Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Two weeks later
The road stretched quiet before them, pale earth shining faint beneath the moon.
Evander let his horse, Gray, choose his own pace, loose on the reins, while the men rode behind in a staggered line.
The night was sharp with heather and damp stone, a smell that always made him think of home.
His shoulders sat easy in the saddle, not a care in him save for the dull ache of tired bones after too long at the city.
It ought to have been dull work, the ride back to Tor Castle, but he was thinking of Marian.
He could still taste the kiss she’d left him with before she bolted.
Marian Fraser—a stubborn lass, running like the hounds were on her heels, yet she’d let him touch her mouth.
He grinned into the dark, one hand rubbing over his jaw.
Saints, she had fire. The kind a man remembered, even after two weeks.
Finn drew up nearer on his left, his mare’s hooves clopping heavy on the stone. “Ye’re smilin’ tae yersel’, me laird. Bad sign, that.”
Evander cocked a brow. “Is it? Thought it meant I’d had a fine time.”
“Fine’s one word fer it. Ye lost near every toss at the games.”
“Lost? Nay, lad. I let them win. Ye’ve tae keep the folk cheerin’ or they’ll say their laird’s a greedy bastard.” He gave a low laugh, and a few of the men joined in behind them. “Besides, I didnae see ye hit the ring toss either.”
Finn groaned, the sound enough to set them all laughing again.
Then, Grey’s ears twitched. Evander felt it at once, a small prickle that meant something was off. The horse slowed, head lifting, nostrils flaring. The night, full of the men’s banter, seemed to draw itself tight.
Evander raised two fingers. Silence fell clean as a blade.
The birch at the bend shifted, but not with wind. A shadow pulled back, then another. His eyes cut left—aye, in the shrub. He near sighed. Bandits. They had a knack for poor timing.
“Evenin’,” Evander called, his voice light as though greeting neighbors. “If ye’re wantin’ company, ye should’ve asked. We’ve ale enough between us.”
A figure stepped out, tall and stringy, fair hair tied back with cord. He carried himself bold, but Evander saw the hunger in his eyes. A man who’d gone too long without bread. His coat was patched neat by a careful hand. Evander almost pitied him. Almost.
“Road tax,” the fellow said, clearing his throat. “Coin or steel. Ye choose.”
“Coin or steel,” Evander repeated, amused.
“Och, but ye make it sound like I’ve a fair bargain tae weigh.
Truth is, I’ve a poor temper when pressed.
” He slid easy from the saddle, boots meeting soft earth.
“But I’ll ask—how much hunger we speakin’?
Feedin’ wives and bairns, or just yer own bellies? ”
The man shifted, uneasy at the question, but before he could answer a younger lad broke from the gorse, blade high.
Too hasty by half. Evander moved at once.
He caught the boy’s wrist, twisted neat, and sent the knife singing into the birch trunk.
One hard shove had him in the ditch, floundering among reeds.
That was enough to set the whole net tightening. Men came out from both sides, cudgels and short blades catching what little moonlight there was. Evander’s men needed no order. Finn whooped, Tam roared, and the clash came fast.
Evander’s own first strike was calm, measured. He ducked a cudgel, let it swish air, then drove his elbow hard into the man’s gut. Another came at him with a rabbit knife, older, sharper in the eye than the rest.
They traded two quick passes before the man’s knife grazed Evander’s thigh, slicing through hose to skin. Heat burned across the muscle, sharp but not deep. Evander laughed, the sound startling the man. “Saints, that stung. Ye’ll pay fer that.”
He ended it with a quick butt of his head, and the fellow dropped to his knees, wheezing.
The rest broke not long after. Bandits, aye, but no great stomach for killing. Hunger drives a man bold, but not past the point of steel pressing at his throat. One by one they scattered into the dark, curses thrown behind them.
“Leave ’em their boots!” Evander called. “I’ll nae have cut feet plotting revenge.”
The men chuckled, breathless, gathering fallen blades. Finn crouched, peering at the dark patch spreading down Evander’s leg. “Ye’re bleedin’.”
“Aye, well spotted,” Evander said dryly, binding Finn’s torn sleeve round his thigh and patting the bandage. “What would I dae wi’out yer sharp eyes?”
“Small cut or nae, filth festers,” Tam muttered, hauling one of the downed lads to the ditch.
Evander waved him off, swinging back into Grey’s saddle with only a slight wince. “A scratch, naught more. I’ll walk it off afore sunrise.”
