Page 13

Broc

They left early the next day. The group headed to Clan Rankin and borrowed one of Sloan’s boats. They were about to get in, Ingelram shoving them off, when Sloan came flying down the hill. “Greetings, Granthams.”

Logan said, “I see you have eyes only for your new wife, Rankin. Go be with her. We’ll update you when we return.” He held up his hand for Ingelram to pause so they could speak with Sloan.

“But is it true that K was married to MacClane’s sister? And he killed her? His own wife?”

“Aye. He’s a wily bastard and I’m about to meet him. Keep an eye out for our return and I’ll fill you in.”

Sloan waved them off, shoving the boat with Ingelram.

Broc began to row alongside Alaric, something he loved to do.

He’d never done it before moving to Mull, but he loved the feel of his rippling muscles as he pulled against the water in the sound.

Once he and Alaric established their rhythm, the boat sliced through the water with such grace that it made for a magnificent journey.

The sky was blue, the water calm, and it was a warm, sunny day.

Logan said, “You finally found the one, Broc. Good choice.”

“What?” He checked his belt to be sure that his favorite dagger was still there.

Alaric chuckled. “Everyone spread the word about you and Merryn under the apple tree. You know how tongues like to wag about that. All the guards were cursing because a few of them had their eye on her, but you stepped in first. She’s a pretty one.”

Broc couldn’t help but smile, as he’d been even more pleased when she hadn’t pushed him away, even suggesting they find a more private place. That was exactly his plan after they finished this task. “One kiss does not make her the one.”

Alaric said, “It’s time. You’re old enough. You’re eight and twenty. Get married.”

“Make sure she’s the right one. You’ll know when she is,” Logan said.

Broc wished to ask how he’d know for sure, but instead, the warmth of the sun settled on all three of them.

His mind wandered back to his time with Merryn, thinking about spending time on the beach with her.

Could there be bairns of their own in the future?

That picture warmed his heart even more than the heat of the sun.

He was loving this new life near the water.

If only they could get rid of the ugly troll sitting in Mingary, life would greatly improve for everyone on Mull.

As they drew closer to Bloody Bay, Logan said, “I think I’ll go alone.” Logan was bull-headed and stubborn, they all knew it. But this would not happen. Broc glanced over at Alaric, who gave him a subtle shake of his head.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, he declared, “Don’t tell me what to do, lads. I know my way around. I’ve got a bit more experience than you two together.”

Broc couldn’t argue that. The man had to be nearly in his seventh decade, yet he was still built like a bull.

True, his long hair had turned gray, but the eyes still saw all.

He had the mind of a twenty-summer-old and an uncanny sense of the world that no one else had. And his shoulders were still massive.

Logan Ramsay had been known as the beast for years. He still was a beast in Broc’s eyes. But he was not invincible. He couldn’t go alone for good reason. Now Broc had to convince him.

Broc said, “Nay, Logan. One of us must go with you. We’re the ones who saw Kelvan, not you.”

Logan side-eyed him with a smirk. “Fine. You two decide.”

Logan turned around once the group approached Mingary Castle. “Who’s joining me?”

Broc said, “I’ll come with you.”

Alaric said, “I’ll stay with the boat. I didn’t get a clear look at Kelvan at MacLean’s. But if I don’t see either one of you within half the hour, I’ll be coming inside.”

Logan snorted. “This will take less than that. I just need to find out who the hell is running this operation.”

“Who would be running it besides K?” Alaric asked.

“I need to know exactly who his wife is. I have to look the bitch in the eye. If she’s a Buchan, I’ll know it.

She’ll look daft, trust me. Those Buchans are not the brightest in the land.

They have those wild eyes, the kind you don’t wish to meet in battle because you can never guess their next move. ”

Broc looked over at Alaric before questioning the elder who used to be a spy for Scotland’s king. “But we know who she is. Didn’t he tell you his wife was Glenna of Buchan?”

“He did.” Logan climbed out of the boat with Broc, the two pulling the hull up onto the beach.

“But until I see the woman for myself, I won’t believe she’s here.

I need to look her in the eye. I was there when your grandsire put his sword in Glenn’s belly.

That bastard deserved what he got and more. ”

“Uncle,” Broc said, using the term they all did on occasion. “Will you ask who she’s after most?”

