Return of the Highland Laird by Amy Jarecki

Author:Amy Jarecki
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Highland
Published: 2014-08-11T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Ian MacLeod sat on the dais in Brochel Castle’s great hall and listened to the last supplication of the day. The blacksmith and the farrier couldn’t come to terms on the number of horseshoes that had been made or used. Ian wasn’t sure which. He had no idea how his brother and his father before him could listen to driveling complaints twice per week. And with the opposing information presented by each side, it was obvious neither party would be satisfied with a compromising outcome.

Hamish, the smithy, stretched his arms to his sides. “Ye shod every horse in the stable, plus the crofters. Ye took eighty shoes.”

“Ye’re a bloody thief as well as daft. I used half that,” said Simon, the self-righteous farrier.

“Then where’s me wrought iron gone? Got up and walked out the smithy shop on its own, has it?” Hamish leaned in and shook his finger. “Explain that.”

Simon stepped into the accusing finger. “I’m no’ responsible for yer miserable iron.”

Ian rolled his eyes toward Sir Bran. The MacLeod henchman stood to his right and looked as irritated as Ian’s gut felt. “Stop.” Ian sliced his hand through the air. “How much wrought iron is missing?”

Hamish scratched his thick beard. “A stone, I’d reckon.”

Ian leaned forward. “How much would seven pounds cost ye?”

“Four pennies, m’laird.”

Though he was acting laird, Ian preferred to be called sir. His brother was laird, and he hoped to God Alexander would return to Brochel soon. “Very well, the MacLeod coffers will make up half yer losses.” Ian looked to the farrier. “Simon, pay Hamish one penny and the smithy will take the loss for the other.”

Hamish stepped forward. “But—”

Ian stood and fisted his hips. “That is all I will hear on the matter. Now be gone with ye and yer petty grievances.”

The double doors to the great hall opened with a whoosh and in strode William, Clan MacLeod’s most trusted messenger.

Ian beckoned him forward and raised his voice. “What news?” He shot a grimace toward Bran. “It had best be good.”

By the guarded expression on William’s face, Ian harbored little hope they’d found Alexander. Blast.

The messenger walked straight to the dais. “No one’s seen him. ’Tis as if he vanished.”

Ian refused to believe it. “Not in Glasgow or Edinburgh?”

“Nay, not a sign.”

“What about Harris or all the Hebrides?” Bran asked.

“Nay.” William spread his palms. “And we nearly got our throats cut when we dropped anchor at Lewis.”

“God’s teeth, will it never end? Uncle Ruairi is still up to his ruthless tricks.” Ian paced. “Did ye try Inverness?”

“Aye, and nay, he’s no’ up north, he’s no’ in the Orkneys or the Shetlands.”

Frowning, Bran crossed his arms over his mammoth chest. “Iona?”

“The abbey?” William threw his hands out to his sides. “Now that’s pushing it a bit, but, nay. He’s no’ there either.”

Ian wasn’t about to let it rest. “Did ye sail the Firth of Solway?”

“Nay.” William dragged his fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell, dunna ye remember ye told me to go no further than the Mull of Galloway afore I reported back?”

Bran pulled out a chair and slumped into it.

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