Sholto spun from the window, nearly losing his balance as his bad leg protested. “I’ve been watching. Following. Learning where she is.”
“Watching the nunnery from a boat like some lovesick fool.” Dugan finally looked up, his pale eyes cold and assessing. “All you’ve accomplished is letting her see you. Letting her know you’re coming. That’s not hunting, Sholto. That’s announcing yourself.”
“I want her to be afraid. I want her to lie awake at night knowing I’m out here. Knowing I’m coming for her.” Sholto’s voice dropped to something darker. “I want her to rememberwhat I’ll do to her when I finally get my hands on that pretty throat.”
Dugan’s expression didn’t change. “And after you’ve strangled her and satisfied your wounded pride, what then? You’ll still be a landless mercenary with a limp and a reputation for losing to women half your size.”
The words hit like stones. Sholto’s fists clenched. “Careful, Dugan.”
“Or what? You’ll kick me with the leg she already wounded?” Dugan returned his attention to his coins. “Face the truth, Sholto. You’re obsessed with one woman who humiliated you. I’m interested in building an empire.”
“Empire.” Sholto spat the word. “You’re a hired sword. Same as me.”
“For now.” Dugan leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “But I won’t be for long. See, while you’ve been nursing your wounded leg and your wounded pride, I’ve been gathering information. Making contacts. Learning who matters and who I can trust. I’m not interested in finding bairns for long.”
Dugan had found these cottages nearly four months ago, getting rid of the owners and sending their bairns off to a cottage where he could get coin for them. But the truth was he was tired of handling bairns. And now that he’d found coin he hadn’t expected, his aspirations had grown. Now he had a plan.
Despite himself, Sholto’s interest piqued. “And?”
“And your little Norse bitch won’t be on Iona for long.” Dugan’s smile was thin and cold. “She’ll be at Duart Castle soon, they’re telling me. With the Grants.”
Sholto’s pulse quickened. “How do you know?”
“Because I pay people to know things. Fishermen. Merchants. A serving girl at the MacQuarie holding who’s verra fond of coin and verra talkative after a few cups of ale.” Hegestured dismissively. “Your golden-haired prize is hoping to keep company with one of the younger Grants. I’m guessing he is one of Connor Grant’s sons. Grandson of the legendary Alexander Grant.”
The name meant nothing to Sholto beyond another obstacle between him and Brynja. But Dugan’s expression had sharpened with something like hunger.
“The Grants,” Dugan continued, his voice taking on a strange intensity. “Do you know what killing a Grant would do for a man’s reputation? What it would mean in the Lowlands, where the mercenary companies compete for the best contracts?”
“I don’t care about your reputation—”
“Then you’re a fool.” Dugan stood, pacing to the window where Sholto had been brooding moments before. “Think, fool. The Grant name carries weight from here to Edinburgh and beyond. They’re legends. Alexander Grant fought at the Battle of Largs against the Norse. Connor Grant has held the Highlands together through wars and rebellions, their clan now one of the largest in all the land. And there’s a new generation—grandsons, all carrying that blessed name.”
He turned back to face Sholto, his pale eyes gleaming. “If I—if we—were to kill one of those precious heirs? If we were to strike at the heart of the Grant legacy?” He spread his hands. “Every mercenary company in Scotland would know my name. Dugan, the man who brought down a Grant. I could command any price. Lead any force. Build something that lasts.”
Sholto stared at him. “You’re daft. The Grants would hunt you to the ends of the earth.”
“Let them try.” Dugan’s smile widened. “By the time they realize what happened, I’ll be in the Lowlands with a company of two hundred men at my back. Men who respect strength. Men who follow the leader who proves himself most deadly.”
He moved closer to Sholto, his voice dropping to something almost confidential. “Don’t you see? Your obsession with that girl—it’s small. Petty. But if we make it part of something larger? If we use her to draw out a grandson or Connor Grant, and we kill him along with her?” He laughed softly. “That’s not revenge. That’s legacy.”
Sholto’s mind churned. He didn’t care about legacies or reputations. He cared about the look in that bitch’s eyes when she’d driven that dagger into his thigh—fierce, unafraid, victorious. He cared about wiping that look away forever. About making her afraid. About hearing her beg.
But if Dugan’s ambitions could help him get to her…
“What are you proposing?” he asked slowly.
Dugan’s smile turned predatory. “I’m proposing we go after the lass. Once they know we have her, they’ll come to us. The youngest Grant will come and so will his sire. They can’t help themselves. They travel in groups. Then I’ll kill both of them and you can have the girl.”
“You’ll allow it?”
“She’s yours.” Dugan’s expression was indifferent. “Do what you want with her. Keep her, kill her, sell her—I don’t care. My interest is in the Grant name. Once Connor Grant is dead, I’ll have what I need.” He moved to the window again and stared out over the sea, his mind churning with ideas. Sholto had seen him like this before. “They’ll be ripe for an attack and they’ll be too busy grieving.” The man smiled and rubbed his hands together, a smile nearly gleeful dancing across his face.
Sholto’s hand went to his thigh again, rubbing the scar that ached in cold weather. His permanent reminder of the bitch who’d bested him. “How many men can you gather?”
Dugan turned away from the window. “Mayhap three score with the coin I found. Men who won’t ask questions. Men who’ll follow orders when the blood starts flowing.” Dugan crossed hisarms. “But I need your agreement. And I need you to stop this ridiculous brooding and start thinking like a warrior instead of a jilted lover.”
The insult stung, but Sholto forced it down. Dugan was right about one thing—watching from boats had accomplished nothing. If he wanted Brynja, he’d have to take her. And if taking her meant helping Dugan kill some legendary Grant heir…
