He prayed he would.
Chapter Two
Where did Alex learn to lead so well? Judge for yourself…
They’d been traveling for half a day and only stopped once. Alex had paid close attention to everything his sire did and said, knowing he might one day be asked to lead these same men or their sons. They were on the last leg of the journey. With his sire’s permission, Alex was riding beside him—the better to observe the warriors—but his father made a sudden motion for him to move behind him again. He had already ordered his men to surround and protect his first-born son if they were attacked, something that shamed Alex, although he intended to do as he’d promised and listen to his sire’s orders.
“Alex, you will draw your sword to protect yourself from marauders,” his sire ordered.
“Aye, Sir.”
He’d always been instructed never to let their enemies know they were related, lest they attempt to use him against his father. And he was also told not to call him chief or laird.
Sir seemed appropriate.
A hush settled over the group, his father leading the way with two men on either side of him, all ready to draw their weapons if necessary.
It was quiet—oddly quiet.
As they drew closer to the small village outside the castle, the smell of burned thatched roofs reached them.
Alex hadn’t thought anything could be worse than the eerie quiet, but he soon revised his opinion. A horrible moaning met their ears, many voices keening as one.
His father’s fists clenched and rage lit his eyes. He cursed and sent the majority of his men around the village to clear the area. The rest rode with him to the gates.
Once they reached the open gates, Alex’s sire called out to anyone on the curtain wall, but there was no answer. They led their horses through the courtyard.
There were as many dead bodies here as they’d seen on arrival.
The courtyard was littered with men who’d lost their life fighting. A few still lived, and it was their agonized moans that had carried on the wind. Although Alex had seen bodies before, he’d never seen anything so gruesome. The gore and the flies made him want to retch, but he would not.
Not in front of his father.
His father barked orders to their men, who rushed to do his bidding without question. He told some men to take a crew to dig a large grave behind the curtain wall, instructed others to pile the dead onto carts. Others were tasked with gathering the wounded so they might be brought back to Grant land for treatment.
Every once in a while, his father would turn sideways and give his son an explanation for his instructions. “As every Highlander would do for his brethren,” was his explanation for burying the dead.
“Alex,” his sire said, jumping down from his horse, “we will check inside for the laird’s family. He had two daughters and I fear what could have happened to them.”
He dismounted and hurried to catch up to his father, doing his best to match his strides as they headed toward the keep. As they walked, three men accompanying them, his sire tipped his head toward him with an approving look. “I see you’ve finally surpassed your sire’s height, son. Will you never stop growing?”
Alex didn’t know how to reply to that remark, but there was no need. His father began giving orders to the three men entering the keep with him.
“Always allow your second to lead you, Alex. We know not if the marauders are still inside. Draw your weapon before you enter. Never forget that.”
He nodded to his men, instructing them to go ahead of him, then he followed. Alex came last, although he was determined to protect his sire if they were attacked. Blood roared through his vessels with each step, his senses heightened.
They stepped inside, weapons drawn, then fanned out inside the great hall. Dead bodies were everywhere, and everything inside had been destroyed.
“Bastards. Watch your back, men. The English committed this heinous crime.”
The English? How could he know that?
Four men came barreling out of a chamber close to the tower room, their weapons drawn. They attacked silently, unlike most Highlanders in battle.
Alex let out his Grant war cry and went after the man headed toward his sire, cutting the fool down with one swing. Although he’d never been in battle before, he didn’t hesitate. Protecting his sire came as naturally as breathing.
“Back!” his sire bellowed in a tone he’d not heard before.
