Page 46 of Highland Seduction

“Perhaps Giric Shaw might do so?”

Tor had forgotten that incident as well. Both clans had attended a tournament, one McGreghere had come to witness. When Adair was matched with Giric in the joust, all knew it would be the contest of the tourney. The MacRob and Shaw feud was as well known then as now, though perhaps not as intense as after Marta and Ian went missing.

“None were as skilled with a lance as my brother,” Tor said. “Nor a sword. Nor any weapon.”

“Indeed,” McGreghere agreed. “Even here, in Berwick, when it was known Adair MacRob would compete, all with means to do so made the journey to watch him.”

“A man of his size who could still move that way?” Tor thought of their many training sessions, how his brother, the largest among them, could somehow weave away from a sword thrust as if he were a much smaller man. “He trained harder than any,” he said. “And deserved the accolades.”

The best of men, indeed. Kind, humorous, strong. The sort of man others wished to emulate. One women adored. The sort of man who’d have given Royce and their clan the second-in-command they deserved.

Instead, they were getting one who could never, ever match his brother in any way.

“Apologies for keeping ye with these memories,” McGreghere said. Tor reached into the pouch at his side. “If ye attempt to offer me coin, I’ll challenge ye myself.”

“Ye’d be sorry for it.” Tor chuckled, shaking off the cobwebs of the memories that haunted him. For now, at least.

“I may be the fourth son of a merchant,” McGreghere said, “never having been trained for battle. But I’d do it anyway, on my honor.”

McGreghere’s message clear, Tor offered him his hand instead of the coin. “Many thanks, my friend.”

“And I will send word if I learn aught more.”

The two men shook hands.

“My wife sends her regards,” he thought to add.

“And mine to her. Ye’re a lucky man, MacRob. ’Tis a fine woman indeed.”

Too fine, perhaps. “I am that,” he agreed, donning his hood once more. “Stay dry,” he said, opening the door.

McGreghere took a step toward it and looked into the sky. “I would say the same to ye, MacRob, but am certain ye cannae do so on this day.”

“A minor inconvenience if I am to find my clanswoman. Good day, McGreghere.”

“And to ye.”

He was certain it would be aught but, at least until Marta came for her saddle. He would wait for her to arrive, all day and night if need be.

Tor peeked up at the sky before he made his way into the street. ’Twas fitting for his disposition, the dark, gray sky. He set off, thoughts of Adair, of the happiness that was taken from him too soon, continuing to fill his mind.

Chapter 27

Tor never returned.

He’d sent word that he was following a lead at the saddler’s shop. Surprised he’d not asked for her to join him, Ainsley instead wandered to the marketplace after the rain ended. As it was in most towns of this size, the market was held each Saturn’s Day.

Ainsley took a deep breath to confirm what she thought she’d just smelled. Aye, ’twas the smell of nutmeg and cinnamon. But as she followed the smell, an even more appealing sight caught her eye.

“Ye’ve raisins,” she said to the spice dealer.

“Aye, my lady. From the Lipari Islands.”

The man clearly did not know that Ainsley prided herself on being able to discern raisin varieties. She adored them, and doubted these were the prized ones from the Lipari Islands.

“May I?” she asked.

His long gray beard reminded her a bit of Father Godfrey’s. She put the priest out of her mind. Tor liked him not at all, and even Ainsley could admit it was suspicious he was here in Berwick.