For a moment.
But if Hamish did not stand against Gaunt, the man would harmhissister. Elena. The only sister he had left. Gaunt would strike her down with no more feeling than a man carving up a chicken.
Hamish knew this, like he knew his own name.
The Laird of Greenock.
As he would be until his dying day.
“She is coming,” Alaric breathed.
Something in his voice made Hamish look at him askance. Alaric’s dark eyes glittered in his unwashed face as he beheld the approaching Lady. She was close enough for them to make out the shimmer of golden hair across her slender shoulders.
“Come, pretty lady,” Alaric mocked.
“She is not for ye.” Hamish nudged him with his elbow, making his voice light.
“The spoils of war?” Alaric raised one eyebrow before clapping him on the shoulder. “I am jesting, man. Fear not. I ken ye havena had a woman for some time now. This one is all for ye. If ye want her.”
Hamish’s eyes travelled back to the approaching party. The woman was mounted on a chestnut destrier. Her seat and hands were light. Was it his fancy, or did the set of her shoulders indicate some inner determination, a glint of steel that was borne out by the upward tilt of her chin? He dampened his lips with his tongue, unsure why it had become momentarily hard to breathe.
He was about to say that he did not want this woman, nor any other woman for that matter. But neither did he want Alaric laying claim to any man’s sister. Hamish grunted instead. “’Tis not the first thing on my mind, right now.”
“Nay?” Alaric snorted. “’Tis most always the first thing on mine.”
Siegfried glowered at them both. “They are almost upon us.”
Hamish waved his hand. “Go down and stand before the gates. Allow them through. I will greet them in the courtyard. Close the gates behind them so we can better deal with any trouble.”
“Pen them in, ye mean?” Alaric was pleased with the picture.
“’Tis only a precaution.” Hamish checked his sword belt, conscious of the short-hanging cloak flapping about his calves as he descended the stone steps. The grounds of the hall had seemed peaceful before, but now there was something menacing about the unnatural stillness. Not so much as a wisp of straw blew about the cobbles. The barns were barred and bolted, though they had managed to gain access to the stables for their three horses. Hamish could hear Luar pawing at the stone floor. Was she trying to warn him?
Girlish laughter filled his ears.
“That’s a mighty poetic notion, brother mine.”
Hamish could see Brianne, clear as day, standing between Siegried and Alaric as they bowed a stiff welcome to the approaching riders. The woman came first, her blue cloak billowing over the horse’s hindquarters. The two riders following her both slouched in the saddle and hardly spared a glance toward their surroundings. Brianne shook her head in disgust while Siegfried and Alaric struggled with the hinges of the gate. It seemingly had not been closed in some time, which might explain why it had been standing open when they themselves arrived.
Hamish snapped his attention away from his men and back to the woman, who rode toward him like a queen approaching a subject. She reined in her horse as he bowed low.
“Welcome, milady.”
There was no point in trying to disguise his Scots brogue. In any case, she was the future Lady of Greenock; headed to the highlands. She had better get used to it.
“You are here to escort me to Greenock?”
Her voice was rich and sweet, with an edge of aristocratic entitlement that made his hackles rise.
“That is to be our honor,” he answered, keeping his voice free of emotion.
She sniffed in displeasure, but sat easily in the saddle as her destrier wheeled around with agitation. Her blue gaze clashed with his and for a moment, Hamish felt as if she was reading the secrets of his soul.
“There are few of you.”
The steely challenge in her voice was undisguised. Hamish inclined his head.
“Even fewer of you.”