They rode the rest of the way with talk buzzing again, though Finn kept glancing at the bandage like it might unravel on its own. Evander ignored him. He’d had worse in border skirmishes and kept breathing. This was no more than a rabbit’s nip.
Tor Castle rose from the dark near dawn, stone walls catching the faint light.
Horns blew short and long from the gate, the sound rolling over the moor.
The courtyard filled quick with stable lads, dogs barking, children darting to see what the night had brought back.
Evander slid from Grey, this time his leg giving a sharper throb.
He disguised the limp with a flourish, bowing low to a little lass who squealed and hid behind her mother’s skirts.
And there, waiting in the corner of the yard with arms folded, was Noah.
Broad-shouldered, steady-eyed, his dark hair tied back neat, Noah looked every inch the general he was. He didn’t greet Evander first, nor ask about the ride. His gaze went straight to the leg, to the dark patch at his thigh.
“What mischief’s this?” His voice was low, calm, the kind that meant a storm behind it.
Evander grinned, tossing Grey’s reins to a lad. “Och, just a brush wi’ bandits on the road. They’ve poor manners, but worse aim.”
Noah stepped forward, lifting the edge of the hose to see the bloodied cloth beneath. He breathed out through his nose, slow. “Ye’ll should see Kenina, right now.”
“It’s naught,” Evander said lightly. “A love-tap. I’ve had worse scratches from the cat.”
“The cat’s cleaner.” Noah’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’ll nae risk ye catchin’ fever from ditch filth. Last thing we need is our laird felled by pride.”
Evander wanted to laugh it off, but the look on Noah’s face kept him still. His best friend, aye, but more than that, he was the man who’d stood at his back through every fight, who knew him bone-deep. Noah’s word carried weight with him when few others’ did.
Still, Evander could not help a cheeky tilt of his mouth. “Kenina’ll clout me if I drag mesel’ there afore the Council. And ye ken well Brodie will stuff our storehouses twice over if I let him talk unchallenged.”
“Council can wait the minutes it takes her tae clean it,” Noah said. “Infection willnae.”
Evander let the silence stretch, long enough for Noah’s jaw to tighten. At last he clapped him on the shoulder.
“After Council,” he said, easy as if giving in cost him nothing. “I swear it.”
Noah’s brow furrowed. “Ye’ll keep that word?”
“Aye. Ye have it.” Evander’s grin returned, charming, roguish. “And if I limp tae the hall, ye can lean on me and look noble.”
Noah huffed, half-amused despite himself, though his eyes still cut to the leg. “Ye’re infuriatin’.”
“And yet ye love me,” Evander answered, striding toward the hall with only the faintest hitch in his gait.
Noah fell in at his side without needing to be asked, the two of them crossing the courtyard together through the scatter of torches still burning low.
His leg throbbed with every other step, but he masked it beneath his usual swagger, trading a quiet quip or two with Noah as they climbed the worn stair and came to the long passage that led to the council chamber.
The great door stood wide, torchlight spilling golden across the stone flags.
Inside, the low thunder of voices rolled like distant surf.
Council never sat in silence. Men needed to feel their own words echoing before they’d hear sense in another’s.
Evander liked it that way. Noise meant life.
A quiet Council was either plotting or dead.
The air there already carried the tang of smoke and the low drone of men’s voices, a reminder that while he’d been off chasing bandits and fairs, duty had kept its seat warm, waiting for him to fill it again.
He swung the door with a flourish, shoulders back, gait steady enough that only Noah would notice the catch. Conversation faltered at once, heads turning, half a dozen gazes sweeping from his face to the bandage showing beneath his hose.
“There’s me laird,” Angus MacRae said first, broad and blunt, his hair a storm-cloud gone white. “And half a leg, by the look.”
“Aye,” Brodie Munro added, voice sharp, “he comes limpin’ intae Council after ridin’ all night. That’s wisdom at work.”
Evander only smiled, lowering himself into his chair at the head of the long oak table, spreading his arms across it like a king taking his throne. “Och, ye should see the other lad. Rabbit knife—didnae even take the fur.”
A few chuckled, though Brodie’s scowl only deepened.
“Council,” Evander went on smoothly, “I was told I must come back in the middle o’ the night or risk findin’ Tor burnt tae cinders. So which o’ ye lit the fire? Speak, afore Noah here takes his temper tae ye instead o’ me.”
Noah snorted but did not deny it. That earned him a glance or two, which was enough to silence the table for a breath.
