Chapter 7

7

A dam stepped out into the courtyard, the rain falling in a deluge all around him. He loved the rain, always more comfortable in storms than bright sunshine.

He glanced up at the ominous clouds overhead and felt some satisfaction that the storm would not die down until morning.

The cobbles beneath his feet were covered in puddles of water as he stomped toward the stables. He had been restless and unable to sit still after Emily had left. His hands were clenching incessantly by his sides as he pictured holding her to him and forcing her to submit to his commands.

He needed to quiet his mind with something, or he would drive his fist through a wall.

Reaching the stables, he pulled a stool forward to the edge of the tack room and retrieved his leather strop from a hook on the wall. He tucked the stool under himself and plopped down. There was the sound of horses shuffling about in their stables and the rain drumming on the roof. It quieted his mind.

Settling in his chair, he carefully laid all his weapons out in a long line. He never carried fewer than five at a time. Selecting a small knife—usually kept in his sleeve—he began to run it along the length of leather.

The repetitive motion helped to rearrange his scattered thoughts, and soon, he was lost in the movement, his breathing evening out.

Absorbed by his task for some minutes, he only noticed a shadow ahead of him as a shape shifted in the gloom.

"I swear ye're a ghost, man. How do ye still manage to sneak up on me after all these years?"

Theodore's slim frame emerged from the darkness and approached. His elegant fingers rested on his belt as he surveyed his master with a familiar, steady gaze. He always seemed more like a politician than a man-at-arms. But looks could be deceiving.

He was a vicious fighter.

"I met yer bride," he said softly, almost thoughtfully.

Adam glanced up at him, then returned to his work. "Aye."

"She's the woman Orkney had chosen to marry, then?"

"Aye."

"Did it go smoothly?"

"Nae in the slightest. But she's here now."

"She's a bonnie lass."

"She's a means to an end," Adam grunted.

His fingers flew over the leather more forcefully, smoothing the steel in his hands until he could almost see the edge sharpen before his eyes.

This one for his throat, the dirk for his belly.

"Her Ladyship said there was a letter from yer sister."

Adam leaned back and frowned at him. "I am out here for the quiet."

Theodore was quite unmoved. "And I am out here to hear yer orders, M'Laird."

Adam bent over the strop and returned to his task, irritated by his befuddled mind and uncertain how to proceed. But he did know one thing, at least—he needed reinforcements.

"Send word to MacGordon," he muttered.

He knew that Doughall would come when called. He was the closest friend Adam had, and a warrior himself. There was little they would not do for one another.

Adam could not help a small smile as he imagined Doughall's reaction to his little escapade that morning. His friend would disapprove of knowingly poking a wolf in the eye, but James Stewart had to pay.

Adam looked up to find Theodore watching him expectantly. "Did ye nae hear me?" he said angrily.

"Aye. I heard ye."

"Well, get to it, man."

"Do ye feel ye could give me a bit more information? ‘Send word to MacGordon' is mighty vague."

"Stop bein' a bampot."

"Speak clearly."

Adam growled at him, but his temper never ruffled Theodore. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. Adam often let his anger rule him. He would make snap decisions on a whim.

Theodore would then gently explain to him that they could try a different path. It had been his man-at-arms who had convinced him that injuring Stewart's bride might not help his cause.

The thought of injuring Emily flitted through Adam's mind. Now that he had met her, the idea revolted him.

The knife was gleaming now, its sharp edge perfected, and Adam leaned back, placing it back in the sheath at his wrist.

"Send word to Doughall that I'm gettin' married," he tried again, looking Theo in the eye expectantly. "Tell him he needs to bring men—as many as he can spare."

"Surely we have enough men to fight Orkney's men?" Theodore said with a frown.

"Aye, but I need Stewart to see that he stands alone. MacGordon and our forces will be more than a match for him. Even his men were ready to follow me orders today. People like him dinnae inspire loyalty. His soldiers would have defected if they werenae so afraid of him."

"Will his bride do the same?" Theodore asked. "Ye need her to be a part of this. There's nay use usin' her if she cannae be trusted."

"I'll deal with the lass, dinnae ye worry about it. Send the message and ensure MacGordon understands what he needs to do."

"Of course, M'Laird," Theodore said dutifully.

"Och, the Lord preserve me," Adam muttered as he saw his mother walking toward them through the rain.

Is it too much to ask to have a moment's peace?

He could not see her expression under her heavy cloak, but he knew she hadn't come outside in the middle of a storm to wish him well.

Theodore turned, bowing low to Lady MacNiall before shooting Adam a weary glance and heading back to the castle.

