window ledge. Later, Rose would open the shutters to the tiny window so Hazel could fly outside and begin her nightly hunt.

Ignoring his grumpiness, Rose smiled. “Hazel likes living with us, Da,” she replied.

“Aye, but its wing healed a while ago.”

“It did … but she and I have formed a bond.”

Graham snorted.

“Careful, Rose,” Knox said, from where he sat whittling a piece of rosewood near the fire. “Ye don’t want to end up strange … like Auntie Kenna.”

At the mention of his sister, whom he never visited these days, Graham muttered something under his breath. Meanwhile, Rose shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with Kenna.”

Guilt stabbed her in the ribs then. It had been a while since she had paid her aunt a visit. Kenna lived with her friend Ailis west of Dun Ugadale. Rose made a mental note to pass by in the next few days.

Knox merely cocked an eyebrow in reply, while next to him, Clyde smirked. However, the expression pained him, and the smirk turned into a grimace. Her youngest brother had a crusted, swollen lip this eve—after tangling with two of Duncan MacDonald’s lads earlier in the day.

Her brothers often sported black eyes or split lips, for all it took was a half-penny in Knox or Clyde’s hand and they headed off to the nearest tavern. And there, they found trouble.

Flipping the bannock onto a wooden plate, Rose inhaled the nutty aroma. Her belly rumbled in response. Their evening pottage would have a wedge each of bannock with it—a treat indeed, after her father’s cousin had gifted them a small sack of oats.

“So … ye are off to Carradale market tomorrow then?” she asked as she cut the bannock up into wedges. It was best to change the subject. Her father’s mood always grew dark when anyone brought up his sister in conversation. They’d been estranged for a while now.

“Aye, lass,” her father rumbled. Seeing that supper was nearly ready, he sat up properly on his nest of furs to receive it. He then cast a sharp look at his sons. “Although we might end up staying away for a night or two.”

“Aye?” Rose ladled out bowls of pottage, placing a wedge of bannock in each, before handing them to her father and brothers. “Why is that?”

“I want to use the coin we get for the sheep wisely,” he replied. “Perhaps I’ll get us a milk cow, in addition to some sows.”

Rose nodded, pleased by this news. It had been a while since her father had taken such a practical approach. A cow would allow her to make cheese, and she could even sell any surplus at market, which would mean extra income for them.

“We should be paid well for our sheep,” Clyde added, winking at his brother. “They’re the best on the peninsula.”

“Aye, well, just look after the coin ye get for them,” Rose replied, her gaze narrowing as she continued to regard Clyde. “And do us all a favor—stay away from the alehouses in Carradale.”

After a long day in the saddle, Kerr was exhausted. He’d just finished his dish of blood sausage and bread and was washing the delicious supper down with a tankard of ale, when a tall, rangy man with short brown hair and keen grey eyes loped into the hall of Dun Ugadale broch.

Duncan MacDonald halted a few feet from the door, his gaze sweeping the interior. He was looking for someone.

An instant later, the man’s attention settled upon Captain Mackay.

Kerr stifled a sigh. He hoped MacDonald hadn’t come here to complain about the MacAlisters again.

After a long, fruitless day of searching for the outlaws, he wasn’t in the mood to hear it.

The constant bickering between the MacAlisters and the MacDonalds was wearing indeed, and with those Douglas criminals still at large, he had bigger problems to deal with at present.

“What’s this?” Lennox said from next to him. He sat with an arm loosely slung across his wife’s shoulders. “We rarely get a visit from MacDonald at this hour.”

Farther down the table, the laird had noticed their visitor. Usually, the guards would keep newcomers at the gate and announce their arrival first to Iver, but not with the likes of MacDonald. The farmer was well-liked and respected locally.

He approached the laird’s table now, his long legs crossing the rush-covered floor quickly. “Good eve, all,” he greeted them before favoring Iver with a respectful nod. “And apologies if I’ve interrupted yer supper.”

