Chapter 4
“A
nd he stole mah good pig!”
“I didnae steal it. It wandered tae mah pen, and I let it in.”
“But ye knew it was mine. I’ve seen ye ogling it for quite some time.”
Liam attempted not to sigh loudly as he listened to the two farmers argue over the pig situation, trying to find the right place to intervene.
He had been at this for four bloody hours, listening to everything from the water running into someone’s field to an apparent pig abduction.
How any laird sat in their great hall and listened to this nonsense was beyond him.
How his father had done this for the first ten years or so of his reign, he had no idea.
This was not what he was good at, and Liam wanted nothing more than to force them all to figure out their issues for themselves.
Why he must be the man who decided their fates was something he had never understood, but according to his uncle, it was a vital part of being a laird.
“Just give the pig back,” Liam finally said, his voice interrupting the squabbling. If he listened any longer, his head would start to ache.
“I tried,” the exasperated farmer explained. “The moment I noticed the animal was in mah fence. He won’t take it back.”
Oh, for the love of the gods.
“And why not?”
The other farmer, the one that owned the pig, crossed his arms over his chest. “Because he’s likely poisoned it with the food he feeds his own animals. I cannae have a sick animal poisoning mah stock.”
Liam rubbed a hand over his face. He would rather face down the largest foe than to have to listen to this. “Take back yer animal.”
“But, mah lor—”
“Enough!” Liam roared, cutting him off. “Do this, or I will seize yer farm and kill yer animals mahself.”
The farmer paled and Liam cursed inwardly, knowing he had taken it a step too far. Where was his uncle when he needed him? He would have said the right words to get them to move on, but he was on his quest to visit the neighboring clans instead, something that Liam had not wanted to do himself.
Maybe he should have, given the stricken look on the farmer’s face.
“Are we understood?”
“Yes, m-mah lord,” the man stammered, bowing.
Liam looked at the other farmer. “Take him his pig today, and dinnae let it back into yer fence.”
“Yes, mah lord.”
Liam waved them both aside and watched as another couple approached the table, the woman crying softly into her husband’s shoulder. Liam’s stomach twisted as he listened to the husband’s plight, finding out that their only son had gone missing and had not returned.
“Send a few warriors out,” Liam decided, his jaw clenched as he addressed Rhynald. “Search the woods.”
“Thank ye, mah lord,” the husband replied before escorting his sobbing wife out of the great hall.
Liam stood, though there was still a line of clansmen waiting for their turn, and swiftly walked out of the hall, with Rhynald at his heels.
“Liam.”
“Find the boy,” Liam growled, stopping in the small hall to press his forehead against the stone wall. “They deserve tae know what has happened tae their son.”
“I will,” Rhynald answered. “Are ye alright?”
Even after five years, the pain in his chest was still there. Liam sucked in a tortured breath, thinking about how old his own son would be if he had survived. Would Liam be the same man?
Not likely. Nelia had been the one who had kept the goodness in him, kept him from having outbursts like he had with the farmers.
Without her, he was nothing more than a shell of a man, unable to protect anyone around him, including his own clan. Now he had a missing boy.
Pushing away from the wall, he faced his second-in-command. “I’m fine.”
Rhynald arched a brow, clearly not believing his words. “Ye dinnae look fine.”
“I’m fine,” Liam repeated, clenching his jaw. “Close the doors. I will only listen tae those that are in the hall right now.”
“Of course,” Rhynald said, placing his fist over his heart before going to do Liam’s bidding.
Liam straightened his shoulders and forced himself to breathe.
A few more hours, and then he would escape to the practice field, fighting whoever wanted to challenge him.
He could let his frustrations out, forget that he had wasted nearly an entire day listening to them squabble about farm animals and property lines.
It took two hours for him to finish listening and doling out his responses.
He was sharp more than once, but for the most part, his clansmen agreed to do his bidding and filed out, satisfied—at least on the outside—with his results.
Liam found himself wanting one of them to question his judgment so that he could take them to the practice field, but none of them did.
Once the hall was cleared, Liam pushed himself out of the chair just as his uncle entered the empty hall.
“Yer back,” Liam stated, surprised. Normally he was gone for months, not coming back until after the great thaw and spring was in the air.
“Aye,” his uncle replied, a broad smile on his face. “And I brought someone back with me.”
Liam arched a brow. His uncle was acting strangely. “Aunt Gretna wouldnae approve.”
Uncle Sheamus laughed as he pulled a woman forward, her features hidden by the hood of her cloak. “I found ye a bride.”
Liam felt all the blood drain from his face. A bride? He didn’t want a bride, especially not one chosen by his uncle. “What have ye done?”
“I’m securing our clan’s future,” his uncle stated, his face clouded with anger. “Since ye dinnae wish tae have care for it. Wait ’til ye see the lass! She is beautiful!”
Liam banged his fist on the scarred table. “I wilnae be part of this!”
“Quit acting like a spoiled child,” Uncle Sheamus replied, his expression thunderous now.
“I dinnae care what she is!” Liam interrupted, his voice ringing out. “Ye have no right!”
His uncle tried to stop him, but Liam brushed past the old man and headed outside, where the crisp, cool air nearly robbed him of his breath. A wife? He wanted no wife, no matter what the clan wanted him to have.
