Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Smoke was still rising from the southern grain store when Rowan arrived, the night wind carrying the smell of burnt barley. He had wasted no time riding out as soon as he had been alerted to the incident.
I’m too late.
His stomach tightened as he neared the carnage. Half the structure had burned down before the fire was contained. Men moved through the wreckage, stamping out stubborn embers with sand and the heels of their boots.
They glanced up as he approached, their faces weary and covered with soot. One of the men straightened, offering him the torch he carried.
“Near lost the whole roof before we caught it, me Laird,” he muttered, eyes trained on the floor. “I’m sorry.”
Rowan took the torch and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Ye caught it in time,” he reassured him.
I’m the one who wasnae here to help.
The man nodded, clearly relieved, before returning to putting out the embers.
Rowan entered what was left of the barn, his boots grinding ruined grain. He crouched down at the center and scooped a handful of it. It was still warm, gritty as it slipped through his fingers like sand. He let it fall, watching as it scattered across the ash.
Weeks of food gone.
He straightened slowly, his eyes sweeping across the ruins. The barley that had taken an entire season to harvest now lay blackened beneath his boots. Every sack lost meant harder choices in the months ahead.
The heat that had been building beneath his ribs since the road attack flared hotter, a burn that the Highland cold could not soothe.
A familiar voice sounded behind him. “What a terrible wedding gift.”
Ewan MacMarten, his closest friend and man-at-arms, joined him. The torchlight caught the sandy hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck and the battle scars on his arms. His plaid was slung carelessly over one shoulder, colors faded from years of wear.
Surveying the damage, he gave a low whistle. “They made a proper mess of it.”
“How much?”
“Hard to say yet.” Ewan crouched beside one of the collapsed beams, examining the wood. “But if I had to wager, half the grain for winter. Maybe more if the damp got into the rest.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, his mind going to the ledgers he kept in his study and the careful rationing already planned for the year. Now those numbers were smoke.
And if winter proved harsh…
The thought darkened his mood further.
“The fire started inside,” Ewan continued, rising and pointing toward the back. “Near the rear wall. The door wasnae forced. The guards swear they saw nothing.”
Rowan crossed to the wall, the torchlight revealing the truth the ash had tried to hide. Boot prints. Several sets, under the layer of soot.
Two men. Maybe three.
“They kent where to strike,” he said quietly. They set fire in the place where one spark could race through the stored barley like lightning.
Ewan nodded once, his expression grim. “Aye.”
Neither spoke as the wind shifted through the broken frame of the barn, ash drifting across the floor.
“That makes two incidents this week.”
Ewan tilted his head. “Two?”
“Aye. We were attacked on the road earlier today.”
“Oh?” Ewan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “By whom? Thieves?”
Rowan tensed as he remembered the attack on the road. Remembered the look on Sorcha’s face before she had dodged death.
“I daenae ken,” he answered. “They didnae carry any clan markings. Nay plaids. Nay badges.”
Ewan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Too many coincidences for me likin’.”
Raiders were not uncommon along the Highland roads, but raiders stole what they could carry.
Whoever did this didnae want to take from us. They wanted to weaken us.
Rowan felt the truth settle heavy in his chest. The marriage he had entered into only hours ago for the purpose of strengthening his position might have invited a target on their backs.
“Word of the wedding will spread quickly,” Ewan said after a moment, seeming to read his mind. “A new alliance tends to make certain people restless.”
“Perhaps.”
“That’s all ye have to say?”
Rowan’s gaze drifted across the ruins once more. “If someone wishes to test me borders, they’ll soon regret it.”
Ewan grinned. “Aye, they will.”
“Double the patrols,” Rowan instructed. “And send riders south at first light. If anyone has seen strangers near the borders, I want to be informed.”
Ewan nodded. “I’ll see to it.”
Silence settled between them again, Rowan assessing the damage for more information.
Then Ewan cleared his throat.
“There is… another matter,” he said in a careful tone.
Rowan raised an eyebrow at him. “There always is.”
“An heir would steady things.” Ewan gestured toward the surrounding lands. “The clan has a new lady now. Folks will be watchin’ to see what comes of it.”
Rowan understood well enough what he meant. A son meant stability. A future laird.
“A son would quiet a good many restless thoughts,” Ewan added.
Walking through the ash, Rowan surveyed the damage again. “Me people eat before I worry about heirs.”
Ewan sighed, but there was a fondness in it. “I didnae expect any less from ye, me Laird.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Speakin’ of heirs, is yer wife nae waitin’ for ye? Plan on sleepin’ in the ashes tonight?”
Rowan shot him a look that would have quieted most men. But Ewan was still grinning like a dobber.
Rowan’s jaw flexed as the image of Sorcha returned uninvited. Pressed against the stone wall, her blue eyes flashing with anger as she argued with him like she had known him for years instead of hours. Furious. Defiant.
And God help him, she had been beautiful in a way that made his blood run hot even now, an hour later, standing in the ruins of his grain stores.
He turned away from the memory as if it burned him.
The barn comes first.
He did not say goodbye to Ewan as he turned to leave.
Behind him, Ewan’s amused voice drifted out of the ruined barn. “Try nae to frighten the poor lass too badly, Rowan.”
The cold wind struck Rowan’s face as he stepped into the courtyard, the gust carrying the last wisps of smoke away into the dark.
Sorcha would be waiting for him. The memory of her small hand in his own refused to leave his mind.
I should never have touched her.
He mounted his horse and rode towards the keep, praying he had enough strength not to touch her again.