Alasdair raised his eyebrows. “A break, huh? For me or for ye?”
The man opened his mouth, but before the words could come out, Alasdair swung his sword hard at him. The guard could barely defend himself as Alasdair hooked his ankle and swept him clean off his feet. The man hit the ground hard, flat on his back, his sword clattering to the side.
“Groan all ye like,” Alasdair said, leaning over him and holding out a hand. “But never let talk distract ye. Nae in battle or in training. Sometimes a single word or even a single thought can be the difference between life and death.”
The guard swallowed, gripping Alasdair’s hand as he pulled him up. “Aye, me Laird. I understand.”
“Good.”
The man brushed dust from his tunic and glanced toward the barrels by the wall. “Shall I fetch ye water, then?”
Alasdair shook his head. “Nay. There are things I must see to first.”
The man nodded, though his mouth opened again as if to argue. Before he could speak, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor that led to the training yard.
Alasdair stiffened. His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his sword. He lifted a finger to his lips.
“Quiet,” he whispered.
The guard nodded, his face pale.
Together, they crept toward the sound. Each step was measured, their blades ready, their eyes sharp. The footsteps drew closer, steady and unhurried. Alasdair pressed his back against the stone wall and waited until the shadow loomed.
“One… two… three,” he hissed.
They leapt out together, their blades raised.
“Saints preserve us!” a voice bellowed. Nathan stumbled back, his hands raised in alarm. “It is me!”
Alasdair halted, his sword still in hand. His jaw clenched. “Bloody hell, Nathan. Must ye enter like a thief? Announce yerself next time, or one day ye will end up skewered.”
Nathan frowned, lowering his hands. “I have never had to announce meself before.”
“Aye, and I have never been shot at by an archer before,” Alasdair snapped. “But it happened once, and once is all it takes to change everything. Daenae give me another scare like that.”
Nathan’s mouth tightened, and he inclined his head. “As ye say, me Laird. I apologize.”
Alasdair exhaled and lowered his sword. “What is it?”
“I come with news,” Nathan said.
Alasdair turned to the guard beside him. “Go. Bring water.”
The guard nodded and hurried away, leaving them alone in the yard.
Alasdair fixed Nathan with a sharp look. “Well?”
Nathan shifted his weight. “I spoke with the villagers again. I heard the same grumblings. The same doubts about yer place as Laird. Some whisper that the clan is cursed. Others blame yer wife. It is nothing new.”
Alasdair’s teeth ground together. “Aye. Finn said the same.”
“But there is more.” Nathan’s voice dropped as he stepped closer. “I caught a whisper from a woman in the market. She only told me because her son lies in the wounded hall and Lady MacRay herself treated him. She said she owed her a favor.”
Alasdair’s heart sank. “What did she tell ye?”
Nathan’s eyes hardened. “There is talk of another attack. Nae just against ye this time, but against yeboth. Ye and Lady MacRay. And they plan to do it on the night of the cèilidh.”
Alasdair froze. “Nay. Ye are certain?”
