Page 1 of The Laird's Wicked Game

1: A SOUND DECISION

Craignure,

Isle of Mull

Late July, 1318

AS LAIRD OF Dounarwyse broch, and cousin to the Maclean clan-chief, Rae liked to tell himself that he was a man who made sound decisions. He was measured and practical in nature, not impulsive and reckless like most of the men in his family.

But if that were the case, why then had he hired an attractive widow to look after his sons?

“Ye aren’t brooding again, are ye?” Jack’s voice yanked Rae from his thoughts, and he cut his younger brother a frown.

“No,” he replied gruffly. “I’m merely considering whether to tell Lady Grant the position is no longer available.”

Jack’s dark-auburn brows shot up toward his hairline. “Ye can’t do that … the woman is just about to step off the ferry.”

Jaw clenching, Rae looked away, his gaze alighting on where the wide flat-bottomed vessel with a single sail was sliding into port.

The brothers were riding south, down the last hill before their destination. A small party of warriors on horseback followed the laird and his brother, leading two saddled garrons behind them. The small fishing port of Craignure spread out below: a collection of cottages mostly crammed along a single street that faced onto a curved white-sand beach where fishermen were hauling in their catch.

A wooden jetty thrust out from the port, where more boats bobbed with the tide, while gulls wheeled overhead, waiting for a chance to swoop and steal some of the glistening mackerel the fishermen had caught.

“Cods,” Rae muttered then. “I didn’t think this through.”

Jack snorted. “What’s to consider? Lyle and Ailean need looking after, and a widow has offered ye her services.”

“She’s alady, Jack … it’s not a ‘proper’ arrangement.” His brother made another, rude, sound before Rae cut him a censorious look. “Esme is doing a fine job anyway.”

Jack pulled a face. “Yer sons run rings around the lass, and ye know it. Just yesterday, Tara found her in tears.”

Rae stiffened. Why hadn’t anyone told him? In truth, he’d been distracted of late. Only one month of summer remained. After that, the fog would roll in, and Dounarwyse would likely have to fend off the Ghost Raiders again. “She should have come to me,” he said stiffly. “I’d have sorted the lads out.”

“Maybe,” Jack replied, with a shake of his head. “But the fact remains, ye needed to hire someone who will take no nonsense … and Kylie Grant sounds right for the job.”

They rode into Craignure then, slowing their coursers to a walk as they joined the throng of villagers. The port was a thriving one, although the burned-out shells of crofters’ shielings on the way in, and new sod roofs on two of the cottages on the waterfront, spoke of the recent trouble. Rae’s brow furrowed at the reminder of the two attacks Craignure had weathered over the past year.

However, he also noted another change since his previous visit—one that had nothing to do with reivers. A new tavern had opened up, to compete with the village’s older establishment,The Craignure Inn, at the opposite end of the waterfront. And as they rode past it, Rae caught sight of two scantily-clad women hanging out of the upstairs windows.

“Good afternoon, lads,” one of them called out, thrusting her lush bosom forward. “Looking for some entertainment?”

“Aye,” her companion sang out, licking plump lips. “Two fine-looking men like ye are always welcome atThe Barnacle.”

“Thank ye for the offer, lasses … but I’m a happily wedded man,” Jack replied with a roguish smile.

The women pouted.

“It’s just a silver penny a-piece,” the first answered, not easily put off. “For an afternoon of hot, sweaty pleasure!”

Still grinning, Jack glanced at Rae. “Hear that? Ye should come back here later and take them both for that price.”

Rae flashed him a scowl in reply, and Jack laughed. “The look on yer face … I swear it could curdle milk.” He paused then, his expression turning wicked. “When did ye turn into a prude, brother?”

“Shut yer mouth,” Rae growled. He was on edge as it was this afternoon and wasn’t taking well to Jack’s ribbing. For a long while, the two brothers had been estranged, but nearly fouryears earlier, they’d reconciled, and Jack now captained his Guard. They usually got on well enough too, except for when Jack pushed things—as he was now.

“Cods, ye are a grumpy bastard these days,” Jack said, with a rueful shake of his head. “Who knows … a tumble with those two might improve yer mood.”

“Enough,” Rae shot back. “And wipe that smirk off yer face before I do.”