Page 72 of Highlander of Steel
Did Paisley honestly think he hadn’t been wrestling with every option he had before him? He liked to think that he was someone who would raze the entirety of Scotland to the ground if it meant saving the woman he had begun to fall for, but the truth was agonizingly different. He had to consider his clan first; his needs, wants, and feelings came second.
“It’s ignorin’ me duties that has got us into this mess in the first place,” he added sharply. “If I’d focused on Fraser when I snuck into Castle Ainsley, as I was meant to, then he’d be here, and we wouldnae be havin’ this conversation. Och, we’d likely be celebratin’ yer weddin’.”
Instead of lamentin’ mine.
“And the cost is yer misery and hers?” Paisley retorted, her voice catching.
Killian turned his gaze to the sprawling gardens, the dawn casting everything in a muted, inky blue. The birds continued their incessant song, grating on his nerves, and at that moment, he knew he would never find beauty in anything again.
“Who’s to say she’d be happier here?” he replied. “There’d be nay peace for her, even if she returned. Laird Ainsley has confirmed that the war willnae end, just because she’s me wife.Wasme wife.”
“Sheisyer wife,” Paisley insisted vehemently. “And she’d at least be safer here.”
He was about to say that nowhere would be safe for Ailis when the shriek of rusty hinges snapped his attention to the garden gate. A figure came running, the gloaming making it hard to see who it was.
Peter? Has he come back, at last?
Disappointment flooded him as proximity revealed the man to be McBain, one of the sentries who tended to take the night watch. The same guard who had seen Ailis flee the castle the night before the wedding—which felt like a lifetime ago—and had done and said nothing to stop her.
He was breathless and pale, wheezing as he announced, “There’s a visitor at the gates, me Laird. We didnae ken whether to let him in or nae, but he’s insistent.”
“Who is it?” Killian asked, frowning.
If it were anyone from their clan, the guards wouldn’t have hesitated to let them in.
McBain pounded on his chest, coughing. “It’s Murdock Lyall, me Laird. Says he willnae leave until he’s spoken with ye.” He paused. “We considered shooting our arrows at him, but we thought we ought to ask ye first. He’s… actin’ strange.”
“Strange? What do ye mean?” Killian said, his temper flaring.
Wasn’t the box insult enough? Had Murdock come to deliver another warning? This time, would there be a box with some part of Ailis in it?
Killian’s stomach twisted into knots, knowing it wasn’t beyond the bastard to do such a thing.
McBain grimaced. “It’s hard to explain, me Laird. He seems… restless. Pacin’ up and down the hill. Every time we think he’s gone, he comes back and demands to see ye again.”
“This is a trick,” Paisley said, her hand coming to rest on Killian’s arm.
He shrugged it off. “Aye, it may be, but I’ll see what he has to say.” His hands curled into fists. “And when he’s done, I’ll run him through like his faither did mine.”
Like his actions have done me heart.
For this time, he had nothing to lose. Indeed, whether it was a trick or not, Murdock had presented a prime opportunity for Killian. If Laird Ainsley wanted to see his son and heir alive again, he would have to send back Ailis, Fraser, and Skye.
But they must ken that I’d do that, so why is he here? Why take such a risk when they have leverage?
That thought niggled at the back of Killian’s mind as he took off at a run, sprinting through the castle grounds. There would be hustle and bustle once the sun rose, the courtyards filling with activity and chatter, the residents as of yet unaware that they no longer had a mistress. Not where she ought to be, at least.
Killian slowed down as he approached the gates and paused before the bars of the portcullis to peer out. There was no sign of Murdock, but McBain’s words lingered. The man was probably somewhere down the hill, either making his way back up or making his way back down.
With a breath, Killian called up to the guards, “Open the gates and drop me a sword.”
The portcullis began to rise immediately, but it was McBain himself who offered his broadsword, having caught up to him. The poor man looked like he might pass out from the exertion, leading Killian to wonder if he ought to put his soldiers through an even more rigorous training routine.
“Shall I join ye?” McBain wheezed.
Killian shot him a sharp look. “I daenae need yer death on me conscience this mornin’.”
Adjusting his grip on the unfamiliar broadsword, but too impatient to return to the castle to fetch his own, he ducked under the portcullis before it was even halfway up. He strode out with vengeance on his mind and hatred in his heart, his eyes searching the hard-packed ground for fresh footprints.
