Page 61 of The Laird's Wicked Game
“We don’t need to hurry,” Macbeth muttered, placing meaty hands on his hips. “The spring’s barely begun.”
“On the contrary, if we delay, we’ll make things harder for ourselves.” Tormod stepped up onto the deck and halted before the big man. “As the days lengthen and the nights grow shorter, morale will rise within the fortress. They’ll be at a low ebb right now. The winter was a bitter one, and the rain has been relentless. The guards on the wall will be tired and ill-tempered. This is the moment to strike.”
Tormod marked then that their conversation had drawn the attention of the other members of Macbeth’s crew. They halted in their tasks, turning to watch their captain and the man who’d recently joined their ranks eyeball each other.
“MacDougall has a point, Captain.” One of them, a grizzled warrior named Harris, spoke up. “Best to hit them when they least expect it.”
“Aye, once spring is in full flush, and the mists roll in, they’ll be wary,” another crewmember added. “They’ll be on the lookout for us.”
“Indeed.” Tormod flashed both men a smile. “The lads have raised worthy points.”
It pleased him that two of the crew had voiced their agreement. He’d worked hard over the winter to develop a rapport with the crew ofThe Night Plunderer.Ross Macbeth was the only one who didn’t like him—but then the captain didn’tlike anyone really. When he wasn’t prowling the deck of his cog, bellowing orders at his men, Macbeth locked himself away in his cabin. Tormod had noted the distance between the captain and his crew and had worked to exploit it.
When they stormed Dounarwyse, he wanted themallon his side.
Macbeth didn’t suspect it yet, but his days in charge were numbered.
Tormod was a leader, not a follower, and once they took Dounarwyse, he didn’t want to share his plunder, or power, with Macbeth. Once Rae Maclean and his brother swung from the castle walls, he’d take a knife to Macbeth’s throat. Right now, though, he needed the man.
Excitement tightened his chest then.
He couldn’t wait to return to Dounarwyse and have his reckoning with its laird.
Maclean would rue the day he ever lifted a whip to him. The humiliation of it still burned like a coal in his gut. Makenna MacGregor had witnessed his punishment too, although he’d clawed back some dignity by having the last word as he left. He’d meant those words—shewouldsee him again. He’d seen fear flare in her moss-green gaze, and it had thrilled him. Makenna was more courageous than mostmen, yet he’d pierced her armor. He’d shown her that she was weaker than she believed.
It was a pity the lass would no longer be in residence at Dounarwyse. She’d have returned to her father’s castle in Perthshire by now. One day, he intended to have Makenna for his own—but first, he would win himself a broch.
Meanwhile, a few feet away, Macbeth eyed him. Even though his strong jaw was covered by a thick beard, Tormod saw it flex. He wasn’t happy, and yet knew he was outnumbered.
“All right then,” he growled, his mouth pursing. “We’ll set sail tomorrow morning.” He moved forward then, one thick finger stabbing into Tormod’s chest. “But mark me, MacDougall … we aren’t raising anchor until ye sit down with me and explain every detail of this plan of yers.”
Tormod didn’t react, even if he longed to do nothing more than grab that finger and snap it like a twig. Instead, he favored Macbeth with a slow smile. “As ye wish.” He nodded left then, toward the captain’s cabin. “Shall we?”
Dounarwyse broch, Isle of Mull
Later the same day …
Standing at the window in the lady’s solar, looking east as a murky grey day slid into an equally grim twilight, Kylie fought the urge to weep.
She’d been dueling with herself all day, telling herself that she needed to be strong. All the same, the urge to bawl like a bairn clawed at her.
The past days had been the hardest of her life, especially after she’d broken the news to her charges and Tara that she was leaving.
Ailean and Lyle had both burst into noisy tears. Then, the lads shocked Kylie by rushing to her, throwing their arms around her legs, and begging her to stay. She’d felt like a beastdenying them, even as she’d mouthed a flimsy excuse about her family at Meggernie needing her.
Rae’s sons hadn’t understood, and the hurt in their eyes had cut her like a blade to the belly.
But she’d remained dogged to her purpose. After their final conversation, Rae had told her that a ferry for Oban was due in three days’ time. He’d ensure she was on it.
Tara too had gotten tearful. She’d also been harder to lie to than Ailean and Lyle. Her silver eyes had been troubled afterward. “But I thought ye loved living here?”
“I do,” Kylie had replied with a wavering smile. “Yet I’ve missed my family terribly of late. Meggernie is where I need to be.”
Tara had given her a penetrating look then, and her breathing had caught. Her friend didn’t believe her, yet, as if sensing Kylie’s brittleness, she didn’t push.
Telling everyone had been awful, but it was done now. Three days had passed—and tomorrow morning, Rae’s men would accompany her to Craignure and put her on the ferry.
Dragging in a ragged breath, she continued to stare out the window. After days of heavy rains, the weather was finally starting to improve. Thank the Saints, or the ferry might not leave in the morning. Nonetheless, a wet mist hung over Dounarwyse this evening. Everything around her looked grey.