“I’m Conall Sinclair and I’m here because my father sent me to check on operations. And it seems fortunate he did if all his guards are as slack as ye two.”
The two men licked their lips, their bravado gone. “We weren’t expecting ye, my lord. If ye had sent word, we could have been ready—”
“Send word? That would defy the point of an inspection wouldnae it? My father pays ye well to guard this place and he expects ye to be alert at all times!”
He had no real idea of what his father’s arrangement with these men was or what was going on here but if he wanted answers, he needed them to believe he held the authority.
One of the men cleared his throat. “Forgive us, my lord,” he stammered. “We didnae mean to keep ye waiting. If ye’d like, we can give ye a tour of the warehouses. I’m sure ye will find everything to yer satisfaction.”
Conall nodded curtly. “Aye that would be a good start,” he said, not bothering to hide his disdain for their lax security. He gestured for them to lead the way.
They were just about to comply and Conall was beginning to believe he might just pull this off, when a harsh voice from behind snapped, “Wait.”
Another man stood in the doorway. He was a giant, almost as broad and tall as Conall’s sword-brother, Magnus. His face was weathered and scarred, with a deep slash running down one lip. He seemed to fill the entire doorway, blocking out the light from outside. In one hand he held two dead rabbits, their eyes glassy in death. His cold gaze swept the room, taking in Conall and his two escorts with disdain.
“I didn’t know we were expecting anyone,” he said, his voice betraying no emotion. “Who gave you permission to enter my warehouse?”
Conall straightened, sensing danger. He needed to tread carefully.
“I am Conall Sinclair,” he said, his voice steady and controlled. “I am here on behalf of my father, Earl Sinclair. He sent me to inspect this warehouse.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Earl Sinclair, you say? I didn’t think he would be so foolish as to send his son on such a mission.”
Conall bristled at the man’s implication but kept his tone measured. “He did, and ye will show me what I want to see. Now.”
The giant man stepped forward menacingly. “I don’t know what game you are playing, but you’d best leave now before things get ugly.”
He had a strange accent, one Conall couldn’t quite place. Not Scottish. Not English or Irish.
“Who are ye?” he demanded.
The giant’s scarred face folded into a scowl. “If your father had sent you, you would know who I am. Last chance. Leave now whilst you can walk out of here. Otherwise you’ll leave face down in the river.”
Emboldened by their leader’s words, the two other guards came to stand menacingly behind Conall.
“My father will hear of this,” Conall growled.
“Aye, he will,” the giant replied. “You can be sure of that.”
Conall reached for his sword, ready to defend himself if necessary. But before he could draw it, there was a sudden commotion outside. Shouting, the sound of boots running on the dock, and then a loud splash.
Conall exchanged a quick look with the guards before running out into the daylight.
Molly was in the boat, frantically pushing away from the dock with a pole. Two men were in the water, splashing and cursing as they tried to swim after her.
She looked up as Conall and the guards spilled out of the warehouse. “Call these meatheads off!” she yelled.
A surge of protective fury went through Conall at the sight of Molly’s fear. His hand tightened on his sword hilt and it was all he could do not to draw it and aim for the giant’s throat. He whirled on the man.
“What is going on here?” Conall demanded. “Why are yer men attacking my partner?”
The giant’s face remained impassive. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. “My men were simply securing the perimeter as they were instructed to do.”
“Call them back,” Conall said, his voice gone low and deadly. “Call them back or so help me, I willnae be responsible for my actions.”
He glared at the man. He stared right back. Conall could almost see the thoughts playing out in his head. He was wondering how far to push it. He was wondering whether Conall was telling the truth and if his father really had sent him. He was wondering whether this was worth the trouble of making Earl Sinclair angry. At last, caution won out.
“Get your sorry arses back here!” he bellowed at the men in the water.