“We’ve just finished,” Iver replied. Bonnie sat on his lap, her arms wrapped around her husband’s neck. “Take a seat, Dunc, and pour yerself an ale.”

The farmer’s weathered face creased into a smile. “Thank ye, Mackay, but I cannot stay. We’re off to market tomorrow, and I must ensure all our livestock is ready to move at dawn.” His gaze flicked back to Kerr then. “I came to ask a favor of The Guard, Kerr.”

“Aye?” Kerr put down his tankard, meeting his eye.

“The February market at Carradale is the biggest of the year,” Duncan said, his features tightening. “I’m going to be selling off some of my best cattle.” He paused then, his brow furrowing. “My sons will be accompanying me, as always, but I must admit I’m nervous this time.”

“The cattle rustling has been dealt with,” Kerr reminded him. Indeed, the culprit—the man who’d rallied his friends to steal from the MacDonalds—Graham MacAlister, had lost a hand last summer. “MacAlister won’t cause ye any more trouble.”

“Maybe not.” Duncan’s expression soured at the mention of his nemesis. “But with all the civil strife of late, the roads aren’t as safe as they once were.” He paused then, his brow furrowing. “It’s been a hard winter … empty bellies make men desperate.”

Kerr sighed. MacDonald had a point. There was a reason why the farmer was one of the most prosperous in the area. He was clever and cautious.

“I’m happy for ye to provide an escort, Kerr,” Iver said as he gently stroked his wife’s back.

“None of us want anything to befall Duncan’s cattle on the way to market tomorrow.

” The laird paused then, his brow furrowing as he regarded MacDonald.

“And we don’t want ye to encounter those outlaws still roaming the hills either. ”

Kerr tensed. Of course, his brother was right.

It was wise to keep men like Duncan MacDonald happy.

He was a good tenant, always paid his rent on time, and kept his rowdy sons in check—most of the time, anyway.

Kerr hadn’t missed the note of chagrin in his elder brother’s voice either.

Iver was disappointed the Dun Ugadale Guard hadn’t yet dealt with the brigands.

“Very well, Dunc,” Kerr said with a nod. “I’ll have a company of men ready at dawn. We’ll meet ye at yer farm.”

A relieved smile spread across the farmer’s face. “Thank ye, Captain. I shall see ye at first light then.” His gaze swept over the table, where the rest of the laird’s kin sat, before he nodded to Iver. “Good eve, Mackay.”

Kerr watched the farmer stride from the hall, greeting some of the men he passed as he went. He then turned back to his ale.

“Do ye want any company?” Lennox asked.

Kerr nodded. “We’ll be making an early start though.”

This comment brought a snort from Brodie, across the table. “Aye, yer wife will have to kick ye out of bed, Len.”

“Fear not, I’ll make sure he doesn’t oversleep,” Davina quipped.

Lennox winked at her, grinning. “Who says we’ll be sleeping at that hour, lass?”

Davina laughed, even as her cheeks turned pink.

Watching them, Kerr felt a familiar tug of envy under his ribcage.

He didn’t resent Lennox or Iver. Instead, it warmed him to see them so happy.

Iver had suffered years of ill luck with women before meeting Bonnie, while Lennox had once been too selfish to give his heart to anyone.

Bonnie and Davina had softened his brothers, had changed their lives for the better.

Only a hard-hearted bastard could resent them that. Nonetheless, their contentment sometimes made Kerr feel as if he was on the outside looking in.

Taking a large gulp of ale, he shifted his attention to tomorrow’s task. He then scowled.

Across the table, Brodie met his eye. “Something worrying ye, brother? Ye have the look of a man who’s just sat his arse down on a thorn.”

Kerr snorted. “Aye, well, I’m sore that the outlaws still elude us … they’re bold enough these days to try and steal MacDonald’s cattle.”

“They can try,” Lennox replied. He then lifted his tankard, a grim smile tugging at his mouth. “But let’s see them succeed.”