Page 58 of The Laird's Wicked Game
The two lads hurriedly obeyed, ducking out of the way of her spoon as she took a swipe at them.
“Remember when we used to do that?”
Rae turned from watching the bairns disappear to see Jack approach, his long legs eating up the space between them. Like his brother, the Captain of the Guard wore a hooded sealskin cloak.
“Aye,” he replied, with a half-smile. “Ma used to come after us with a wooden spoon too when we went back indoors, dripping and muddy.”
Jack smiled back, although the expression was wistful. Shona Maclean had possessed a fiery temper, but they’d adored her. She’d also been big-hearted and affectionate—and her laughter had filled the broch. Her death had been sudden, a tumble down the tower house stairs had broken her neck. Their father had loved his wife deeply, and he was never the same afterward, although Baird’s death had come little over a year later.
“We were trouble, weren’t we?” Jack said, halting before him.
Rae snorted. “Yewere.” He glanced around him then, his focus shifting from the past to the present. “The barmkin is close to flooding, Jack … we will need to open the storm drain earlier than usual this year.” His attention rested for a moment on the iron door inset into the eastern wall. A drain ran around the edge of the yard, and a small gap at the bottom of the iron allowed some water to escape. Usually, once the spring rains began, they would open the storm drain for a few weeks, allowing the barmkin to drain properly. “Ye’d better get the lads to unlock it this morning.”
“I shall see it done.”
Rae glanced back at Jack, to find his brother scrutinizing him.
Ignoring his penetrating look, he cleared his throat. “Once the rain eases, I shall lead another patrol south. I don’t trust how quiet things have been of late.” He halted then before growling, “The Raiders will attack again … soon.”
“Maybe they won’t,” Jack suggested, cocking an eyebrow. “Have ye considered that?”
“They will … I feel it in my bones.”
Jack huffed a sigh. “Aye, well … a man should always trust his instincts.” His brow creased then. “Ye don’t have to lead the patrol though … that’s why ye have me, remember?”
“Don’t worry, ye won’t be sitting around on yer arse,” Rae shot back. In truth, he was desperate to get away from Dounarwyse for a while. Of late, he’d started to feel as if the walls were closing in. “I’ll send ye and the lads north again.”
Jack nodded slowly. He was still frowning, and remorse tugged at Rae. He’d just snapped his head off for no good reason—something he’d done with increasing frequency of late—but he needed Jack not to question him.
His brother’s gaze shadowed then, his lips parting, as if he was about to ask him something that Rae wouldn’t—and couldn’t—answer.
“I’ll see ye at the noon meal,” he said, stepping away from him abruptly. Then, before Jack could say anything else, he turned on his heel and stalked back inside the broch.
Storm was waiting for him, heavy tail thumping on the floor, inside the entrance hall. Usually, the sight of his dog roused asmile from him, yet not this morning. Fortunately, Storm didn’t care what mood he was in. The canny collie had remained inside this morning, having taken one look at the hammering rain and deciding it was more pleasant indoors. As always, he fell in behind him as Rae took the stairs up to his solar.
Stepping into a chamber that was often his refuge, his escape from the demands of running the fortress, Rae stripped off his cloak and hung it up by the fire. However, no sooner had he done so when his chest tightened and his breathing grew shallow—and suddenly, dizziness assailed him.
Satan’s cods, what’s wrong with me?
Even being alone in here, with the roaring fire warming the damp air, didn’t make him feel better. The sacking on the two windows had been rolled down, to keep the rain out. Unfortunately, it also kept the smoky air in. He felt as if he were being suffocated.
Crossing to the nearest window, he rolled up the sacking. He then placed his hands on the stone still and leaned forward, sucking the fresh air into his lungs. Eventually, the tightness in his chest eased, as did the lightheadedness.
Meanwhile, Storm pressed up against his leg and gave a low whine. The colliehadnoted that something was amiss, after all. Rousing himself, he reached down and stroked the dog’s head. “I’m better now, lad,” he murmured. “Don’t fash yerself.”
But, even as he spoke, something deep inside his chest twisted.
He wasn’t any better. Not really.
Three long weeks had passed since his final night with Kylie, and with each day, he’d started to feel worse. How he missed her.
It was torture living under the same roof, seeing her at mealtimes, or watching from the window as she went out on her regular stroll with his sons, and not being able to talk to her frankly. Numerous times since that night, he’d been about to invite her to supper or to take a cup of wine with him in his solar in the evening.
But on each occasion, he’d choked the words back.
His hand still resting upon the window ledge curled into a fist.
He’d thought he’d handle things better than this. He’d lived long enough to know what disappointment was, what loss and loneliness felt like, but he’d been unprepared for this. Kylie had warmed his soul, and her absence made him feel as if winter had returned.