Darach (Immortal Highlander Clan MacRoss Book 2): A Scottish Time Travel Romance by Hazel Hunter

Author:Hazel Hunter [Hunter, Hazel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-04-03T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“The men need occupation, my lord,” Eamon, the chieftain in charge of the Carack garrison, told Struan during their morning meeting in the great hall. “They’ve spent weeks drinking and whining while mourning for the laird, but ’tis making them soft. Soon I wouldnae trust them to face a pair of sages, much less the facking MacRoss.”

Although it angered him to hear the chieftain’s claims, Struan knew he was right. The clan’s grief over Callum’s death had dwindled, and left idle the men had grown surly and morose. If he continued to enforce the mourning period the clan would end brawling in the chambers and halls.

Och, get on with life, Brother, Callum would say. The dead can do naught but sleep.

“Very well. You’ve my permission to drill them from dawn until dusk. I shall come at noon to watch individual bouts.” He looked up as the chieftain continued to hover. “’Tisnae enough?”

“’Tis the garrison that concerns me, my lord. Some of the lads, they’re no’ easy facing Hunter Fyn,” Eamon admitted. “You ken how foolishly he behaves in the lists. He draws blood and wins every match, but of late...” He stopped and sighed.

“Naught you say shall astonish me,” Struan assured him.

“The lad’s harming himself.” The chieftain grimaced. “I’ve seen him bite his lip or tongue so he may spit his own blood in the face of the maids, my lord. He doesnae limit such torments to the vassals. Some days past I saw him pacing the hall and gnawing at his fingernails until they bled. I dinnae ken why he’d do this, and I’m no’ inclined to ask.”

Struan had always known this day would come, so it wasn’t a surprise. Still, he hated what would have to come next.

“Go to Fyn’s quarters and remove all the weapons, and then escort him there after the evening meal. Tell him only ’tis punishment from me for setting the fire in the hall, and that I shall speak with him on the morrow.” He knew giving the hunter any hint of his fate would only make him run. With his knowledge of the Carack lands and the many hunting blinds he’d made Fyn could spend years eluding capture. “Once he’s inside bar the door from the outside, and put two guards to stand watch for the night. That shall be enough.”

The chieftain nodded, and bowed before he backed out of the room.

Only after he had gone did Struan rub a tired hand over his face. He had spoken to Callum in the past about Fyn’s unstable nature, and what they might do once his madness became unmanageable. His brother had always favored indulging the hunter for as long as possible, but agreed that in time it would be too dangerous to permit him to roam free.

“He’s like a wild thing himself,” Callum had said. “’Tis too cruel to lock him away in the dungeons or anywhere secure enough to hold him. We cannot exile him, nor hand him over to the magistrate to be imprisoned with the other lunatics.

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