That was a good sign. Hadn’t his father once said that the comings and goings from a keep were like the lifeblood of the place? Blood had to flow, and people had to keep moving.
“I daenae ken how to help her,” he murmured, the wind whipping away his words. “I keep thinking of things we did as children. Games we played, stories we told, things like that, and I want to share those things with her. But then, that’s childish, is it nae? How would that cheer her up?”
“It’s worth trying, son.”
Helena placed her hand on his shoulder, and he leaned toward her almost without thinking. She wrapped her arm around him, and it occurred briefly to him that they must look like a funny pair, a tiny old woman and her hulking son.
He didn’t care how they looked, not one bit.
“There’s been no word of the annulment he promised,” Hunter whispered. “He told her he’d get one, but I havenae received any documents, or even any messages from him. He’s left her in limbo.”
“What will be will be, son. All we can do is support her.”
“It’s been seven days!” he burst out, shaking his head. “I thought…”
“Ye thought what?” Helena gave him a wry, amused smile. “Ye thought that she’d shake off her heartbreak within a week? Oh, Hunter, ye are in for a rough awakening one day.”
Hunter didn’t bother insisting that he would never marry. It was hardly relevant, anyway.
“Perhaps we could arrange…” he trailed off, peering down with a frown.
“What is it?”
“There’s a man on horseback down there,” he muttered, squinting. “He’s moving fast. That…” His eyes widened. “Oh, that bastard. It’s him. It’shim, Maither. It’s Laird Bryden!”
“Mercy me,” Helena responded placidly. “Aye, it does look like him.”
“I’ll have the gates dropped. He’s nae coming in.”
“Might be a wee bit late for that.”
Hunter growled out a curse, dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword. “Then I’m going to make him regret coming here. He’ll pay for what he’s done to me sister; I can promise ye that.”
The crowds parted before Evander and his galloping horse. Cries of surprise and alarm rang out as he shot past.
Generally, in a crowd like this, a person on horseback wouldn’t get above a polite trot. It was safer, and an unwritten rule.
He ignored the annoyed shouts of pedestrians, fixing his gaze on the yawning gate ahead. At any moment, the sharp portcullis could drop, leaving him locked outside.
And then what should I do? Write a letter?
Clenching his jaw, he spurred his horse the last few feet, bursting through the gateway and past a handful of surprised-looking MacCrimmon soldiers. He came to a clopping halt in the middle of the courtyard.
From his vantage point on horseback, he could see a little better.
People filled the courtyard. Servants rushed to and fro with bags and barrels and boxes, and vendors called out their wares. Men in MacCrimmon tartan strolled around, monitoring the goings-on.
The great question was, where next? What now?
He slipped down from his horse, trying to catch his breath. He’d ridden through the night to get here, and exhaustion weighed down his bones. His poor horse would need a good rest and plenty of food and water. If he could just find?—
“Laird Bryden!Evander!” A familiar voice rang out over the hubbub of the courtyard.
Evander turned in the direction of the voice, along with half of the other passers-by.
Hunter, Laird MacCrimmon, stood halfway down a stone staircase that led up to the top of the walls. Ignoring the hubbub around him, he walked down the rest of the steps.
“I saw ye coming,” he said, his jaw tight. “Ye shouldnae be here, Evander.”
