“What do you want me to do?”
Dugan tossed him back onto the stool. “Naught. Just find out how many guards they have. First, we’ll go find that lass who stuck your leg, steal her away, then the Grants will come for her and I’ll kill them all.”
“How do you know they’ll come?”
“Because that’s the way they are. They have to help everyone. So if we steal that lass and the other one with her, then word will get around from that couple who lives on Iona, and they’ll come for her.”
“How will they know where we hide them?”
“We’ll let the word get out.”
“And then?”
“Then when the Grants come to Tiree, I’ll kill every one of them.”
“You’ll need help.”
“I’ll get help. I have enough coin to hire more mercenaries with naught but evil and death on their minds. I’ve already bought five score. I just need another three score. I’ll bring honor to my grandsire’s name. I’ve already taken over Kelvan’s job, found some of his coin, and this makes me happier.” Dugan clapped his hands and smiled. “I’m finally going to get the chance I’ve always wanted.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m about to finally avenge the death of my grandsire, Niles.”
Chapter Four
Brynja
Brynja nodded to Hildi, letting her know it was time to return to the nunnery. She didn’t wish to stay wherever the arrogant fair-haired Grant was, whatever his name was. Jowell? Paden? Hagen? She didn’t know which one, and that alone annoyed her.
Because she prided herself on having a strong memory—every name, every face, every weapon.
But every time she saw him, something happened to her insides. It was something she didn’t understand, couldn’t explain, couldn’t ask anyone about because it was unclear.
But the Grant warrior unsettled her and pissed her off at the same time. He tried to command them to attend a festival, as if there were anything to celebrate in her life or Hildi’s, but at least he apologized for his boorishness.
He had to be the one named Hagen because he’d told her when they first met near the nunnery that his mother was a Norsewoman. Hagen was a Norse name, not Paden or Jowell, so he had to be the Norseman.
“Brynja!”
She cursed inwardly, then stopped and turned around to look at him. “What do you want?”
“Tell me more about this man. What makes you think he’s following you? And how close does he get to you?”
Hagen’s golden hair fell well past his shoulders, not straight or curly but something in between. His blue eyes had a way of reaching inside her belly and twisting. But oddly, not in a painful way. “I know who he is because I can feel him. His anger, his hatred of me for wounding him.”
“And who is he with?” Hagen’s legs went to a stance that she used to see in the arseholes who killed her mother—wide, yetstrong. Powerful legs if she were to bet. Then his hands settled on his hips, the image of the man something she wouldn’t forget quickly.
“That I don’t know.”
He took two steps forward. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help, Grant. I can take care of myself.” She gripped her spear tightly, her gaze locked on his to prove that she was indeed powerful. She would never allow a man like this to intimidate her.
She’d show them all one day.
“Can you? Is that why you’re at the nunnery?”
Jowell whistled from behind him, moving closer to Hildi, who’d stepped away from her friend.
