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Ervin drew away from him, his shoulders tensing as he looked around. “We shouldn’t speak here.”
Aindreas nodded while grabbing his horse’s reins and following Ervin through the town towards a pub in the distance. “Have they been here?”
His heart paused for a brief moment at Ervin’s slight nod. “Only but a few,” he said while pushing open the doors to the pub. There were very few people inside—only the barman at the front and a few drunkards sleeping off the previous night’s drink.
Aindreas followed him to the far corner of the room, taking a seat in the shadows. “Tell me everything ye know.”
Ervin sighed while rubbing his temples. “There were only two of ‘em. They were hardly here a day. I would’ve had them taken, but they were too quick. Strangely, they only took some coin.”
Aindreas nodded. “Do ye think there’s more?”
Ervin scowled. “When there’s one, there’s twenty.” He shook his head. “When there’s two—“
Aindreas sighed. “There’s many,” he finished for the man.
Ervin scratched the back of his head. “Has yer father got a plan? What shall we do if more come? We’ll need protection, but do ye have any soldiers to spare?”
Aindreas stared at the table, not knowing what his father would do. It was the laird’s call, not his own, yet his father had been preoccupied. His thoughts weren’t on the MacAlister attack at all, and he was beginning to wonder if his father even cared. However, he couldn’t tell Ervin of his father’s failures. The village speakers admired the laird. He had helped his people survive several winters and attacks. Even though he had been a poor father, he was a respectable laird.
And if Aindreas married Sorcha, he would be able to supply the men to help Ervin’s town.
He nodded and lifted his gaze to Ervin, forcing a smile. “Have faith. My father always has a plan."