Adam returned to his work, deliberately ignoring his mother as she walked beneath the roof of the stables and lowered her hood. He could almost feel her rage crackling in the air between them.

"What is this game ye're playin', Adam? This is a stupid scheme—even ye must see that."

He clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the blade. He was tired of his mother trying to interfere in every decision he made. She was not accustomed to others having control.

"I would have thought ye would be thrilled," he murmured.

"Thrilled? With that harpy in me castle?"

"It is me castle, Maither, and ye willnae speak of her in such a way."

The lady scoffed as she walked toward him through the matted straw, her skirts rustling loudly as she advanced.

"What were ye thinkin', bringin' that girl here?"

"Ye have been botherin' me for months to take a wife. Now I can fulfill yer wish."

"Nae her. Ye could choose anyone. Do ye nae care that she stole yer sister's groom? Do ye nae care that she could be conspirin' against us while we sleep?!"

"I willnae repeat meself!" Adam bellowed. His voice echoed hollowly through the stables, and his mother flinched as though he had struck her. "Ye will treat Lady Emily with the respect she deserves."

"What respect is that? She is just a pawn in yer plan."

Adam lowered his gaze back to the blade. "She is more like the queen," he muttered.

His mother let out a high-pitched laugh. "Dinnae tell me that she means anythin' to ye."

Adam dropped the blade and stood up. She cowered a little, but she was a proud woman. Her defiant gaze did not leave his face.

"I've kenned the lass for a few hours," he said quietly, keeping his voice low and authoritative. "I dinnae have any use for her except what I brought her here for, which is to avenge me sister. And dinnae speak of him as though he was worthy of Laura. Do ye think any woman deserves to be wedded to that bastard?"

Adam couldn't shake the feeling of relief that Emily was safe from Stewart—that she hadn't married him, in the end. He was glad that she was safe and somewhere he could protect her. Even if he hadn't managed to help Laura yet, he had done right by Emily.

His thoughts returned to the chilly marshes, Emily's pale leg on display as he wiped the blood from her wound. It was a satisfying thought to know that somewhere in the castle, the same léine he still wore was touching her skin.

He wondered what she would have done if he had run his fingers over her leg and continued the journey upward, smoothing his fingers over her thigh, searching for the dark heat of her body. They had been quite alone. He could have done anything to her.

"Do ye think that man hurt yer sister?"

His mother's frightened voice pulled him out of his lustful thoughts. Guilt shot through him at the worry in her eyes. He felt like a failure, unable to help his sister despite all his best efforts. Seeing his mother's face so pale and drawn was a stark reminder of how hard she had taken the news.

"I dinnae ken, but if he did, he's goin' to pay for it," he said angrily. "If ye listen to me for once, ye will see that there is reason in everythin' I do. I have a plan, and I will follow it. Ye will respect Lady Emily, Maither. I will bring back Laura and kill James Stewart for leavin' her to rot. Is that understood?"

His mother's eyes were still hard, but beneath the anger, he could see the grief that drove her.

He sighed. "Go back to the castle—it's cold, and the wind is pickin' up."

She released a shuddering breath that came out in a great cloud before she nodded once and turned to walk back to the castle through the rain. He watched her until she was out of sight and then took his seat again. The cold would do him good; it might even help to clear his head.

As Lady MacNiall disappeared into the shadows, Adam tried to fight the bitterness her presence always stirred in him.

His mother was a forceful woman with whom his father had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love. Her influence on the Laird had been substantial, and due to her cajoling, his father had started many wars and fought a great number of battles during his lifetime. His conquests had expanded their territory and made them one of the most powerful families in the Highlands.

But it had come at a cost.

His father had repeatedly been encouraged to go to war by his wife. Moira Kane was many things, but as a young woman, she had been arrogant and greedy. Her lust for power and influence knew no bounds, and his father had paid the price.

As the Laird had grown older, her desire for glory had never waned. Only on that fateful day when they received the news that her beloved husband had finally been killed did the reality of what she had done truly sink in.

Ever since his father's death, his mother had stood at the edges of his life, observing but rarely interfering. Until recently, her meddling had been manageable, but she was beginning to forget her place. It pained him to see her unhappy, but he could not absolve her completely of what had happened to Laura.

She had been a distant and absent mother, and if it weren't for Freya's sensible influence, he believed Laura would have lost her way far sooner.

"I just pray ye are safe," he muttered into the night.

He hoped that somewhere in the Highlands, Laura was being cared for. Looking up at the shadowy castle ahead of him, he noticed a light flickering in Emily's chambers. It felt like a beacon of hope.

Women are a means to an end, he told himself. And Emily Murray will be me way to revenge.