Dark Side of the Laird (Highland Bound) by Knight Eliza

Author:Knight, Eliza [Knight, Eliza]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Knight Media, LLC
Published: 2013-12-25T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Logan

The king’s guards made us wait outside in the cold, the beginnings of a storm brewing from the scent of the wind. Night had fallen hours before, and the moon was high in the sky, but guarded by misty clouds.

Torches lit the battlements of Falkland Palace. The groggy guards who sat on the wall-walk were none too pleased with our arrival, but I’d pushed us hard and had no plans whatsoever to make camp outside the walls of the palace. We were in need of a hearth, ale and warm food.

“Open the doors. ’Tis Logan Grant, Guardian of Scotland.”

The men peered over the side, their eyes squinting in the smoke from the torches. “Looks like ye,” one of them said.

“Likely because ’tis,” I drawled out.

“Ye’ll have to drop your weapons, Guardian or nay,” the other man said taking a sip of something that steamed in his mug.

I rolled my eyes toward my men. “We’ll disarm in the courtyard.”

The king’s men seemed to chew on that for a moment, whispering back and forth, but then they both nodded. “A minute, then, good sir.”

The sounds of the portcullis chain being cranked broke the otherwise silence. As it was raised, the doors were opened and we rode slowly into the courtyard, arms upstretched.

The king was on high alert, it would appear. I’d never been subjected to such scrutiny before.

We rode toward a brazier lit high with logs in the center of the courtyard, and boys from the stables came rushing forward to greet us.

“Disarm,” I issued the order to my men.

We dismounted and worked to remove our weapons, making a pile of them in the center of the horses.

“See that these are put in a safe place, lad, and I’ll see your belly full,” I called to a young man standing to the side. He nodded eagerly, hunger making his cheekbones sharp and eyes wide.

My brother was fond of depriving his servants, preferring they be hungry and needy, grateful for the scraps he might toss their way. His method disgusted me.

“Why’ve ye come so late?” a guard asked, skulking up to us and placing himself in our path to the castle entrance. His eyes held suspicion. He wore a thick cloak of wool and fur, his bushy brows were pressed together in a frown and his beard was long and braided. Whisky flowed from his breath. There was a sneaky look about him that turned my stomach. I supposed the night watchmen were all of a darker sort given they lived without the sun, but this man was treading dangerously close to the edge of my patience.

I cracked my neck and flexed my fists, a silent warning that though I’d put my weapons aside, I was still deadly. “I’ve come to seek an audience with the king. We were close enough I saw no reason to make camp outside the walls.”

The guard grunted, studying me with contempt. I sneered back at him and took several menacing steps forward until we were nearly nose to nose.

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