Chapter Six
Kyle had regained much of himself by the time the castle came back into sight, though he still felt a bit hollow. His clothes were stained with blood, and though he had tried to wash his hands in a stream, they still held a faint red tint that wouldn’t leave his mind. The pair of them approached the castle, passing the peasants that had packed up their market stalls for the day and were heading back to their hovels in the fields with what hay or bread they hadn’t sold.
He continued imagining the man in the grass and the feeling of the dagger going into him. There had been no real resistance. It had been easy. That was one of the most concerning elements in Kyle’s mind, how easy it had been. He had trained in the yard for years, and while it was good to know it not been for naught, it was still an impressive and frightening thought that he could fell a man with such ease. With a dagger, no less.
“Haem at last,” Domnal said, glancing back at Kyle as they approached the gate. “Hell o’ a day, eh?”
“Aye,” Kyle muttered.
“Look sharp!” Domnal barked toward the gate, and the two guardsmen snapped to attention.
“Good huntin’?” the first guard asked as the pair drew into the gatehouse.
“A poor day,” Kyle said back, dismounting.
“Looks like ye got something,” the second guard remarked, his eyes clearly lingering on the blood stains all across Kyle’s clothing.
“Got a man, he did,” Domnal boasted, climbing down from his horse.
“Aye, did ye now?” the first guard remarked. “Well done.”
“I suppose,” Kyle said offhandedly, handing his reins over to the stable boy that had come running up. He still did not feel entirely present and was moving in what felt like a trance.
“Got more than that,” the second guard said with a chuckle.
“How’s that?” Kyle asked, snapping his eyes to the man.
“Some sassenach wench come rollin’ in taedie,” the guard continued. “Yer brither’s made her yer servant. Ha! What a sight the lass was, all wet, brandishin’ some paper.”
“What?” Kyle asked, clenching the back of his jaw. The news made no sense at all, and in his foggy mind, he struggled to sort it out.
“It’s as he says,” the first guard chimed in. “An Englishwoman.”
“Kyle—” Domnal tried to call to him, but Kyle was already marching fast toward the central tower. There was only so much he could make sense of at one time, and this made no sense at all. Not only did he have to kill a man, but he had to endure the presence of an Englishwoman? What was happening to his world? How did it come to this?
All his life, he had heard the tales of the English trolls ravaging the border, invading in hordes, killing his countrymen and his family, ravaging the countryside and leaving carnage in their wake. He remembered hearing of the flames at Edinburgh when the Longshanks unleashed his terrible war machine. He had been taught nothing, but disdain for the English, the Sassenach scum, the villains to the South, and the thought of seeing one in his chambers was entirely upsetting to him, especially in his current frame of mind.
He stomped into the tower and ascended the spiraling stairs, his wide shoulders brushing up against the tight passage until he came to his brother’s study. He knew Gavin would be there. Every night Gavin spent a few hours there, sometimes with Ella and sometimes with their child, peering over old surveying maps and what few books they possessed. Kyle planted his shoulder against the door and burst through it, shouting before he even entered the room,
“Gavin! Gavin, ye listen tae me! Ye dinnae get tae make decisions on me life like this! I dinnae want a servant, least all a bleedin’ Sassenach! Ye cur! Am I tae be reminded o’ faither’s died face came back from battle every time the English troll empties me chamber pot? How can ye die this? What gives ye tae right? Send her away, I say! Send her away!” and then Kyle looked around the room.
Gavin was standing behind a large table, upon which were some market ledgers from the looks of them, and Ella sat beside the window, flanked by a devastatingly beautiful woman, whose green eyes stood out like pillars of flame from her pale, elegantly freckled face.
“Brither,” Gavin said, glancing up from the ledgers, seemingly unaffected by Kyle’s tirade. “Yer covered in blood.”
“I—” Kyle faltered, his eyes darting between the beautiful woman, his brother, and his sister-in-law. “I am,” was all he could finally settle on.
“A good hunt then?” Gavin asked nonchalantly as he shuffled his parchment scrolls together.
“Nay,” Kyle said. “Nay particularly.”
“A shame,” Gavin said in his deadpan tone reserved for reflecting his utmost authority as the Laird. “Always a disappointment when a hunt is spoiled.”
“Aye,” Kyle said, trailing off. He felt horribly embarrassed, and the heat in his cheeks told him that he was blushing.
“This is Laila,” Ella said, standing from her chair. “She’ll take care o’ ye from now on.”
“Ye need a new servant, even if ye say ye dinnae,” Gavin added, moving the parchments to a large wooden box. “An’ she cain read.”
