Jack balled his hands into fists. There was the note he had found the other day in his study, and now this.
Something was off. Something was dangerously wrong, and he feared that he might not be able to recognize it until it was too late.
They reached the outer courtyard, and the figure ahead grew clearer with each step Jack took. A short, red-haired man stood close to the gate, his cloak torn and boots thin at the soles. His breath fogged from his mouth in quick bursts, and he rubbed his hands almost involuntarily, as if he had been chasing the cold away his whole life, and this was no different.
“Me Laird,” he greeted as Jack drew closer.
“Ye wanted to talk?” Jack grunted, stopping two paces away. He took in the man’s eyes and the set of his shoulders.
The man bowed quickly. “Good evening, Laird MacLeod. I am certain yer man has disclosed to ye the fact that I have information ye might wish to hear.” He swallowed and kept his gaze on Jack’s boots.
“What is yer name?” Jack asked, shifting his stance so he could see both the man and the trees behind him.
“Heron, me Laird,” the man answered, mustering a toothy grin. “Though that hardly matters. Would’ve reached ye sooner if walking from the Black Wolf were easier than riding.”
Jack felt his heart skip a beat.Black Wolf.That was where he theorized the intruder had stayed before coming here.
“Ye need to ken, me Laird, that it’s harder than swallowing bad ale, that road,” Heron continued. He rubbed at a scuff on his boot as if the joke might soften the talk.
“Black Wolf?” Troy echoed, confirming Jack’s suspicions.
It looked like Heron might just be telling the truth, after all.
“Aye, ‘tis a tavern,” Heron explained. “South of here. Fine place till ye owe the mistress a drink, which I still do.” He lifted his hands as if to show that he carried no blade.
“We ken where Black Wolf is. And enough chatter with ye. If ye have information, spill it out. Do ye ken who the intruder was?” Jack asked, watching the man’s expression for any twitch.
“Better,” Heron said. He rolled his shoulders like a hawker about to show a prize. “I ken who sent him, and what he wanted.” He tapped one finger against his cloak tie as if it were a coin.
Jack felt his knees tremble. This was it. This was his chance to find out who was behind the letter and the threat to Emma’s life.
“Then speak,” he ordered, doing all he could to mask his anticipation. He kept his face blank and his stance ready.
“There’s a wee problem, me Laird,” Heron said, raising his hand. “The truth is quite heavy, and ye ken that sometimes, heavy truths need encouragement.”
“Encouragement?” Jack let the word hang in the cold air.
“A bit of coin, ye see. A man like ye values knowledge,” Heron said, angling his body toward the courtyard, as if the empty space might protect him.
“Ye want coin?”
Heron smiled, his crooked brown teeth gleaming in the dull light. “I ken ye are a wise man.”
Jack scoffed. “Ye’re just another grifter looking to bleed the keep, are ye nae?”
Heron’s voice lowered. “I daenae?—”
“I ken people like ye. Ye need money to buy more ale, so ye thought ye could just come to the first laird ye find.”
“That is nae the case at all. Me Laird, I?—”
“Tell me, Heron. Do I look like a fool to ye?”
“Me Laird?—”
“DoIlook like a fool to ye?”
Heron shook his head slightly, rubbing his palms together. “Nae at all, me Laird.”
