“Are ye ready, me Laird?” he asked.
William shot him an irritated look. “I’ve been standin’ here under the sun, waitin’ for ye.”
Myles chuckled, unbothered. “Aye, well, ye ken I never rush for anything unless there’s blood involved.”
William gave a low snort and mounted his horse in one smooth motion. Myles followed just as easily, settling into his saddle.
Without further ceremony, they rode out.
The path to the nearby village was one William knew too well. This visit had a purpose.
The last time he had taken this path, he had been a boy riding beside his mother. Back then, he had trusted everyone living outside Dunrath Castle. Believed them. But trust was no longer a luxury he could afford.
During his last trip, he had found a lead. It was small but promising. One that linked two particular men he wanted to get rid of.
Gregor and Fergus had blood on their hands, and he was going to prove it. But killing them outright would solve nothing. He wanted much more than vengeance. He wanted the truth that would restore his father’s name.
The sky had turned golden by the time they arrived.
William pulled his horse to a stop.
“The plan is simple, me friend,” he murmured, his eyes scanning their surroundings. They had indeed changed quite a bit. “We listen. We ask. We gather more evidence. Anything that links to what we already ken.”
Myles gave a short nod. “Aye.”
No more words were needed.
They did not enter the village through the main path. That would have been careless. Instead, they took the back streets. William moved first, Myles a step behind him.
William jumped, rolling across a roof and diving to the other side without a sound. Myles followed, just as quick, just as clean.
They moved from roof to roof, not speaking a word. They did not need to. They knew the place they were headed to—the most popular tavern, where the villagers gathered.
When they arrived, they found the back door unguarded. Myles met his gaze and nodded his head once.
Now.
At that, they jumped off the roof, landing softly. William reached the door first, pushing it open just enough for them to slip inside. As soon as they were in, the atmosphere shifted. The music stopped, and laughter died down.
Every head turned in the room, and for a heartbeat, no one spoke.
William wondered what was going on.
Their stares were devoid of surprise. Even curiosity. Something heavier held their attention. The looks they wore were not those of people greeting a stranger. These were the looks given to someone they already hated. Then, murmurs slowly rippled through the crowd.
Something was wrong. William could feel it in his bones. But what?
The villagers were supposed to be friendly toward him. He remembered his father contributing a lot when he was younger.
A chair scraped back suddenly. One man stood, his face red with drink and fury. He slammed his mug down on the table, making ale slosh over the rim.
“Ye!” he shouted, jabbing his finger toward William. “Ye son of a wicked murderer!”
The words crackled like electricity, arcing through the air.
As though that was all that was needed for the dam to break, their voices rose at once.
“Aye, it’s him!”
