Page 76 of Laird of Vengeance


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"There ye are!" Sofia emerged from behind a hedge, covered in leaves. "I've been waitin' ferever!"

"That's because ye chose the worst spot," Alyson said, appearing from the opposite direction. "We all kent ye'd be in the gardens somewhere."

"It's nae about the spot, it's about the patience," Sofia countered. "Which none of ye have."

As they bickered and laughed, Liliane tried to join in, tried to recapture that feeling of joy from moments before. But her eyes kept drifting back toward the outer wall, toward where those men had been standing.

Watching, Waiting. But for what?


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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Again!"

Tòrr's blade met Michael's with a sharp clang, the impact jarring up his arm. Sweat dripped into his eyes despite the cool afternoon air.

"Ye're distracted," Michael observed, circling to his left. "That's the third openin’ ye've given me."

"I'm fine." Tòrr adjusted his grip and pressed forward, forcing his brother onto the defensive.

"Ye're thinkin' about somethin' else. The lass, I'm guessin'?" Michael parried a thrust and countered with one of his own. "How'd the sheet business go?"

"Done. Elders have their proof." Tòrr blocked the counter and stepped back. "Malcolm looked satisfied enough, though Gregor muttered somethin' about 'convenient timin'.'"

"Let him mutter. He got what he wanted." Michael feinted right, then struck left. "Though I'm curious how ye managed it without actually daein’ it."

"Dinnae ask questions ye dinnae want answered." Tòrr caught the blade and twisted, nearly disarming his brother. "Focus on yer footwork. Ye're leavin' yer right side exposed."

"Me footwork's fine. Ye're just avoidin' the subject."

They broke apart, both breathing hard. Around them, other warriors trained in pairs, the clash of steel and shouts of instruction filling the yard.

"Any word from Daemon?" Tòrr asked, reaching for the water skin.

Michael's expression darkened. "Nay. It's been too long. He should've returned by now." Michael drove his sword into the packed earth and wiped sweat from his brow. "The scout tae Munro lands shouldnae have taken more than two, three days at most."

"Ye think somethin's happened?"

"I think Daemon's careful. Too careful tae be this late without reason." Michael's jaw tightened. "Unless he ran intae trouble."