Page 30 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

Gus shook his head. “I suppose I owe you. Sit down. I'll bring your ale.”

Creagan returned to his table.

The two women were waiting for him with generous smiles.

The buxom lass caught his arm and pulled him down beside her. “You never told us you could move that fast.”

The other woman settled herself on his thigh again. “I sure hope you’re not fast at everything.”

“I take my time when it comes to important things,” he assured her with a wink.

“Like what important things?”

Creagan kissed her slowly. “Like you—” He turned to the other woman and kissed her. “And you.”

“More ale,” the one woman called out. “We have a long night ahead.”

It was considerably later when Creagan climbed the stairs with an arm around each woman.

He couldn't remember which of them suggested they retire upstairs, though he suspected it might have been him.

At the chamber door, the buxom lass caught hold of his shirt and pulled him inside.

Creagan had barely taken two steps when one woman began slipping his shirt from his shoulders.

He smiled as the other woman closed the door.

Creagan was already several miles from the village when the morning sun found him walking along the road. He carried everything he needed in the leather pack slung over one shoulder. His pace was easy, despite having slept considerably less than he usually preferred.

He smiled at the memory. Some things were worth losing sleep over.

He had no particular need for a horse. His feet had carried him across more lands than most men would ever see, and traveling on foot had advantages. People were more inclined to stop and talk to a lone traveler than a mounted warrior. He heard things that way. Learned things.

And Creagan enjoyed the journey nearly as much as wherever it happened to take him.

Today, it was taking him somewhere he was always glad to return to.

Chapter Ten

Creagan

Creagan spotted the farm as he came over the rise.

It sat in a shallow valley surrounded by fields, the stone farmhouse larger than most, with a barn and several smaller buildings scattered behind it. Early fall had begun to touch the land. The fields nearest the house were golden with grain ready for harvest, the heavy heads bending beneath their own weight, while beyond them sheep grazed across green hills just beginning to show patches of brown.

Farther down the slope, cattle wandered through a broad pasture bordered by a low stone wall. An orchard stretched along one side of the farmhouse, its trees heavy with red and green apples, and beyond it, Creagan could make out the neat rows of the kitchen garden where cabbages, onions, and other late crops still waited to be gathered.

A few trees scattered across the valley had already begun their autumn change, flashes of yellow and russet among the lingering green.

He smiled. It had been too long.

He left the road and took the familiar path through the fields.

He hadn't gone far when a shaggy head suddenly popped up between the tall stalks of grain. Two dark eyes fixed on him, and a heartbeat later the dog bounded through the field, grain bending and swaying in his wake.

Creagan stopped.

The large shaggy beast came racing toward him, barking as though an invading army had descended upon the farm.