But then there was his friend Clyde. Was is a key part of that. Sholto had known Clyde for many years. In fact, he made it a point to come from Morvern to visit Clyde on Mull occasionally, so when he promised Sholto the taste of a fine lass, he’d gone with him willingly, even though it meant rowing to Iona.
He had no idea there’d be some bitch waiting for them, daggers in hand. She’d had strange hair and a look in her eyes that nearly made him turn around, but Clyde had insisted on going forward. The fool had thought they could beat the bitch, and they’d have two to tie up and play with.
Only the odd bitch had hit them both with a dagger, nearly amputating the most valued part of his body. Fortunately, she’d missed, but he’d been out with the fever for days. The truth was it still hurt him, though it had healed.
It took ten days for him to get his shaft hard again. That had frightened him more than anything. That odd bitch would pay. He’d see to that.
Sholto had planned to land on the back side of the isle and walk to the nunnery where the bitch lived. He had patience, and he’d studied that part of the isle because no one was ever there. She’d almost taken out his beloved lance, and if she’d been successful, what would become of him? She’d have to pay for what she did.
He strode inside the cottage, not surprised to see his cousin Dugan there, a fury on his face unlike he’d ever seen. “What’s wrong?” he asked Dugan.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
Dugan got up, slamming his stool onto the dirt floor, then paced the cottage, cursing at one thing, punching what he could. “Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?” Dugan was younger, bigger, and more muscular than him, always had been, but worse yet, he had a temper that turned rampant with little warning. He often reminded him of a toddler searching for his mother’s teat on a hot day.
Dugan stopped directly in front of him, leaning over to stare directly into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me there were four or five of Alexander Grant’s grandsons on Mull? And one of his sons! Here! Right here! Away from the thousand guards they must have at this point. Away from the Ramsays, the Camerons, and all the other buggered allies they have.”
Sholto, totally confused, took a seat at the table and chose his words carefully. “I didn’t know? Why do you care about the Grants?”
Dugan made his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the table, causing him to jump. “Why do I care? Because Alexander Grant is the one who killed my grandfather! That’s why!”
“He did? I didn’t know that. I just knew he died in a swordfight.”
“Alex Grant is the reason my sire didn’t have any siblings. He killed my sire before he could marry and have bairns.” Dugan took a seat, his fist flexing over and over again.
“But…” Sholto tipped his head, wanting to say that he was here so…
“My grandsire got the serving maid with child, my mother. He never married. He was supposed to marry some English lass.”
“I still don’t understand.” Sholto pushed his stool away from the table, out of range of the fist in front of him.
Dugan bolted up and began to pace, muttering to himself. Sholto tried to understand his words but was afraid to move. Perhaps it would be a good time to sneak out of the cottage.
“I could have been the laird of a castle. Mayhap I’ll find his daughter or take his granddaughter. Or nay, that wouldn’t help me at all. I need to go after his sons. Nay. His grandsons. Or both. Son and grandson. I’ll draw them out and cut them all down.”
Sholto kept his mouth closed.
“How many guards have they at Duart Castle?” He scratched the few thin hairs left on his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out! I need to know by the morrow. I’m moving on this. I have to know before they leave. Or before they bring more guards across the water. Before I lose this opportunity. Before someone else does it for me.”
Sholto said nothing, just watched the man in his continuous tantrum. “What was your father’s name again?”
“My grandfather was supposed to marry a MacDonald bitch, Alex’s wife. Instead he slayed my grandsire in front of a crowd at Grant Castle. He embarrassed my clan, because my grandsire died at the end of Alex Grant’s sword.”
“Hell, I never knew that. Sorry, Dugan.”
“So, you know what that means?”
Sholto shook his head, afraid to say the wrong thing.
Dugan grabbed him by the collar, pulling him forward. “It means that Alex Grant’s son and grandsons must die at the end of my sword. I must avenge his death.”
