Page 64 of The Mad Highlander
“Me Laird?”
Cayden opened his eyes and woke from his dream to see a footman standing over him. His eyes danced wildly around the room, looking for his brother. Isaac was not there—Cayden was alone again. His mind had mixed it up, longing for a different history to his story.
“What is it?” Cayden murmured.
“Laird McLaren has returned,” the footman replied.
“Hunter?” He sat up quickly in the bed. “Aye, good. Where is he now?”
“He’s downstairs in the great hall waitin’ for ye, me laird.”
Cayden knew people, and he understood there was more that went unsaid by the footman. He stood up and leveled the man with his gaze, not needing to ask the question.
“They were attacked, me laird. Laird McLaren lost a lot of his men.”
“And the laird?” Cayden felt his stomach tighten.
“Some injuries, but he claims he is fine.”
“All right. Bring food and ale, and make sure Astrid has everythin’ she needs for any of the injured men who returned with him.”
The footman nodded. “Aye, me laird.”
Cayden glanced toward the window. It was dark out, and there was a chill in the air, but not caused by the slight breeze penetrating the room. The Laird was already dressed and straightened his shirt a little before going downstairs.
When he got to the great hall, he found Hunter draped in one of the chairs around the large table. There was a large cut on his cheek and too much blood on his shirt to tell where it was all coming from.
“Ye need to get to—” Cayden started.
Hunter held up his hand. “I’m fine. I rode all the way from the fight. Aye, some of the blood is mine, but a lot more is from Murdoch’s men.” Hunter sat up a little straighter and pushed his hair back from his forehead.
“What happened out there?” Cayden asked.
“They kenned where we would be.” Hunter rubbed a hand over his face, smearing some of the blood. “They waited until we were camped for the night and attacked. It was a bloodbath. I barelygot out of there with me life. We lost… we lost almost everyone, Cayden. I want to march right up there and?—”
“Aye, I ken, and ye will get a chance to put this right.” Cayden walked through the room and sat on the large wooden chair. He looked at his friend, the cut on his cheek dripping a little blood. “I’m sorry, Hunter. This is all me fault. I shouldnae have sent ye there.”
“Nay, dinnae say that!” Hunter waved his hand dismissively. “I kenned there could be trouble. Ye got the lad out, and that is all that matters.” Hunter placed his head in his hand, his forehead tightening and creasing.
“It’s too heavy a price,” Cayden admitted. “Far too heavy.”
“I want to be the one,” Hunter said. “I want to stick me sword through his chest when it comes down to it. He took me men, and I want to take his life.”
“Aye, he is yers to do with as ye wish. I just…”
Hunter looked up. “What?”
“Ye said he waited until ye were camped, aye?” Cayden asked.
Hunter wiped some blood from his cheek with his sleeve. “Aye.”
“Halfway to his castle?”
Hunter held Cayden’s gaze. “Aye.”
“It doesnae make sense, does it?”
“What doesnae make sense?”
