Page 35 of Claimed Highland Brides

He stopped by the side of the road when he could no longer ride and tethered the horse to a post. He ate some bread and drank water before curling up and going to sleep. At the crack of dawn, he was up and on his horse, riding hell for leather. He arrived in Glendale at dusk of the third day and was relieved to find that the town was large enough to have an inn.

After dunking his head in a basin of water, and shaking the wetness out of his hair like a dog, he ventured into the dining hall and sat near the fire where everyone could see him. He could already see the covert glances cast his way, full of curiosity. He was willing to bet that not many strangers passed through this borough, what with it tucked on the back end of a loch and having nothing to offer the average traveler. The market was small and basic, there was a blacksmith and a butcher in the village as well as a church and a square which was used for market days, executions, and village meetings.

Daividh drank his ale and waited for the people to come to him. It didn’t take long before a burly man with a full beard lumbered over, bleary eyes glaring. “We dinnae tak’ weel tae strangers here,” he said as if issuing a declaration.

Daividh smiled, taking a sip of his drink. “Is that so? What if I bought ye a tankard o’ ale?”

The man hesitated and then sat down. “I suppose…” His words trailed off as Daividh lifted his hand and called for another one. They drank in silence for a while, just sizing each other up.

“Name’s Angus McCabe,” the man said once his tankard was empty. Daividh called for another with a smile.

“Campbell,” he replied.

“Oh aye? Are ye from doon south or up north?”

Daividh hesitated slightly before deciding to lie. “Up north.”

Angus nodded. “Knew a Fraser Campbell from yonder hill. Is he kin t’ye?”

Daividh shook his head. “I dinnae ken him. But I been soldiering for years. Lots a kin I forgot.”

Angus grinned. “Och aye.”

They drank.

“Are ye from around these parts?” Daividh asked.

“Aye. I grew up doon the road.”

Daividh nodded. “Ye’re a crofter then, frae the laird?”

“Aye, my faither used t’be a tacksman for the Hunter.”

“Hunter ye say?”

“Aye. He’s the local laird.”

“Mmm. Is he any good? I'm looking tae sell my sword.”

Angus looked away, a frown marring his forehead. He didn’t say anything which was more than an answer for Daividh.

“I see,” he murmured.

Angus looked at him and then turned, gesturing at an old man on the next table. “Ye should speak wi’ Richard. He can tell ye better’n anyone aboot the laird.”

Daividh perked up. “Och aye, send him over.” He lifted his hand to the serving girl, asking for another tankard to be brought. By the time he turned back, Richard was sitting opposite him, his watery blue eyes fixed on the tankard in front of Daividh. Fortunately, the serving girl brought him his own before he could reach out and grab it.

“Now, tell me aboot the laird,” Daividh said.

“Hunter?” Richard sneered. “He is no laird. Just a barbarian pretending. He come here from Ireland ye ken? Claimed tae be the auld laird’s kin. The laird was childless, welcomed him in. Hunter took advantage, killed him in ‘is sleep.”

Daividh leaned back. “Hmm,” he said skeptically, hoping to loosen the man’s tongue further. “And how would ye ken tha’?”

Richard leaned forward confidentially. “A footman saw the whole thing.”

“Why did ye no have him arrested then?”

Richard snorted. “Who’ll believe a footman ower a laird?”