Logan’s father rested his hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled at him. “My thanks fer yer help. If ye have a son or daughter, send them to the castle fer honest work.”
The man beamed and then began to cry. “My life fer yers, Lochiel. I heard ye were just good to the people of Lochaber, but…but this is more than—”
He went on, and as good as it was to hear about his father, Logan wanted to be away. “Good Sir,” he said, breaking through the man’s tears, “which way did they go?”
The patron pointed north. Logan turned to his father, blood draining from both their faces. “The castle.”
They took off, with Ealar close behind.
It didn’t take long before they reached home, Tor Castle.
The Lochiel took the lead as they entered the courtyard, cautious, looking for any sign that Woodburn was here.
Logan didn’t want to be cautious. He wanted to rush in swinging. He would not do it. He was no fool.
But he wanted to do it.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his sister, May, on her terrace. She waved, looking happy enough.
If Woodburn was in the vicinity, he hadn’t done anything nefarious. Logan might not discover he was here until he did do something like kill Elspeth or one of his kin. The thought made him rage within. If Roderick Woodburn was here, Logan was going to kill him.
Logan looked around while the stable hand took his horse’s reins.
“’Tis good to see ye, m’lord,” the stable hand greeted when Logan’s eyes fell on him.
Aye. Logan recognized him. He’d been here for four years now. While his father and brother hurried into the castle, Logan stayed behind with the stable hand.
“Anythin’ unusual happenin’, Rufus?”
Rufus gave him a surprised look. “Ye remember my name!”
“Of course, I do,” Logan said. “Do I look faded in years?”
“Nae! Nae!” Rufus laughed with him. “Ye look healthy and strong. In fact, stronger than ye have looked in the last four or five years.”
“That is good to hear, Rufus,” Logan clapped him on the back with his right hand. “So, then, anythin’ peculiar?”
Rufus thought about it for a moment, then shook his head.
“All right then,” Logan said, walking away, back to the castle backwards. “Let us share an ale when this is over.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Rufus grinned, and then stopped. “M’lord, wait! By peculiar, do ye mean a man carryin’ his wife into the inn, dead to the world in his arms?”
Logan rushed back to him, “Aye! Where are they?”
“Doomsday,” the stable hand told him, then laughed when Logan broke away, taking his horse again but called out to Rufus. “Two drinks!”
The Doomsday Inn, his cousin’s place down the road.
Hurrying to the castle, he pushed open the doors and shouted, “Father! Ealar!”
He didn’t wait for them to appear but leaped into his saddle and flicked his reins.
He forced his mind to remain silent while he rode. It would do him no good to fill his head with concerns.
When he reached the inn, he barged inside. His gaze went first to the tavern and scanned the two male faces at the tables. He looked up the stairs towards the rooms next. Then he moved to climb them two at a time. He would knock on every door—or break them all down if he had to.
He heard Ealar and his father entering the inn behind him.
