David leaned one shoulder against the paneling, arms crossed as though he had wandered in for idle gossip rather than business. His eyes gleamed with mischief beneath the dark sweep of his hair, and he clicked his tongue in mock sympathy. He seemed entirely too pleased with himself, which only meant trouble. Connor kept his silence, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of asking first.
“So,” David said, voice lilting with amusement, “I heard about the upcomin’ nuptials. Ye move fast, Connor. Faster than any storm on the moors.”
“Aye, and I heard ye dinnae finish yer mission last night,” Connor replied flatly. “Did ye do what I asked, or were ye too busy waggin’ yer tongue?”
David lifted both brows, wounded for show. He pushed off the wall and paced to the desk, placing his palms on the polished surface as though preparing to deliver a grand tale. Connor’s jaw ticked, but he kept his stance casual, refusing to be baited by David’s theatrics. Outside the window, the courtyard clattered with training steel, filling the silence while he waited.
David finally shrugged. “I did what ye asked. I went from table to table, listenin’ and drinkin’ with the loudest fools in the room, hopin’ they kent somethin’. And most of them kent nothin’ worth the spit it took to say it.”
Connor’s shoulders tightened with growing irritation, though he kept his breathing even. His parents and his brother had been slain, with no justice yet in sight after all these years. Every delayfelt like a rope tightening around his ribs. He stepped around the desk, eyes narrowed.
“So ye wasted the night,” Connor said. “Is that what I’m hearin’, David?”
David shook his head, lifting one hand in quick protest. His expression sobered, which meant he had finally reached the part Connor needed. He brushed a hand over his jaw and straightened with a seriousness rarely seen in him.
“Nae wasted,” David said. “One of them men had a scrap of truth. He said a merchant passed through the glen near the time yer family was ambushed. And he said that merchant may have seen somethin’, or someone, on that road.”
Connor absorbed this with a slow nod, though his pulse kicked hard against his throat. The thought of someone having information, any information, burned through his chest. He clenched his fists behind his back so David wouldn’t see the tension in his hands. Calm was the armor of a laird, and he wore it well.
“And where is this merchant now?” Connor asked. “If he saw the ambushers, he’ll talk. Or I’ll make him talk.”
David exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.
“He’s nae here. Travelin’ north, accordin’ to what I learned. I’ve already set men to track him, but I’ll go meself if ye want it done right.”
Connor nodded once, sharp and decisive. His brother’s face flashed in his mind. He swallowed the pressure knotting in his chest and forced his voice steady. A laird could grieve, but he could not break.
“Continue lookin’ into it,” Connor said. “I’ll nae rest till I ken who swung the blades that killed them. And when I do, I’ll kill every last one of them.”
David gave a grim, loyal nod, the kind that promised blood would spill before the matter ended. He stepped aside as Connor walked toward the study door, falling into stride beside him with practiced ease. Their boots clicked in unison on the stone floor, steady and unhurried. Outside the room, the castle’s daily rhythm thrummed around them, alive and constant.
Connor paused at the head of the corridor, scanning the stone walls as he always did when he left his study. Every crack, every shift in mortar, every place where damp fought to creep in caught his eye. His father had taught him that a laird’s first duty was to the strength of his walls, for strong walls meant safe people. Connor traced the cold surface with the back of his knuckles before moving on.
David chuckled softly behind him. “Ye act like the stones themselves are plannin’ a rebellion, Connor.”
“Aye,” Connor replied without turning. “A wall neglected is a battle lost before it begins. I willnae have weakness in me keep.”
They continued down the hallway, passing servants who bowed their heads respectfully. Connor nodded back, though his mind remained on the cracks he had seen, the tasks that needed doing, and the endless list of duties that came with the title he had inherited too young. A laird never had the luxury of a still mind. His responsibilities pressed on him as heavily as the stones themselves.
David shoved his hands into his belt and grinned. “Ye ken, ye should smile once in a while. Folk might faint from the shock, but at least they’d say their Laird had charm.”
“Charm doesnae keep men alive,” Connor muttered. “Steel, strategy, and sense do.”
They walked out into the courtyard where the sound of blades rang in the air. Warriors trained in pairs, their shouts echoing against the walls. Connor watched them a moment, measuring their footwork, gauging their discipline. His clan’s strength depended on their readiness, and he would accept nothing less than excellence.
David folded his arms. “They’re better than last month,” he said. “Yer drills are workin’. The young ones are faster, and the seasoned ones are sharper for it.”
“Aye,” Connor said quietly. “But there’s always more to do. Always.”
They circled the yard, Connor pausing now and again to correct a stance or adjust a shield angle. David added his own comments, often teasing but helpful nonetheless, and the warriors straightened each time the Laird’s shadow passed over them. The men respected him deeply, even in their fear of disappointing him. Connor carried that weight with the same stern pride his father had before him.
David nudged him with an elbow. “Ye ken, between plannin’ vengeance, choosin’ a bride, and keepin’ a castle from fallin’ down, ye might be the busiest man in the Highlands.”
Connor shot him a withering look. “Aye, and yet here I am listenin’ to ye chatter.”
David laughed, unabashed. “Someone must keep yer head from gettin’ too heavy with all that responsibility. I’m doin’ ye a service.”
Connor huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. For a brief moment, the weight on his shoulders eased, held up by the presence of a friend who had stood beside him since they were boys. Then the moment passed, and duty settled over him again like a cloak. He turned toward the keep’s inner gate, already thinking of the next tasks awaiting him.
