Page 45 of The Anguish of the Scottish Lairds (Clans of Mull #3)

Logan

Logan stood in the middle of the clearing, his informant a short distance away.

“This is the last time I’m coming, old man. I need to know how many score Grant has. Rankin has two, MacVey has four, MacQuarie two now. How many do Granthams hold at Duart?”

“Why? Who is asking because it surely is not you.” Logan kept his eye on Gwynie in the tree not far away, her bow in her hand.

“You don’t need to know.”

“But I do. I know it’s not Odart. He’s dead. The arse named Dante will never walk again. Odart’s two men each took a sword to the belly when they attempted to touch Alaric Grant’s wife.”

“You think you know so much, but you don’t. All rumors.”

“And how would you know?”

“Because you don’t describe them exactly the way they happened.” The man crossed his arms and chuckled. “You describe them wrong.”

“Try this, wise arse. Odart had his neck sliced after he had twelve of his teeth knocked out, one at a time. If he’d had more teeth, it would have been fifteen, but that’s all he had. And one friend took a sword to his belly, the other an arrow straight to his heart.”

The man’s face went slack. “How did you know that?”

“Because my granddaughter put the arrow there. Oh, and the fool named Dante lived, but with an axe splitting his cock into two pieces, I doubt he’ll ever plant his evil seed anywhere again. Think about that the next time you or any of your friends try to rape a woman. My female relations will pay you back.”

The man paled and covered his private area briefly. “Dante died the next day. How did you know?”

“I know. Now, I know K, or Kelvan, whatever the hell you call him, is still in Kilchoan, but someone else is with him. And the two are making plans to do something. But I’m also going to tell you that if you don’t want an axe in your bollocks, you better stay away from the bairns. I told you how I feel about that.”

“No more bairns. Only the faery. And this woman with K says she owes someone.”

“Who is she?”

“That’s all I’ll tell you until you tell me how many guards at Duart. Fair trade, old man, or I’m gone. And I’ll never return.”

“Fine. There are six score guards at Duart. And ten score more ready to come if ordered. Now, the name of the woman, or I’ll send my granddaughter aiming for your bollocks. What is it?”

“K’s wife, Glenna.”

Logan frowned because he didn’t like this one bit. “Glenna?” And even Logan couldn’t have prepared himself for the man’s answer.

“Glenna of Buchan.”

The End