The air felt too still, and somewhere beyond the walls, something was moving.
Sebastian Fraser hated the silence after a storm.
The world lay bruised and sodden around him, mist rising in pale ribbons from the churned earth. Broken branches littered the hillsides, and the grass lay flattened in dark, muddy swaths where men and horses had passed through like a blade. The sky above was a dull, exhausted gray—no promise in it, no beauty.
Sebastian stood apart from his men, his boots planted firmly on a rise overlooking the valley that cradled Castle McMurphy.From here, he could just make out the distant line of its walls through thinning fog, looking solid, defiant.
His cloak hung heavily on his shoulders, stained with mud and rain, but he neither noticed nor cared. His hands were clasped behind his back, his fingers flexing slowly, methodically, as if counting down something only he could hear.
Footsteps approached behind him.
“Me Laird.”
Sebastian did not turn. “Report.”
The man, one of his captains though his armor was dented and his face drawn, cleared his throat. “We lost three horses in the storm. One broke a leg. Two threw riders in the dark.” He hesitated. “Four men dinnae make it through the night. Another half-dozen are injured badly enough to slow us.”
Sebastian’s jaw tightened, but his voice remained even. “Supplies?”
“Damaged. Some ruined outright. We’ll need to ration.”
At last, Sebastian turned. His beady black eyes fixed on the captain, cold and assessing, as though he were evaluating a tool rather than a man. “And yet,” he said calmly, “ye still stand here breathin’.”
The captain swallowed. “Aye, Me Laird.”
“Then we have enough.”
The man hesitated again. “With respect, sir… we’re nae as strong as we were when we left.”
Sebastian stepped closer, close enough that the captain had to fight the urge to step back.
“We daenae need to be,” Sebastian said softly. “Strength is wasted on those who daenae ken how to use it.” He gestured toward the valley, his hand sweeping over the expanse of green. “Our purpose here isnae to win a glorious battle. It’s to misdirect.”
The captain frowned in confusion. “Misdirect, sir?”
Sebastian smiled—a thin, humorless curl of the lips. “Me dear boy, Kieran is predictable. For all his bluster and brute force, he is a man who believes problems can be solved head-on. So long as he and Laird McMurphy believe we are scattered, uncertain, or retreatin’, they will chase shadows. Fires on hills, false trails, noise.”
The fires had been Kieran’s idea, it seemed to him—a ploy revealed to him by chance when one of his scouts blundered into them before dawn. He had nearly gotten himself killed for the trouble, but he had returned to the camp, unharmed and bearing important information.
Information that had sent Sebastian off in the middle of the night, in the middle of the storm, just so he could beat Kieran to Castle McMurphy.
A low chuckle escaped him. “He’s a clever, lad, I’ll grant Kieran that, but he relies on bairn’s tricks to keep me away from his darlin’ wife.”
“But sir… what if there’s nay way to avoid a battle?” the man asked. “Our men?—”
Sebastian waved him off. “Me men will be ready for battle if it comes to it. See that they rest nae longer than necessary. We move again shortly.”
The captain hesitated then asked the question he clearly feared. “And… the woman, Me Laird?”
Sebastian’s gaze drifted back to the castle, dark and intent.
“Lydia,” he said. “Aye.”
The captain shifted uneasily, moving his weight from one foot to the other in a sign of restlessness. “There are walls, guards… two Lairds convergin’—”
Sebastian cut him off with a sharp glance. “And yet,” he said, voice low and venomous, “I’ll find a way as I always do. I have tolerated many inconveniences. Three wives dead, and still the council clung to that wretched lad like frightened bairns to anursemaid. I removed his chances one by one. And now fate mocks me with a fertile wee bride.”
The captain said nothing. He only watched, eyes wide, too reluctant to say a single word, too afraid.
