Highland Steel (Guardians of the Stone Book 2) by Tanya Anne Crosby Read Free Book Online Page B

guards farted then laughed, but his rude laughter was suddenly curtailed by the sound of a heavy door clattering open. Four new guards spilled into the tunnel. “Ye may go,” one of the new arrivals announced.
    Broc’s gaze snapped up, hoping the dismissal was meant for him, but his hopes were quickly dashed.
    “Nay!” MacLaren’s guard protested. “Maddog said—”
    “I dinna give a damn what Maddog said! Ye no longer take commands from Rogan’s steward. Ye’ll take them from Keppenach’s new laird.”
    “ The Butcher ?” MacLaren’s guardsman spat as though it were an epithet.
    “Call him what ye will, he’s your new laird now, and by the by, if ye’ve a complaint, take to your king. But for now take your leave.”
    Grumbling beneath their breaths, both MacLaren guardsmen departed as two more of the Butcher’s men spilled into the tunnels and marched down the dark passage toward the woodland entrance. After a moment, two more men came sauntering by, both grumbling as well, and then both disappeared through the chapel door. And then Broc was once again left alone with two new guardsmen who neither taunted him, nor bothered to acknowledge his existence.
     

     
    Half expecting someone to come bursting into the room, Lael rushed through her ministrations. Under the circumstances, lingering in a tub—no matter how wonderful it might feel—seemed ill advised.
    Her garments were filthy, so once she was properly bathed she went searching again through Aveline’s coffers to see what she might find to wear.
    Most of the girl’s gowns seemed far too… delicate .
    Raising a brow at the diaphanous material, she set the first two garments aside without bothering to unfold them, and settled on a violet gown of modest design that was made of soft, thick wool. She was taller than Aveline as she recalled, and it was evidenced by the simple fact that her dress settled well above Lael’s ankles. Wiggling her cold toes, she frowned at her bare feet.
    By Cailleach’s good eye, if she were vain enough to care, she might be tempted to let out the hem. But what should she care how her dress appeared to others so long as it covered all her bits?
    On the other hand, loathe as she might be to confess it, her hair was another matter entirely. Retrieving Aveline’s comb from the chest, she set about untangling her thick tangle of black hair—her “crowning glory,” her Da used to say. The memory of his husky voice filled her now with sorrow. She could scarce recall his face, nor in fact her mothers. After all, she was nine when her father died, and ten when her mother followed him to the grave. For all practical purposes, her brother Aidan had raised her, and she had raised her sisters and her brother. Together they were strong. Divided she was coming to realize she was weak.
    What would Aidan do now?
    She didn’t know. She only knew for certain that he would never have fought in her place, for he would have chosen forgiveness over revenge.
    Did it make her a horrid, bitter person , she wondered?
    She lived with a black mass of hatred in her heart that she could hardly bear. But she was torn now, for although she could still not find it in her heart to forgive the cold-hearted betrayal of her father, neither did revenge appear to soothe her soul.
    In fact, it left her feeling bereft and full of regret.
    And yet… her Da had been a good man, but what had that gotten him in the end? He’d invited his Scoti allies to celebrate at Dubhtolargg. And then just as Kenneth Mac Ailpín had once done to the sons of seven Pecht nations, the Scoti bastards had murdered her kinfolk whilst they were in their cups. Under their own roof, no less! Lael recalled laughter. She recalled the revelry. And then she recalled those blood-curdling screams—some had been her own.
    Blinking away tears, she hardened her heart, remembering David mac Maíl Chaluim. Following the examples of his Ailpín ancestors, he too had slept beneath their roof,