Alaric added, “Aye, I’d like to know that too. It could be Uncle Connor, or Alasdair, or Jamie.”

Broc said, “Or my parents.”

Logan stopped and stared at Broc. “You are correct, I’m afraid. Finlay saved Kyla and killed Simon de La Porte. Your grandsire put the sword in Glenn’s belly, so it could be any Grant.”

“But Davina married my uncle Fergus.”

“And they have bairns, from what I heard, but all girls. Glenn also had a son who never fought. One he kept hidden with his brother. I just learned of him, so this must be his youngest daughter. She would be Glenn’s granddaughter, if I’m correct. I’m going in.”

Logan led the way around the castle to the front gate where the drawbridge was down, Broc alongside him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. They approached the keep, and the door opened as soon as they came near. The man motioned for them to enter the chamber at the end of the hall.

Logan strode inside the nearly empty building, his eyes straight ahead, while Broc took in everything about the castle—the layout, the number of servants, any stray weaponry. He didn’t see any guards beyond the front gate. The place look deserted.

Once inside the chamber, Broc recognized the man seated as the one they’d seen at MacClane’s. This was definitely Shealee’s sire.

The man smirked but said nothing, tipping his head to the woman who stood over his shoulder. “My wife, Glenna. And who is the man you have with you? Grant or Ramsay?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Logan snapped back. “What the hell do you want? Don’t you know enough to quit yet? Now that we are on the Isle of Mull, you have no chance of overtaking the entire isle. We can have a thousand soldiers within a sennight, and you know it.”

“Who says we want anything?” Glenna asked, a sly grin covering her face. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight plait, and she wore gems around her neck and on nearly every finger. Her gown was well made with intricate lace and a tight bosom, showing off her assets.

Logan was totally disinterested.

Broc’s mother and father had fought hard against Simon de la Porte and Glenn of Buchan, who had terrorized their clan and Clan Ramsay for many moons.

The two had captured and beaten Kyla until she was near death, but she was strong like her father and fought to survive.

Alex had been the one to end Buchan’s reign of terror by thrusting his sword into the bastard’s belly, Finlay there as witness along with Logan.

Kyla had married Finlay shortly after being given their freedom.

“If you are related to Glenn of Buchan, you’ll want something. He was always wanting what wasn’t his. Had he not, he may have lived a bit longer.”

“You remember my grandfather, Ramsay?”

“I was there the day Alex Grant put his sword in your grandsire’s belly for beating his daughter. Your sire was stupid enough to think he could just take Clan Grant and the castle. Have you learned nothing?”

“I learned who killed him and who was there. I know Alex Grant’s weapon killed him, but I know his daughter and others will be on the isle soon. I want Kyla and Finlay, one of their sons, and Jake’s son, Alasdair. Give them to me, and we’ll leave the island alone.”

Logan snorted, so entertained by the foolish woman. “And why would I be ignorant enough to do that?”

“Because we’ll keep coming after your bairns if you don’t.”

“So, you think you’ll be as successful as the last time you tried it? How did Garvie and Odart and Egan and Dante and all their men work out? Have you any of them left?”

Kelvan held up his hand. “Enough of this. Glenna, keep your tongue in your mouth. I’m tired of the arguing.

Here’s what we want, Ramsay. I want the faery and the lad with the sword.

Just those two. I saw the faery’s powers myself and heard about the boy.

Give them to me, or I’ll steal her along with any bairn near her.

And Glenna wants three. You choose, Glenna. Who do you want?”

“My first choice? Hmmm …” She paused to fold her hands across her wide waist. Pretty at one time, she showed the signs of a woman who spent her time angry with life.

Pale faced, thin lipped, and a double chin were a testament to what she spent her time doing.

“I want Kyla and you, Logan. That should suffice. One Ramsay, one Grant. And one more.”

She ticked her finger against her chin as though she were counting.

“Kyla’s son. I hear you have one of their bairns. I want that one so I can slice his throat while she watches.”

Logan didn’t look at Broc, but he prayed he would hold strong and not reveal his identity.

“Bring those two, the faery, and the lad with the sword to us, and we’ll leave the isle alone. Otherwise, expect an attack in a sennight.”

Logan smirked.

