Page 63 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

Reaper glared. “Aye, but mine is nay a MacDonald, and I’m nay a MacLeod. Ye nay take a MacDonald woman into yer bed unless ye’re willing to die for it.”

Niall heaved for air and slouched his hands at his waist. “And fok, son, but I’ve fostered ye too well, for yer strike is powerful,” he grunted, rolling out his shoulder to more laughter.

Tormund sopped his sweat from his brow with the end of his tunic, letting it drop, and swiveled his hilt around in his palm to regrip it.

“I thought she was a mistake,” Ghost interjected.

Tormund’s eyes flashed to his cousin as he dismounted, and that tightness in his chest curdled with irritation at Ghost’s further cheapening. “She’s nay a mistake.” Lungs heaving, he pointed at Ghost with his sword. “And ye’re late, Ghost. Yer turn. En garde.”

Ghost unsheathed his claymore from his back.

“So then…ye like her, laird?” Reaper pressed, perplexed, as if trying to decipher a foreign tongue, as Ghost prowled into the space Niall had vacated, nearby grunts and strikes of metal echoing as his other men trained as ordered. “Why carry on with the lass when ye intend to slit her brother’s neck?”

Tormund watched Ghost stalk forth, feeling his man’s tension. “What’s yer report, Ghost? Find the missing supplies? I assume that’s why ye couldna’ be here on time?”

“Aye.”

Aye? Tormund paused. Calculating him, warning prickled, as did the renewed anger that the Judas he’d sensed in his ranks was now staring him in the face.

“Where are yer men, Brodie?” he asked flatly.

His cousin calculated him in return. “In Kiliwhimin, camped at the ambush site to get in position.”

A lick of alarm simmered within Tormund. Shite… “I never ordered them into position.”

Ghost said nothing. The bastard had lied, and loyalty between them had been everything. He’d heeded the command to search for the supplies, the same as everyone else, all the while being the culprit.

“I never gave ye permission to take the supplies, either.”

Ghost had been unaccounted for last night, now that he thought about it. Tormund had assumed he was drinking, or had taken care of his own needs, for he wasn’t his men’s minder. He nodded knowingly. That agitation swirled harder within him. Ghost must have relieved the current guard as their replacement. No one would have questioned it, for Ghost had been like a right-hand man, just as Reaper and Niall were, which was why Tormund hadn’t been able to find an enemy trail.

“I did.” Ghost stood at the ready, claymore in hand.

“Damnation, man, we searched all bloody night for a thief, but it was ye?” gnashed Reaper, stalking onto the pitch and shoving Ghost, who hopped off-balance. “Ye had them the whole time?”

“Aye! We came here for this, Comyn,” Ghost erupted in Reaper’s face. “And for the past several days the chief’s done shite about it.”

“Ye’ll call them back after we finish here,” Tormund demanded, tempering his fury. He’d always kept a close eye on his enemies. He should have been dissecting his ranks just as fiercely.

“Why?”

“Because ye defied me.”

“We have to get in position tonight,” Ghost emphasized. “There’s no time if we wait until the morrow. Camps will break and travelers will leave.”

“No we do nay.”

“Why?” Ghost thrust his sword into the ground.

“Because the ambush is off!” Tormund growled.

The men fell silent and the sword practice ceased, and then a volley of arguments exploded, crowding him. Fok. Tormund rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“We had a plan, laird,” Ghost grumbled. “We’ve got everything in place. It’s time to end MacDonald. He murdered yer brother. He’s led Highland clans against ye for years. Why the hell would ye nay want his soul to burn in hell? Why hold back?”

Tormund paced as more objections were voiced. He held up his palm to quiet them.

“The contest winnings wasna’ the only reason we came,” Ghost continued. “Ye finally have yer chance, laird. Devil MacDonald’s here, unarmed, and ye’re just going to piss away yer advantage?”