Page 52 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Ersie caught her breath. “Hunt to kill or capture?”
“Capture,” Doughall replied. “I want to ken, once and for all, if James Stewart is still breathin’. If he is, I want to ken where he is and if he had aught to do with what nearly happened to Freya.”
Ersie pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “It’ll be dark soon. Nae the best conditions for huntin’.”
“Theperfectconditions for huntin’ that imp down like the weasel he is,” Doughall growled. “I want everyone ridin’ out in ten minutes. Lanterns and lances. If that wretch thinks he’ll be safe hidin’ in the undergrowth, he’s goin’ to learn a valuable lesson tonight.”
Ersie bowed her head. “Aye, M’Laird.”
She ran out with the same haste she had entered, while Doughall turned back to the rows of spears, lances, swords, and bows that lined the walls.
By daylight—or before, hopefully—he would put an end to James Stewart’s former man-at-arms. He did not doubt that Lewis remained loyal to the despicable creature, and it would cost him his life soon enough. And if James himself was still out there somewhere, having somehow survived Adam’s sword through his chest, Doughall hoped he knew that his days were numbered too.
If anyone could survive that, it’d be James. And I never did see him buried.
If they had anything to do with the attack on Freya, Doughall would not make their death quick, and he would not make it dignified. They deserved nothing but the worst of fates for attempting to dishonor and take the life of the woman he had come to… tolerate more than he was willing to admit.
Call it yer second weddin’ gift.
Running his fingertips over his longbow, unhooking it from the rack, he allowed himself a small smile. After he was done with Lewis, after he had his answers, Freya would be able to rest easy knowing that he had eliminated the danger. That was something worth smiling about.
The thick veil of night rose slowly, the glittering stars relinquishing their sparkle to the first inky tinge of dawn, the moon retreating to make way for the sun like quarreling lovers who did not want to be caught in the same room together.
The hazy, early morning light found the hunting party through the boughs of autumnal branches still clinging to their pretty leaves. Fatigue weighed the shoulders of the diligent soldiers, stretching their mouths into stifled yawns as they stabbed the sharp ends of their lances into the bushes and hollow tree trunks and tangled briars for the millionth time.
“He has to be here somewhere,” Doughall hissed, pausing to mop the sweat from his brow.
No one would argue that he had been the most determined, thrusting his lance into the smallest shrub just in case.
Ersie had her lance resting sideways on her saddle, her body bent half over as if she could sleep on her horse if she had to.
“Our success would suggest otherwise.” She pointed her thumb back over her shoulder. “If I were him, I’d have doubled back and made me way around the loch, comin’ out the northern end. Hell, if he can swim, he’ll have done that, leavin’ nay tracks.”
“Swim?” Doughall glared at her casual attitude. “He’d have frozen.”
“Better to freeze than risk bein’ flayed,” she replied with a yawn.
Annoyance bristled through him like bramble thorns pricking his patience. “Will ye sit up!”
Ersie did, blinking in surprise. “Sorry, M’Laird. I… forgot meself for a moment there.”
“Aye, ye did. Ye’ve been doin’ it since Freya arrived.” He took a deep breath. “Just remember that ye’re the example. If ye want respect, act like ye deserve it.”
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth forming a grim line. If there was one thing guaranteed to make an impact on Ersie, it was calling her position into question. Doughall had never doubted her in all the years he had known her and felt no shame whatsoever in having a woman as his second-in-command, but shehadneglected her duties of late, spending more and more time in Freya’s company instead of doing her job.
“If we’re talkin’ about behavin’ like ye’re worthy of somethin’, ye might want to head to the loch and take a long look at yer own reflection,” Ersie replied, squaring her shoulders and tilting her head from side to side.
Doughall stared hard at his friend. “Watch yer tongue, Ersie.”
“Ye tasked me with watchin’ over Freya, and now ye’re beratin’ me for it,” Ersie replied curtly. “So, nay, I willnae watch me tongue if I feel I’m bein’ spoken to unfairly. I forgot meself for a momentherebecause we’ve been traipsin’ through the woods all night and I’m tired enough to need stitches to hold me eyes open. Ineverforget meself at the castle.”
Doughall furrowed his brow, wondering if he was mistaken. Hehadtasked Ersie with guarding Freya whenever he wasn’t there, but what he had seen did not look like any sort of protection to him.
Was befriending Freya Ersie’s way of ensuring that she was permitted to stay close to her? It was an interesting tactic, one he had not considered.
“Ha!” Ersie pointed a finger at him. “Ye’ve just realized ye’re wrong. I ken that face.”
Doughall turned his horse around, leading it toward the loch. Not to take a hard look at his reflection, but to see if Ersie was right about Lewis escaping around it.
