Page 43 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

“’Tis nothing.”

Reaper leveled a taunting frown at him. “Ye’re so full of shite.”

Tormund glared, but Reaper could always read beneath the letters. A laird in exile in his own right, Caleb Comyn hadn’t survived by being unsavvy. He could interpret people like the walking histories they were.

A laugh arose among the lasses. Whatever had passed had humored them all, and Brighde was at the heart of their frivolity when he realized the lasses continued to glance his way. And she wouldn’t look at him. Had they been teasing her about him? He’d never brought a lass on his errands before. Surely it was a novelty for him to do so now.

“Ye play with fire,” Reaper added, following his gaze to his angel.

“Ye’re certain she was just a mistake?” Niall said, riding up to join them.

The tone in his uncle’s voice told Tormund the question wasn’t meant to be answered. Niall saw something that Tormund was loath to keep denying. All he wanted to do was watch her undulate around the fire, to bask in her glowing smile. Watch over and over how she dropped berries into the wee lassies’ mouths like baby birds when they flitted by, or wove flowers into the lassies’ hair. He watched how she carried the villagers’ babes on her hip and held forth fruits to them, earning giggles from their mouths. How she played draughts with the lads and trounced them resoundingly.

How wonderful a mother she’d make. She deserved that sort of life he’d heard her crave this morn when feeling her sister-in-law’s stomach. He betrayed his brother and his people by even entertaining these thoughts.

She’d be a vision on any man’s arm, and bitterness invaded that it wouldn’t be his arm. Eventually James would understand the treasure he hid from the world. Eventually she might go to another, who would wake up each daybreak to the mussed sight he’d been graced with this morn, but the thought of her in another’s bed as that man rutted babes upon her made illness twist like a shiv in Tormund’s gut. His jaw clenched.

“Do ye think that she might be…another chance?” Niall hedged.

“Nay venture there.” Tormund quelled his uncle’s line of thought with a slice of his hand. “Ye think Devil MacDonald would come to the table to discuss the truth like a civilized man? Ye ken as well as I do that answer. Remember our crops burning this summer past? All our folk who’ve gone hungry since?” He hitched up his chin to expose his ragged scar down his neck. “Remember riding to James for help?”

The truth. He nearly snorted. Not even Niall knew the full truth. All hopes of peace had died with Marjorie, Owen, and their babe. He squinted up at the afternoon sun, gauging the hour. He’d need to return Brighde to Kilravock Castle soon so she could continue helping Lady Rose weave wreaths for the morrow’s festivities, lest he be hunted by MacDonald’s henchmen, and yet all he could think about was how he would sneak her out again tonight and to where he might take her.

“Ye’re nay to tell a soul, man. She and I tryst. ’Tis all,” Tormund added.

“Since when do ye tryst?” Niall asked.

“I take care of my needs,” he growled, watching Brighde tip her head back and laugh, those wisps that he loved to pet falling loose.

Now Reaper harumphed. “Getting a tavern wench on her knees is nay a tryst, man.”

“A tryst involves heartstrings.” Niall and his old-man infinite wisdom.

“Of which I have none.”

“I’ve never known ye to take a lass,” Reaper interjected. “Especially a noblewoman. ’Tis bold. Even for ye.”

Clenching his jaw so hard his muscles bulged, he trotted around the herd again, instigating the animals to continue down toward the glen while the kirk bell rang. But shite, he had no time for Reaper’s meddling and Niall’s father-figure rubbish. “It means nothing.”

He tracked Brighde’s movements as he trotted, working Nykr back and forth through the upland meadow. Traced her sunshine smile with his gaze.

“Nothing?” Niall glared at him as he passed him. “I’ve never known ye to be a liar, either.”

“And the ambush—”

“Leave it.” Tormund cut Reaper off with his hand slicing through the air. He wasn’t ready to face a decision on the matter.

Niall didn’t leave it. “Are ye nay conflicted?”

“Of course I’m bloody conflicted.”

He ripped his gaze from Brighde and planted it squarely upon Niall, wheeling Nykr around. Felt that mounting helplessness that ambushing her brother would ruin her respect for him, yet calling off the ambush would fuel his men’s anger and thwart them finally getting justice for Owen and the other crimes against them that had gone ignored by the very Crown that had wanted The Great Peace.

“But imagine telling Ghost this. Imagine the men’s hardships, their loved ones lost, their just rewards. That bastard deserves to rot. The fact I like his sister has no bearing on her brother.”

“Keep telling yerself that,” Niall quipped, trotting past him to overtake a stray sheep.

Tormund scoffed, eyes following Niall. Cracking his neck back and forth, his limbs vibrated with tension. “Since when do ye think MacDonald does nay deserve Highland justice?”