Page 8 of Confessions of a Highland Assassin

“Aye, he must fall so hopelessly in love with ye that it will come as a complete shock when he sees ye betray him. It must hurt in more ways than just physically.”

So that was his ploy. He not only wanted to kill the laird, he wanted to make him suffer a great loss before he died. This was exactly why Ava never came into The Dark Horseman; the people were cruel and heartless.

Her thoughts made her mind drift back to her terrifying ordeal. The marks on her cloak and the tiny welts on her hands reminded her that she wasn’t in a place to judge. “When dae ye need the job done?”

“The sooner the better but take yer time. He must undoubtedly fall for ye. I want him pining like a newborn pup that’s lost its mother.”

“Three weeks,” Ava stated quickly. “Two and a half if I can manage it.” The sooner she got the job done, the sooner she would be able to get her brother back.

She could tell by the way his hood tilted to the side that her statement had made him raise his brows.

“Awfully confident in yer own virtues there, lassie. I warn ye that the laird is a closed-off man. How dae ye think ye can win him over that quickly?”

“The deal works both ways, nae questions asked. Two and a half weeks, do we have a deal?”

He snorted beneath the hood before leaning forward again. “Deal, three weeks at most,” he reached under the table, retrieving a tiny pouch before chucking it onto the table in front of her. “A down payment tae ensure the job gets done properly.”

Ava reached for the pouch but found her hand pinned beneath a sweaty fist before she could move.

“I warn ye, lassie, I will come looking for ye if things dinnae go as planned,” he warned and then removed his hand, allowing her to take the pouch.

Ava placed the pouch in her dress pocket and stood. “Three weeks at most,” is all she said before turning and making her way out of the tavern.

The clouds outside burst as she stepped out into the rain, the gold in her pocket clinking. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and lightning struck, illuminating the moor on the horizon.

What have ye gotten yersel’ intae, Ava Rose? She pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders and hurried away into the rain before she changed her mind again.

CHAPTER FOUR

Boyd walked into the crowded dining hall and took his seat at the head of the long table, surrounded by the twelve council members representing the Cameron clan and its interests. Rory was not a part of the council but always attended to lend Boyd his support, taking a chair at the back of the room in case he was needed.

“Now the laird is here,” one of the elders stood and addressed everyone with his deep voice. Hamish was a short man with pepper grey hair that had once been blond. His back was hunched, giving him a slight limp when he walked. The cane he used to support himself was hooked over his arm. “We can begin,” he finished once Boyd had taken his seat.

The other men around the table shuffled in their seats, sipping on the warm ale that one of the maids had brought in.

“I am sorry that most o’ ye were pulled from yer beds before the sun,” Hamish looked around at some of the men wearing crumpled shirts with messy hair. “But there is a matter that cannae wait till morning. One of our scouts has come back with disturbing news from the borders.”

The men sat up a little straighter in their highbacked chairs and stopped their fidgeting as they listened more intently, for any news regarding the borders was vital during war.

Even Rory and Boyd leaned in a little closer. News from a scout that required the council to get out of bed in the middle of the night could never be good.

“It would seem that Callum Steward has moved his men a little closer tae our lines. This can only mean that our suspicions over the past week are proving tae be true,” he paused to make sure that everyone was listening intently to his words. “The Steward clan is planning an attack far sooner than we hoped. We will need tae get ready for any surprises they may throw our way.”

Boyd folded his hands on the table in front of him and watched the expressions on the men’s faces. A mix of concern and excitement enveloped them all. The younger members were ready for war, while the elders worried about peace.

“I say we send a strong enough party tae camp out at the borders just in case. They will be able tae hold the lines and get a messenger tae us as soon as possible,” one of the younger men stated over his mug of ale. “We can then begin preparations for counter attacks.”

The man speaking had fiery red curls and blue eyes. His muscles bulged under his cotton shirt. Cinead was the youngest and newest member of the council, and Boyd appreciated him, for he saved his life once on the battlefield. However, his fiery temper was too much to handle at times.

A few others a little older than him nodded at his suggestion.

“We cannae spare any o’ the men from the castle right now,” Boyd said calmly. “We are leaving in the morning for Killiecrankie with all o’ the able-bodied men. Those staying behind will be here tae defend the castle and lands if need be.”

“But the clan must come first before the Jacobite uprising,” Cinead countered, the passion rising in his cheeks to match his hair. “We cannae put our families and lands at risk for a political fight.”

Hamish quietly watched the exchange before stepping in when he saw that Boyd was getting annoyed. “The Jacobite uprising is for the greater good o’ Scotland. Tae have a Steward on the throne again will benefit all in sundry,” he stared at Cinead sternly before addressing the table at large. “Now I ken that nae everyone here agrees with the uprising, but we did agree with a majority vote that if our laird,” he gestured toward Boyd, “supported the Jacobites, we would follow his lead and nae stand against it.”

“But we cannae just put the castle and lands at risk for it,” the younger man said, banging his fist on the table in frustration. A stream of ale spurted from his mug as his fist hit the wood.