Page 34 of His Runaway Bride
"Aye, and ye should protect what's yers," Morna agreed."But remember, lad, sometimes our enemies are not who we think they are, and mercy serves us better than the sword."
Ewan stared down at the woman who had raised him, who had never steered him wrong in all his years.Her sight had saved them more than once, and though he didn't always understand her visions, he had learned to trust them.
"Ye're asking me to spare a man whose clan took my wife," he said slowly.
"I'm asking ye to use that sharp mind of yers before ye use yer blade," Morna replied.
For a moment, Ewan wavered.Every instinct screamed for blood and vengeance, but Morna's words carried the weight of hard-won wisdom.
"I'll question him first," he said finally, his voice rough with reluctance."But if he's harmed her, if he's threatened what's mine..."
"Then ye'll do what ye must," Morna finished."But give truth a chance to speak first."
For a moment, the brothers glanced at each other, years of shared battles and brotherhood passing between them.Then Connor stepped forward and gripped Ewan's stirrup.
"Bring her home," he said roughly."And come back alive, or I'll never forgive ye for leaving me to tend this daft clan alone!"
"I'll bring her home," Ewan promised, his voice carrying the weight of an oath."Whatever it takes."
With that, he spurred his horse forward, and twenty riders thundered through the gates of MacNeil Keep, riding hard toward Ferguson lands and whatever fate awaited them there.
In her chamber, Fiona placed a protective hand over her growing belly and whispered a prayer for the safe return of both Lileas and the man who had become like a brother to her.
***
Chapter 15: No Harm Done
Ferguson Keep rosefrom the Highland mist like a monument to decay and neglect.Once-proud walls now showed gaps where stones had fallen, and the main tower listed slightly to one side as if weary of holding itself upright.Weeds grew through cracks in the courtyard, and the smell of damp and rot hung in the air like a shroud.
Laird Bhaltair Ferguson sat in what had once been the Great Feasting Hall, surrounded by the evidence of his uncle's failures.The previous laird had run their fortunes into the ground through drink, poor decisions, and a complete lack of care for his people or his lands.Bhaltair had inherited not a proud Highland stronghold, but a crumbling ruin and a clan on the verge of collapse.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell to his shoulders and eyes the color of winter storms.His face bore the kind of austere ruggedness that spoke of ancient bloodlines, but it was marked by a perpetual scowl that had only deepened since taking control of his failing clan.
Today, that scowl darkened further as Dugald and his men entered the hall, dragging with them a bound and gagged woman whose eyes blazed with fury despite her predicament.
"Laird," Dugald announced proudly, "we have someone who will reverse our fortunes."
