The Last Eternal Warrior: A Steamy Scottish Medieval Historical Romance (Immortal Highlanders Book 5) by Agnes McNair

Author:Agnes McNair [McNair, Agnes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-06-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Ten

“Laird! Laird! A retinue o’ men is climbing up the mountain! Come doon at once!” the steward's voice sounded frantic on the other side.

“Go to the dressing room,” Altair hissed at Laura, waiting for her to hide in the small room before he unlatched the door.

“How many men?” Altair sat on a stool while he tied his boots under his knees. Berenson was too overwrought to ask questions about how Altair had managed to belt the plaid around his midriff so fast.

“Stephen counted six torches, Laird. They are nae approaching with stealth. They make no secret of their progress.”

“So, it’s nae ambush. What the foutering hell do they want?”

When Berenson tried to answer him, Altair cut him off. “Awa’ with ye, man. The question was rhetorical. Six torches means they must count at least twelve in number—only servants carry torches. Hie doon to the armoury and get me two latchbows, a dirk, and another sword. Step lively.”

The moment Berenson left, Altair slung his sheathed sword over his shoulder and then picked up Laura’s plaid off the floor. Striding into the dressing room, he growled a few abrupt orders. “Dinnae fash aboot dressing, sweetheart. Dance those pretty feet o’ yers doon the stairs as fast as ye can and get into bed. I will send Mistress Berenson to sit with ye in a moment or two. Got that?”

Shaking with shock, Laura picked up her ghillies and stockings on the way out. “Are we being attacked?”

“Nay, nothin’ so dramatic. This sometimes happens after I visit Iolaire, that is all. It’s probably just a bunch o’ concerned citizens wanting to ken what me motives are.”

He watched her patter downstairs, listening carefully for the sound of her bedchamber door opening and closing before going to join the small Berenson clan in the vestibule.

“Mistress Berenson. Go sit with the Maid. Make sure she is nae a-feared o’ this nonsense. Bring her comfort. Got that?”

The housekeeper grumbled when she saw how her elderly husband and two sons were arming themselves. “I am nae liar, Laird. I cannae tell the maid nothing is wrong when something clearly is!”

“Do me this kindness. I thank ye, Mistress,” Altair dismissed her with a curt nod. “And dinnae let her keek oot the window either.”

The laird’s tower was part of the castle’s keep, a tall, imposing edifice in the middle of a thick barrier of walls. There had never been any need for a moat because the steep cliffs of the mountain acted as a terrifyingly imposing barbican, the name these military structures gave to outer defensive walls.

The armory was at the bottom of the watchtower. The Berensons waited for their laird’s orders as they buckled on breastplates and tried on helmets for the closest fit.

“Let’s go up to the gatehouse and await them there,” was all Altair had to say. He was galled beyond all patience at this intrusion. In his mind, if this turned out to be some blethering envoy from Iolaire come to threaten him with excommunication for

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