Page 81 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The glen opened before them like a wound in the earth, wide and shallow, bordered by ancient oaks whose branches twisted toward the grey sky.
Rowan reined his horse to a stop at the edge of the tree line and waited. The morning air was cold and damp, carrying the scent of wet earth and dying leaves.
Ewan drew up beside him, his sandy hair loose around his face and his hand resting easy on the pommel of his saddle.
Behind them, a handful of guards fanned out across the path, their bows loose in their hands and their eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
“Ye are quiet,” Ewan noted. “More than usual.”
“I have much on me mind.”
“Aye.” Ewan turned in his saddle to look at him. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried something that might have been concern. “This could go two ways, Rowan. It could end well, or it could end with blood on the ground and a war on our borders. There is nay in between with a man like Laird Kerr.”
Rowan did not answer. He was watching the far end of the glen, where the trees parted and the moorland stretched toward the hills. Kerr would come from that direction.
“He will be here soon,” Ewan said. “Ye should prepare what ye mean to say.”
“I ken what I mean to say.”
“Do ye?” Ewan’s voice was soft. “Because if ye accuse him without proof, if ye push him too hard and too fast, he willnae forget it. Men like Laird Kerr daenae forgive slights. They carry them like stones in their pockets, waitin’ for the right moment to throw them.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “I am nae afraid of him.”
“Nay one said ye were afraid.” Ewan leaned forward in his saddle. “But there is a difference between fear and caution. Ye can be cautious without being afraid. And ye should be cautious now, Rowan. For yer wife’s sake, if nae for yer own.”
Rowan turned to look at his friend, and for a moment, he saw the years of battles and losses and quiet moments of understanding that had passed between them.
Ewan had been with him through everything, had stood at his side when the plague took his family and when his first wife died and when the weight of the lairdship threatened to crush him.
“I willnae bury her,” Rowan said. “I willnae let anyone take her from me.”
“And I willnae let the man who poisoned me sister draw another breath,” Callan growled from Rowan’s other side. He had been a silent, simmering presence the entire ride, but now his horse danced restlessly beneath him, his knuckles white upon his reins.
Ewan held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Then let us finish this.”
The sound of horses reached them before the riders appeared. Hoofbeats on damp earth, the jingle of bridles, and the low murmur of men speaking.
Rowan straightened in his saddle and watched as Kerr emerged from the trees at the far end of the glen.
John Kerr was younger than Rowan remembered, or perhaps he only looked younger because he carried himself with the careless arrogance of a man who had never been told no.
His hair was long and dark blond, his jaw was clean-shaven, and his features were fine enough to be called handsome if not for the hardness in his eyes. He was tall and very muscular, and he rode at the head of his men like a general leading an army, though there were only a handful of guards behind him.
Rowan had heard the stories, of course. Every man in the Highlands had heard the stories. Kerr’s temper was legendary, and his outbursts were the subject of whispered conversations in Great Halls and taverns alike.
“MacLaren.” Kerr reined his horse to a stop a few yards away, his smile not reaching his eyes. “I didnae think ye would actually come. I thought perhaps ye would send one of yer men to do yer dirty work.”
“I do me own work,” Rowan said. “Always have.”
“Aye.” Kerr’s eyes swept over him, taking in the sword at his belt and the scar on his face and the set of his shoulders. “I can see that.”
There was a moment of silence, and Rowan realized that Kerr was waiting for something. Pleasantries, perhaps. The empty words that men exchanged before they got to the business of hating each other.
“The journey from yer lands was long,” Rowan said, because it was expected, because tradition demanded that enemies speak politely before they drew steel. “I trust yer men found suitable accommodations.”
Kerr blinked, as though he had not expected courtesy from the man who had stolen his betrothed. “The journey was long, aye. But me men are accustomed to hardship. Unlike some, we daenae spend our days sitting in castles and ordering others to fight our battles.”
