A Hellion for the Highlander

“Both,” Thomeas said darkly. “But the sister more so. I wouldnae be surprised if she was the spawn o’ the Dark One himself.”

The Laird raised his eyebrows. Thomeas was more open about his devoutness than many of his men, it was true. Still, he had never heard the accomptant rave so, especially not about children. He saw how off-kilter his friend was and tried to move the topic along. “What o’ the farmer? Where was he?”

“Away, the older bairn said. On business,” Thomeas grunted. “Dinnae ken when he’ll be back, apparently.”

Alexander nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Take a couple o’ days off, Thomeas. Ye’ve more than earned it.”

“An’ what’ll ye do about the farmer?” Thomeas asked. “He cannae be left to operate like this.”

“Dinnae ye worry,” the Laird told him with a sharp nod. “He will nae be. Nae more talkin’ about everythin’. I’m gonnae go deal wi’ this meself.”

Nathair offered to accompany him on the journey as soon as Alexander told him his plans. In fact, he practically insisted on it. “Ye are nae gonnae meet any demon bairns without yer Man-at-arms,” Nathair had said with authority.

In truth, Alexander was grateful for the insistence. He would need to travel as lightly as possible, which meant no maids, no servants. Likely he’d take nothing more than a change or two of clothing and provisions for the journey.

The farmer will provide for me when I arrive. Nae matter what he’s hidin’, it’s his duty as me vassal.

Still, Alexander hated to travel. He hated change. He had his routines, and since he was a boy, he had stuck to them. He’d slept in the same room, with his bed at the same angle. He’d taken his meals at the same time and washed at the same time every night.

He woke exactly when he meant to and followed a regimented order of events as he went about his day. Some saw it as rigidity or inflexibility, but Alexander thought it nothing of the sort. It was just important to know exactly what was going on at all times. Only then could he be the Laird his people deserved. Only then could he be even half the Laird that his father had been.

But ye cannae do that on the road. Ye have to just go wherever the wind blows ye.

The thought made him acutely uncomfortable. At least, with Nathair’s company, it would mitigate some of the strangeness. The Man-at-arms had been the most constant thing in Alexander’s life since childhood, more so even than his sister.

I’m lucky to have him. It was supposed to be Ilene.

He pushed that thought out of his mind, angry that she

had even intruded. It had been years, and he had learned since then. Love was too much of a distraction—even now, long after it was over. He must focus.

“We’ll stay three days at most, nae longer,” Alexander said decisively as he and Nathair selected the horses they would ride out on their journey. “That should be more than enough for a quick reprimand an’ gatherin’ o’ what exactly the man’s been up to. Then we can get home, quick as ye like.”

“If nae quicker,” Nathair snorted. “I’m surprised yer doin’ this, Sandy. Ye could o’ just sent me alone.”

Alexander shook his head. “Nay. I’ve sent enough men. Cunningham came back fair traumatized. I dinnae ken what they’re up to at O’Donnel farm, but it’s far gone the time for me words and come me time for action.”

“I’ve been sayin’ that since we were eight and nine years old,” Nathair teased. “I think I’ll take this Irish Cob. Does he have a name?”

Alexander patted the horse’s nose. He knew each of the animals in here by heart and could recite where the stable master had purchased them and for what price. Alexander liked horses.

They make more sense than most people, tha’s for sure.

“Aye,” he said. “This is Ailill. The filly I’ll be ridin’ is his sister, Aibreann. Catherine got them from an Irish trader when they were naught but foals an’ she left them behind when she went to wed her Laird.”

He headed across the stable to where the filly in question was snacking on some hay and smiled. Horses were, indeed, majestic creatures.

Aye, they’re filthy at times, but their glossy coats and their discipline more than make up for it.

“Aibreann? Ye ready for a journey?”

As if she understood, the horse let out a low whinny.

Chapter 3

Operibus Anteire

Leading the Way with Deeds