Highland Moon #3 (Scottish Werewolf Shifter Romance) by Mac Flynn

Author:Mac Flynn [Flynn, Mac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mac Flynn

6

I covered my mouth with my hand, and Graham started back. Even Chamberlain stepped up to Laird Tristan and shook his head.

“But my laird-” Tristan held up his hand.

“I will hear no more of these doubts. Bring me my father’s armor and ready my horse. We must ride out to meet these invaders before they reach the village,” Tristan commanded him.

“As you wish, my laird,” Chamberlain reluctantly agreed. He left to prepare the horse and armor.

Graham remained, and he gestured to me with one of his chubby hands. “My laird, surely you jest. A field of battle is no place for your betrothed.”

“Would you rather go in her place, Laird Graham?” Tristan threatened him.

Graham stiffened and blustered. “I-I would, my laird, but I am very old and have my daughter to think about.”

Tristan’s eyes were cold as he bowed his head. “Then I bid you goodnight, my laird, and consign you both to your rooms.”

Graham’s eyes widened and he stretched out his hand. “O-our rooms, my laird? My laird, be reasonable. My charges expect me to return home soon, and the Laird has by all appearances deemed it fit to choose this time for our leaving.”

“If you wish to abandon a fight then so be it,” Tristan snapped.

“My laird, you must see the situation through my eyes,” Graham protested.

“I must do nothing but array myself in armor and protect all that I hold dear,” Tristan countered.

Chamberlain returned attire in a chest plate and greaves. He knelt before Tristan and bowed his head. “My laird, the armor awaits you in the entrance hall.”

Tristan turned his back on Graham and to his steward. “And my horse?”

“Saddled and ready, my laird.”

Tristan looked to me and held out his hand. “Will you come, my lady?”

I bit my lower lip, but stretched out my hand to grasp his. “Wherever you will it, my laird,” I replied.

He smiled and squeezed my hand. “That’s my girl. Now let us be off.”

Chamberlain led the two of us to the entrance hall. The doors to the courtyard were wide open and I witnessed dozens of men preparing themselves for battle. They brandished swords, spears, and bows, and their quivers were full of arrows with hard, deadly tips. Alan stood at the forefront of the groups and shouted orders.

Tristan took position in the center of the hall. He was arrayed in a chest plate with his family crest on the front, and his legs and arms were covered in thick bands of metal. The soldiers girded his sword at his hip, and in a few moments my laird stood before me as a fine warrior in armor that shimmered in the candlelight.

“Where are they now?” Tristan asked Chamberlain.

“Three miles from the village, my laird. They seemed to have stopped at the last hill on the road,” Chamberlain informed him.

“I see. They seek the high ground for victory. We shall break them of their false hope,” Tristan

I stood off to the side and watched as the men prepared for war. The saddled horses were brought from the stables and led to the front doors.

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