Liam’s brows shot up though he quickly masked his surprise.
Declan stepped closer, his tone low and commanding. “Above all, do nae let the new Lady McCallum leave the island. She’s to remain safe within the walls and on the island. Guard her with yer life.”
Liam bowed deeply, his voice steady. “Aye, me Laird . Ye have me word.”
The air in the room seemed to thicken with the weight of the command. Declan gave a curt nod of satisfaction then turned sharply on his heel.
“Move out the rest,” he barked. “We leave now.”
Killian slung his satchel over his shoulder. The men scrambled into motion, the sound of boots and shouted orders filling the courtyard beyond.
Declan strode out into the crisp morning air, the wind off the loch biting cold against his face. At the shore, the small fleet of boats rocked gently against the wooden dock. The water glinted silver beneath the morning sun. Declan stepped aboard first, the oarsmen standing at attention as Killian joined him, the rest of the guards filing into the other vessels.
“To the mainland,” Declan ordered, his voice carrying over the loch.
The men bent to their oars, and the boats began to glide smoothly across the water. The rhythmic splash of the oars echoed through the mist, the castle slowly fading into the distance behind them. Declan stood tall at the bow, his gaze fixed ahead but his thoughts drifting back to the woman he’d left behind as he turned his gaze to the castle.
He told himself it was caution that made him leave such strict orders for her protection. Yet, he could not ignore the faint, unspoken truth stirring deep within his chest—he simply couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to her.
The mist lifted slowly from the moors as the men reached the mainland. Declan stepped from the boat, boots sinking into the damp earth, his gaze sweeping over the line of men hauling gear and supplies from the vessels.
“Mind yer step, lads,” he called. “We’ve work to see done before the sun’s at its height.”
Killian leapt from the boat behind him, landing sure-footed, a grin tugging at his lips despite the cold.
“The lads move quick, me Laird . I’d say they ken better than to dawdle under yer eye.”
Declan grunted in response, tightening the strap across his chest as he turned toward the wagons.
“Get the wagons loaded,” Declan ordered, his tone leaving no room for debate. “We’ll nae waste daylight.”
He moved with deliberate purpose, inspecting each cart and mount, his brow furrowed in concentration. His men worked in silence but for the sound of hooves and creaking wheels, each well used to their laird’s quiet demands.
A few moments later, Killian approached once more, brushing the mud from his plaid.
“We’re set, Declan. The wagons’ll follow yer lead.” He gave a short nod toward the trail that wound into the highland hills. “Ye’ll be wantin’ to start with the lower village first?”
Declan swung up onto his horse, gripping the reins tight.
“Aye,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’ll start with Glen Oak. Bandits have been sighted in them parts. I’ll nae have another attack on me folk.”
His jaw tightened as he cast his gaze eastward where the faint path disappeared into the forest.
Killian mounted his own steed beside him, the leather creaking under his weight.
“Aye,” he said, adjusting the strap of his sword. “Seems these thieves grow bolder by the week.”
“Then we’ll remind them whose lands they trespass upon,” Declan muttered. “I’ll nae have me name made a jest among vermin that hide behind trees.”
His horse stamped, eager to move, and Declan gave a sharp whistle. The column of riders began to move forward, hooves striking hard against the frozen ground.
For a time, the only sound was the rhythm of horses and the whisper of wind through heather.
“I mean to inspect three villages a week,” Declan said.
Killian finally spoke again, his tone thoughtful. “Inspecting three villages a week, ye will push yerself too hard, me Laird . The men speak of it. Say ye’ve nae given yerself true rest since yer return from yer weddin’ journey.” He cast Declan a sidelong glance,his grin returning faintly. “Ye tryin’ to escape the new Lady McCallum already?”
Declan’s brow darkened. “Watch yer tongue, Killian,” he said sharply. “Ye’d do well nae to jest about what’s mine.” He tugged the reins, keeping his horse steady, but his irritation was clear in the taut set of his shoulders. “I ride because I must. There’s work to be done, and I’ll nae sit idle while others bear the weight simply because I married.”
