Page 76 of The Highland Laird’s Hellion Bride

“… which is why I think we move the second watch to the ridge instead,” Duncan finished.

“Aye.”

“Ye didnae hear a word of that.”

“I heard some of it.”

“Ye heard none of it. Ye were staring at that fence post like it owed ye money.” Duncan’s mouth curved. “Or thinking of something else.”

“I was thinking of the patrol.”

“Ye were thinking of something with considerably softer edges than a patrol, Cousin. I’ve ken ye since we were boys; I can tell the difference.” Duncan didn’t press further, only turned his horse back toward the second watch point, grinning in a way that made it clear the subject wasn’t closed so much as postponed.

Magnus met with the guards next, in the courtyard, four men standing at rough attention while he laid out the new rotation.

“Two men at the postern gate, always. No exceptions, no matter how quiet the night’s been.” He walked the line of them, checking each face. “Ye’re relieved every four hours, nae six. A tired man misses things a rested one wouldnae.”

“And the eastern ridge, me Laird?”

“Three men, armed, rotated the same.”

A loose curl against her jaw.

He should have moved straight to the next point. Instead, he found himself looking past the guard’s shoulder toward the keep, toward the window that was, he happened to know without ever having deliberately learned it, Elspeth’s chamber, and lost the thread of what he’d meant to say next for the length of a full breath.

“Me Laird?”

“Aye. Rotated the same.” He cleared his throat. “Report anything out of place. A broken branch, a gate left open that shouldnae be. I daenae care how small it seems.”

The livestock came next, and that, at least, was work simple enough that his hands could manage it without his head’s full attention, which turned out to be precisely the problem.

“This one’s favoring her front leg, me Laird,” the shepherd said, holding the ewe steady while Magnus crouched to check the hoof.

“How long?”

“Since this morning. Might be a stone caught in it.”

Magnus worked his thumb along the hoof and found nothing. He found instead that his hands had gone still, caught on the memory of kneeling in the mud with this very ewe while Duncan made unhelpful comments.

Curls escaping their pins…

“Me Laird. The hoof.”

“Aye.” He found the stone, worked it loose, and set the ewe back on her feet, and did not allow himself to consider, even for a moment, why the whole business had put him in mind of curls escaping their pins.

He fixed the gate hinge alone, which he’d expected would help, since there was no one present to notice if his attention wandered. It did not help.

He got the pin half-seated, and his mind went, without his permission, to the sound of her laughter drifting down a corridor that morning. He hadn’t seen her, only heard it, muffled through a door, bright and unguarded in a way that had stopped him mid-stride in the hall.

The pin slipped. He caught his knuckle on the iron instead, swore under his breath, and stood there for a moment sucking on the graze while the gate swung uselessly on its half-mended hinge, unrepaired, mocking him.

He sharpened blades after that, two of them, Jinny and a second sword that had gone dull from disuse. Duncan found him at it in the armory an hour later, watching from the doorway.

“Ye’ve been at that same blade for twenty minutes.”

“It needs sharpening.”

“It needed sharpening for maybe five of those minutes. The other fifteen ye’ve spent staring at the wall.”