Page 60 of Wedded to the Twisted Highlander

The messenger’s bravado wavered as Thomas pressed the cold steel against his cheek.

“What do ye think, Duncan? What is the price for comin’ in here and threatenin’ me family?”

“Death,” Duncan hissed.

The messenger’s eyes widened with fear, and he swallowed thickly. “Ye cannae kill the messenger,” she spluttered.

“But wouldnae that send the right message?” Thomas replied as he nodded his head to Duncan.

Duncan reached for the mantelpiece and picked up a bottle.

“What… what is that? What are ye doin’?” the messenger asked, his voice high-pitched with terror as Thomas grabbed the bottle from Duncan.

Popping the top, Thomas proceeded to pour the liquid on the messenger’s boots.

“Now, tell me,” he said, his voice low and menacing, “how quickly do ye think ye can reach yer Laird before yer feet burn?”

“Please, dinnae be rash!” the messenger pleaded, almost squealing.

Thomas struck his dirk against the iron hearth and watched the sparks fly. All it would take was a single spark to ignite the fire. It was so easy to see the flames erupting around them. But then the damage it would do to the castle would be great.

As much as Thomas wanted to hurt the messenger, he refrained.

“What do ye think?” Duncan asked as he chuckled darkly. “Think the next spark will get him movin’?”

The messenger’s eyes widened as Thomas pointed his dirk to the hearth once more. He didn’t have to strike it for the messenger to get the hint.

Before Thomas’s hand came down, the messenger darted toward the door.

Duncan shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, a bemused look on his rugged face. “Ye wasted some good rum.”

“Rum?” Thomas barked, incredulous. “There should have been oil for the lanterns in that bottle.”

“Ah, but sometimes, happy coincidences arise from such waste,” Duncan replied, a slight grin creeping onto his face.

Thomas glared at the bottle in his hand, his heart still drumming to the rhythm of war. “I dinnae believe in coincidences.”

20

“So, how much longer do ye think me faither has?” Olivia asked as she followed Astrid out of Tavish’s chambers.

All Astrid could do was shrug. There was no telling how much longer the man had, and the last thing she wanted to do was give Olivia false hope.

“I cannae say,” she answered sincerely. “He could go in five minutes, or he could pull through and outlive yer maither. I’ve seen people make remarkable recoveries.”

“That’s nae what ye told me braither,” Olivia pointed out, her voice icy. “Just give it to me plainly. I can handle the news.”

Astrid pursed her lips as the sound of a slamming door echoed through the castle. Olivia’s eyes widened with shock as they both had the same thought.

“I wonder who me braither is tossin’ out of the castle now,” Olivia said as they made their way down the steps.

Astrid’s ears perked up as she heard Melody’s giggle. But the uneasiness in her gut wouldn’t go away. Her heart pounded in her ears.

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows that danced ominously across the stone walls. She glanced at Olivia before she turned as the raucous sounds from the hallway grew louder. The noise was a cacophony of urgency with a hint of danger that sent a chill down her spine.

“Who is that?” Olivia asked as she pointed at the man racing down the hall.

“Rubin,” Astrid gasped, the image of Melody sleeping soundly in her bed upstairs flashing before her eyes.