Hearing the whistle, Broc looked up and waved a hand. He greeted Ramsay with a broad smile as Thor trotted into the yard. “You’re a sight for sore eyes! Have you come to help me with the morning chores?”
Ramsay laughed. “Dream on! This is the first day that I can do anything except try to stay afloat in the middle of an uproar. I’m more interested in talking and maybe begging one of your mother’s excellent breakfasts.”
“That could be arranged.” Broc ran an admiring cavalryman’s gaze over Ramsay’s mount. “This is one superb piece of horseflesh. One of the Thors?”
“Yes, Thor the Fifth. The laird said he’s the best Thor yet, and I’m inclined to agree.” Ramsay swung from the saddle and offered Broc his hand. “How are you adjusting to your return home?”
“A mixture of pleasure and shock.” Broc’s handshake was firm. “Is Thor the Fifth and Best available for stud service?”
Ramsay considered as he led Thor into the barn. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but it makes sense to breed more horses like him. Do you have any mares worthy of his divine self?”
Broc sighed as he settled Thor in a stall with water and hay. “A couple are. The farm lost several of our best mares in the late troubles. We need to rebuild, but it will be a long struggle. What kind of stud fees will you charge?”
“One of your mother’s breakfasts will do for the first mare. We can negotiate future fees later.”
Smiling, Broc said, “Thank you!” Then his gaze went to Thor’s hindquarters and he frowned. “Did you have an accident?”
Ramsay followed Broc’s gaze, then swore under his breath. Just behind the saddle was a thin line of blood. “A couple of shots were fired in my direction when I was testing Thor’s paces up island. I thought they’d missed, but it looks like a bullet grazed him.”
Broc frowned, looking very military. “That is not a good thing.”
“Do you know of anyone who might hate me?”
“Of course not. Many people mourned the old laird, but most seem pleased that you’ve made your way home to take up your responsibilities.” After a pause, Broc said, “It could be a poacher, or maybe a careless shooter who didn’t think anyone was around. The land is pretty open up there.”
“I hope you’re right.” Ramsay’s gaze moved from Thor to Broc. “But if you hear anything suspicious or threatening, please let me know.”
“Of course,” Broc said, his gaze steady. “But now that wound needs tending. I’ll be right back.”
Ramsay removed Thor’s saddle and saddle cloth. The bullet had come from the right side. If he hadn’t just kicked Thor into the fast pace gait at that moment, the bullet would have struck him. He and Thor had both been very lucky. So had it been an accident, or was he going to have to watch his back from now on? Because he certainly wasn’t going to stay inside Skellig House.
Broc returned and efficiently cleaned the graze, then spread salve over it. Thor was remarkably unconcerned about the whole process. “This one would have made a great cavalry horse,” Broc said admiringly.
“Yes, but I’m sure he’ll prefer being a great stud. What male wouldn’t?”
Broc laughed, and they didn’t mention the shooting again. With Thor contentedly munching his hay, Ramsay accompanied Broc across the yard to the farmhouse. It was a sprawling building, but the main entrance and the heart of the house was the kitchen. Broc swung the door open, saying, “A stray who wandered in wants feeding. Do we have enough to satisfy him?”
The room was spacious, with a vast fireplace and abundant cooking implements hanging from hooks. The end wall sported a splendid cast iron stove that Dougal Mackenzie had bought when the farm had had a particularly good year. It was probably the only one in Thorsay and was greatly admired when it was first installed.
Flora Mackenzie, Broc’s mother, glanced up from cracking eggs into a bowl, her smile lighting up her face. “There might not be enough food when I think of your appetites as boys! But it’s good to see you, my lad. Do you plan to eat me out of house and home this morning?”
“I’ll do my best,” Ramsay promised. As children he and Broc had been continually in and out of the house, and Flora was like a favorite aunt. She’d aged more than her share of years in the time he’d been gone, and her hair had gone silver, but her smile was genuine.
She stepped back, her face serious. “I’m sorry your grandfather is gone, Kai. I don’t know how we’d have survived without his help after Dougal died.”
Broc’s father had been a broad, cheerful man who always welcomed friends and family to the homestead. “I’m so sorry Dougal is gone,” Ramsay said gravely. “There have been too many losses here in recent years.”
Drawn by voices, a young woman with dark hair emerged from the pantry carrying a plate of oatcakes. Seeing Ramsay, she squealed and set the plate on the table before hurling herself at him. “Kai, you really are here! I didn’t quite believe it.”
Laughing, he hugged her back. “And I can’t quite believe that Broc’s little sister has grown into a beautiful young lady, Maeve!”
“You’re lying, but I like it,” she said mischievously. She must be about eighteen now. She’d been just a little bit of a thing when Ramsay knew her before.
Ramsay was wondering if he dared ask about Broc’s younger brother when Flora said, “Jamie is now a second officer on a Hudson’s Bay ship, so we don’t see much of him, but he gets back to Thorsay every few months.”
“Next time he’s here, I hope to see him,” Ramsay said. “He was always getting onto boats whenever he could, so I’m not surprised that he chose the sea.”
While they chatted of memories and stories of days gone by, Flora and Maeve were brewing tea and producing plates of scrambled eggs with cheese and herbs, fried potatoes, and toasted oatcakes. Broc told some hair-raising stories of life in the cavalry. Ramsay suspected that Broc had barely escaped death in battle multiple times, though he spoke easily about what had happened.