It was Donal Cameron who cleared his throat first, measured and thoughtful as ever. “The Mackenzie scouts, Laird. They’ve been seen near Glen Darris, twice this past week. Yesterday a pair lingered so close tae the river folk heard their voices.”
Brodie leaned forward, fists braced on the table, face red with the memory. “Me nephew near ran into them wi’ his cart. They slipped the hedge before he could fetch a blade, but he swears they wore Mackenzie colors plain as day.”
A mutter rippled the length of the table. Mackenzie men on their land, bold enough to be seen. That was no small thing.
Evander leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming once on the wood. “Scouts dinnae come fer the view. Question is, what are they seekin’? Sheep? Grain? Or somethin’ worth a bigger bite?”
“Control,” Brodie said darkly. “It’s always control wi’ the Mackenzies. They’ve long envied how Chattan holds her borders firm. Mayhap they mean tae take a strip fer themselves.”
“Mayhap,” Evander allowed. His eyes flicked along the table, gauging faces, the fear tucked behind bluster.
He smiled, slow and easy, the way he did when a horse balked and needed coaxing.
“But if it’s only that, why send men where they’re sure tae be seen?
Scouts are shadows. Ye only catch them when they wish ye tae.
So I ask again—what is it they want us tae notice? ”
A silence, thoughtful now.
Angus grunted. “Ye think it bait.”
“I think Mackenzies love their games,” Evander said.
“They toss a bit o’ meat and wait tae see if we bite.
Trouble is, they forget we’ve teeth o’ our own.
” He lifted his tankard, though it held only tea that night.
“If Wallace Mackenzie wants tae rattle chains, let him. I’ll nae be dancing tae his tune. ”
That won him a few nods, even a chuckle from Donal. But Brodie’s mouth stayed tight, his eyes sharp. “Complacency is what kills a clan. I say we send word tae every croft along the border. Triple the levies. Better tae be thought paranoid than unprepared.”
“And have our own folk curse me fer bleedin’ them dry afore winter?” Evander tilted his head, amused. “Nay. I’ll nae line Mackenzie’s pockets by starvin’ me own.”
“Then what will ye dae?” Brodie pressed, leaning forward, eager as a hound.
Evander tapped his bandaged leg with one finger.
“First, I’ll see this scratch seen tae, lest Noah here faint from worry.
After that, I’ll send a quiet word tae our riders on the border—tae keep eyes sharp, but make nay move.
Let the Mackenzies think us blind, while we watch what hand they truly play.
They’ll show it soon enough. They always dae. ”
The men muttered again, some in agreement, others wary. Noah’s gaze flicked to him, approval hidden in the line of his mouth.
Evander pushed up from his chair, his leg twinging but his smile never faltering. “So unless one o’ ye has more dire news than shadows on heather, I’d like me bed. Or will ye keep me here bletherin’ till the crows wake?”
That drew reluctant laughter, shoulders easing. Even Brodie, sour as curdled milk, leaned back and said no more.
Evander gave them a nod, warm but final. “Good. Then Council’s over. Keep yer men sharp, and dinnae let tales run faster than sense.”
The scrape of benches filled the hall, men rising, some still murmuring to one another. Evander waited, standing with his easy grin, until the last had gone. Then he glanced at Noah, who lingered at his side.
“Told ye,” Evander said softly. “Noise, nae fire. They’d talk themselves hoarse without me.”
“And ye’ve bought us time tae think,” Noah answered, eyes steady. “But dinnae think I’ve forgotten—Kenina first.”
Evander clutched his chest in mock wound. “Och, I thought ye’d let it slide, wi’ all the talk o’ Mackenzies.”
“Kenina,” Noah repeated, unmoved.
Evander sighed, loud and theatrical, then swept his arm toward the door. “Very well. Escort me tae me doom, general. If she brews that foul root tea again, I’ll haunt ye in the next life.”
Noah’s huff was near laughter. Together they left the hall, the torches spitting low as the night thinned toward dawn.
The healer’s chamber sat two doors down, the scent of rosemary and sage drifting into the corridor.
Evander slowed as they reached it, not from pain, but from the old memory of Kenina’s sharp tongue.
The woman could slice a man down quicker than steel, and all without lifting more than a sprig of thyme.
He rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, smirk ready on his lips. “Kenina, darlin’, I’ve brought ye a gift—a laird wi’ all his parts, save a sliver o’ thigh. D’ye still sew as neat as ye scold?”
The door creaked open, light spilling across the rushes. The smell of herbs struck stronger, soothing and stern at once. Evander stepped inside with a flourish, Noah shaking his head behind him.