“What’s so amusing, Ramsay?” K asked.

“Are you not forgetting someone on that list?” He glanced over at Broc who gave him a subtle nod. He knew Logan was asking if K was Kelvan.

Glenna said, “Nay, those are my demands.”

Logan stared at K. “And yours?”

“I told you. I want the faery and the lad with the sword.”

“Is that all?”

Broc guessed that Logan was trying to let K know that he knew his identity. He prayed he wouldn’t give away Merryn and Shealee’s location.

“I don’t know what you speak of,” K said.

“Kelvan.” Logan paused while Kelvan registered the shock of his true name being used. “That is your name, is it not?”

“How the hell?”

“And haven’t you massacred a clan on the mainland? The sheriff of the Borderlands has not caught up with you yet?”

“I’ve done naught. Keep your mouth closed, Ramsay, or I’ll have my men slay you now.” Kelvan became so red in the face that Broc guessed he didn’t think anyone here knew what had happened in the Borderlands.

Logan smiled and said, “I’ll keep your secret. But don’t worry. I will be back.”

The two left through the front door, no one following them.

They had to walk across the drawbridge and around the back to get to the coastline where Alaric waited with their boat.

They’d almost made it when something came flying out of an alcove of the curtain wall straight at them, and a sword caught Logan in the flank as he turned to confront the unknown assailant.

Broc unsheathed his weapon and swung at the attacker, his strike so powerful and fast that it separated the hand from the arm that bore the weapon.

Glenna screamed, grabbing her arm. “I hate you, Logan Ramsay. I’ll kill you and all of your clan. All of them! The war is on!”

Logan dropped to the ground, his hand gripping his side where the blood poured out, so Broc did the only thing he could think to do. He sheathed his weapon and lifted Logan into his arms, running to their vessel as quickly as he could.

Glenna had acted alone, so no one chased them. There were very few men around the castle, so he had only one priority—saving the man they all loved and looked up to. “Alaric! Get the extra plaid!” He hoped Alaric could hear him. They didn’t have much time.

Broc came around the corner of the curtain wall, finally spying their boat and Alaric.

Logan mumbled, and Broc leaned his head down to listen. “Just get me to Rankin land. Dinnae let me die here, Broc.” Logan’s voice weakened, but he fought, his grip strong on Broc’s arm. “The bitch took me by surprise. And if I do die here, take me off this land and back to Gwynie.”

Alaric yelled, “What the hell happened?”

“After we left, Glenna came out of a hiding spot and struck him in the side.”

“She won’t be doing that again, will she, lad?” Logan drawled.

Broc ignored him, focusing on what they needed to do to get away quickly and save Logan.

“Get the plaid, and we have to tie it tight around his middle to stop the bleeding.” He glanced back over his shoulder, but no one came their way.

He set Logan down on the grassy slope not far from the boat, putting pressure on the gaping wound, blood everywhere, on his hands, his clothing, all over the grass.

“If we can stem the bleeding, we can get him to Rankin land. The MacVeys have a healer.”

“I’d go for Eli if we can keep him alive that far.” Alaric brought the fabric out and tied it around Logan’s torso, pulling it tight. “Shite, Logan. Sorry.”

Logan groaned, but said, “Pull it taut. You cannot hurt me.”

A few moments later, Broc thought the bleeding had slowed a bit, so he peeked at it. “It’s not as big a wound as I thought. We’ll get you home, Logan.”

“You can’t row and hang on. I’ll have to put pressure on it. Get me in the boat.”

“Nay, not until it slows a bit more. Mama always said stop the bleeding first, then get help.”

“I need Brenna.”

“Brenna trained Eli. She’ll sew you up nicely.”

“She better. Because I’m going to come back and kill that bitch.”

A voice carried over the edge of the curtain wall.

“We’re coming for all of you, Ramsay. Every one of you will be dead!”

Kelvan.

“Get him in the boat, Alaric. We don’t have time to waste. Help me pick him up.”

The two men lifted Logan and set the old warrior in the vessel, then climbed in to start rowing. Broc said, “Just keep pressure on the wound, Logan. We’ll be there soon enough.”

They left the coast, going with the wind fortunately, but they had a problem.

“Logan?”

No answer.

“Shite,” Alaric said. “He passed out.”