He had a wife and she was on the hill, cold in her grave with their son. That was the only wife he would ever have.
Liam stalked toward the practice field, still reeling from what his uncle had done. He had no right. Was that what he had been doing all these years on his journeys? Attempting to find a wife and lady of the keep?
He should have known that his uncle would not let it rest.
Liam walked straight to the weapons room and chose a sword, his own currently sitting in its place above the fireplace. His uncle would have to take the woman back from wherever she came. He had no interest in marrying her.
“The mighty laird, poisoning the animals of his people.”
Liam turned to see Malcolm standing a few feet away, a sneer on his face.
Apparently, word had already gotten around about what he had said to the pig farmers.
“I dinnae wish tae fight with ye today.” If he did, he would likely kill the man.
The last time they had sparred, Liam had gained the upper hand and put the other man onto the ground, his sword at his neck.
The malice that had been in Malcolm’s eyes had not gone past the laird, and he knew their time was not over.
“Ye hear that?” Malcolm boasted, spreading his arms wide. “The laird doesnae wish tae spar with me. Perhaps he is afraid?”
Some of the warriors looked at Liam uneasily, likely surprised that he wasn’t willing to spar. He did not need his warriors second-guessing his actions. They would then start to think that he was not fit to be laird.
“Alright. What would ye like tae have, Malcolm?”
Malcolm grinned, knowing he had gotten his way. “Hand tae hand.”
Liam threw the sword into the dirt, the point sticking into the frozen ground. “We can see how well ye fight then.”
Malcolm pulled off his tunic, hitting his shoulders with his hands.
Liam did the same, the medallion that had been passed down to each McCallum laird hanging from his neck.
Growling, he circled his opponent, the cold not even bothering him.
It would be good to get some of his anger and frustration out before he confronted his uncle once more.
When Malcolm threw his first punch, Liam had not been set and the fist caught his jaw, pain exploding immediately. Liam stumbled back before he regained his footing, sweeping his foot under the man’s feet as he charged toward him and knocked him to the ground.
Malcolm rolled to his side and was back on his feet before Liam could take advantage, but he was able to land a punch to the man’s nose, the satisfying crunch under his knuckles causing Liam to grin.
Blood spurted, but the other Scot just wiped it with his forearm, holding his fists up. “Ye won’t get another shot like that,” he told Liam.
Liam didn’t respond. Instead, he again charged the man and knocked him down, both men falling to the frozen ground.
He wasted no time planting his fist into the man’s face.
Malcolm roared and flipped them, his fist colliding with Liam’s eye.
Liam hooked his legs around Malcolm’s waist and forced him to reverse positions yet again, finally using his body weight to pin the man down.
“Bloody hell!” Rhynald yelled before Liam felt the pull on his shoulders before he was yanked off totally. “What the hell are ye doing?”
Liam wiped his face with the back of his forearm, tasting blood in his mouth. “Hand-tae-hand combat.”
“More like beating each other bloody senseless,” Rhynald muttered. “What was the cause?”
Liam spit into the dirt, feeling the cold of the ground seep through his breeks. “Nothing.” He didn’t want to have to explain what had transpired between them. Besides, the entire clan would hear the tale this evening.
He pushed himself to his feet, wiping his hands on his breeks. Rhynald handed him his tunic, and Liam shrugged it on, the clothing not near enough to warm his now-cold chest.
“I know ye struggled taeday,” Rhynald said softly, for only Liam to hear, “but that is no reason tae fight.”
Liam ignored his second-in-command as he picked up the sword and put it back in the weapons room. It was the perfect reason to fight.
But as he exited, Malcolm was being helped to his feet, blood on his face, and Uncle Sheamus was standing by the fence with the bride in tow.
She had her hood down, her long red hair whipping about her face in the blustery wind.
From his vantage point, he could see the blue of her eyes, her form hard to tell under her long cloak.
As much as he hated to admit it, his lower half stirred to life at the sight of her.
Disgusted with himself, Liam glared at her, wanting to hate her. She had come to marry him, following his uncle on a farce of a journey that was not going to come to light. He was not going to marry her, no matter what his meddling uncle had told her.
But Liam was surprised when she combed back the red curls from her face, and he saw disappointment filtering into her expression, causing him to pause. What had she seen?
When she turned away, Liam had the first thought to go after her and demand an answer. She did not know him, and whether she knew about his loss, that remained to be seen.
But she had no right to judge him so quickly.
His uncle started toward him, and Liam steeled himself against the onslaught of railing that was likely to happen. “Are ye finished, lad?” he asked.
“Well enough,” Liam grumbled. His face was starting to ache in the cold, and now all he wished to do was have a good, long soak in the tub to soothe his aching body.
“She’s not going tae leave,” his uncle said softly. “Not until she speaks tae ye. Dinnae be surprised if she comes seeking ye out, lad.”
“I have nothing tae say tae her!” Liam shot back, rubbing his chest, and feeling the medallion under his tunic. He was the laird and could refuse to talk to her. “This is yer doing.”
“I think ye would like tae hear what she has tae say,” his uncle said after a moment before starting to walk away. “Ye might be surprised.”
Liam glared after the older man. Nothing surprised him these days, but she was going to be wasting her breath on him.