Page 178 of Claimed Highland Brides

Aileen found Hamish crouching beside the well, his small hands fisted as if prepared for a fight. There was no sign of the guard.

“Hamish!” she hissed, reaching for him. His head shot up, eyes wide with fear. When he saw who it was, he dropped his fist, eyes filling with relief.

“It’s ye. I did what ye said. Can I have another apple?”

Aileen blinked at him in some surprise. “Uh, aye, o’ course.” She reached into her bag and extracted an apple, handing it to him with a smile.

“Are ye alrigh’?” she asked softly. “Where’s yer mither?”

His face fell. “Mother left us. Da said we musnae talk aboot her.”

Her heart twisted with sympathy. “I’m sorry for tha’. Come, let me take ye back to the hoose.”

In the distance, she could hear the clash of swords and the cursing of men. She didn’t want this little boy anywhere near it. Bending down, she reached for his hand. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

Trustingly, he took her hand and let her lead him to the manor house through a side door. “Do ye have someone to take care o’ ye then?”

Hamish looked up at her, brow furrowed with puzzlement. “Ye mean like Mrs. Woodward? She cooks for us.”

Aileen sighed. “I suppose. Where can we find her?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Alrigh’ then, take me there.”

Hamish led the way, chewing contentedly on his apple. Now that she had time to notice, she saw that he was quite thin, possibly malnourished. His hair was dank and unwashed, his clothes poorly mended.

What kind of household are ye running, Gilroy?

She tried to think if she had heard what happened to his bride, but nothing came to mind. She had not even known that he had any children. They arrived at the kitchen where a variety of women were huddled together, talking in low tones and looking afraid.

A rotund woman wearing an apron over her homespun gown turned at the sound of Hamish’s loud chewing, and her mouth dropped open. “Master Hamish! Where have ye been?”

Aileen stepped back as she came towards them, and Hamish turned and pointed at her. “I been wi’ Aileen, Mrs. Woodward, out by th’ well.”

The housekeeper stopped short and considered Aileen slowly. “Ye’re one o’ the Douglass sisters, are ye no?” she asked calmly, much to Aileen’s surprise.

“Aye, I am.”

“Is it them that has attacked us then?”

“We havenae attacked ye. The rightful owner o’ this manor is simply here to take it back.”

Mrs. Woodward snorted. “The master’ll never gi’ it up.”

“Hence the fighting.”

At an impasse, they blinked at each other, each waiting cautiously for the other to act. Hamish bit noisily into his apple. “Who’s fighting?” he asked.

Both women looked at him and smiled. “No one you need worry aboot,” Aileen said. “Now I mun’ go. I just wanted to bring ye the lad to look after.”

The housekeeper nodded. “Aye, thanks.”

Aileen nodded and backed out of the door, heading as quickly as she could towards the sounds of fighting, her thoughts on Barclay and what might be going on with him.

* * *

Gilroy fought dirty. Barclay quickly learned that the gentleman’s rules of dueling would not apply to the battle. As Gilroy brought down his claymore, trying to bash Barclay’s head in, he slid to the side, jabbing his elbow hard into Gilroy’s kidney.

The older man stumbled but did not fall, though Barclay gave no quarter; he came in swinging his sword and slashing through Gilroy’s arm. The man grunted, backing out of reach before taking a knife from his belt and throwing it at Barclay. He heard the shrill whistle of it as it scraped by his ear, only having managed to move his head out of the way just in time.

He narrowed his eyes at Gilroy. “Hidden weapons, is it?”

Gilroy didn’t bother to answer, just lifted his claymore and charged, screaming at Barclay. The echoing ring as iron struck iron reverberated all around the courtyard as they began to spar in earnest, each trying to land a hit on the other.

Gilroy swung his claymore downward and across, trying to sweep Barclay off his feet, but he jumped back, using the time before Gilroy could straighten up to kick him in the head.

He stumbled and almost fell but used his claymore to stop his downward trajectory. Barclay used the opening to come close and punch him in the ribs before lifting his sword, ready to deal him a mortal blow.

Gilroy was bent over and managed to shove his shoulder into Barclay’s belly, unbalancing him. He used the momentum to whirl around, coming at Gilroy from below and swinging his sword upward.

A scream rent the air. “Da!”

Barclay froze, looking towards the sound. His eyes fell on Aileen; beside her stood a young boy, with his mouth fallen open in horror. For a moment, it was as if he saw through the boy’s eyes, and it was his own father, dying.