The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3)

by Maeve Greyson

  Haggis gave a sharp bark, as if adding his opinion. The black dog trotted back and forth beside Connor, ever vigilant to his master’s every move.

  “Ye’re a fine, patient brother, Connor,” Ian said. He turned to Alasdair with a grin. “We never had a sister, but I remember Isobel was quite the chore when we were all bairns.”

  “I’m still quite the chore,” Isobel stated as she waddled toward them with one hand pressed to the small of her back and the other propped atop her rounded stomach.

  “A beloved chore,” Alasdair corrected as he pressed a kiss to her temple.” If possible, he loved her more every day, and the sight of her swollen with his second child still undid him. “Ye’re supposed to be abed. Resting.”

  Isobel shook her head. “A terrible craving came upon me for Auntie’s fried bread, so I greased up her griddle and made some. I made plenty for all.” She gave a weary sigh as she patted her swollen middle. “Besides, yer child is nay in the mood for resting. The wee beastie is all pokes and prods today. I swear there’s an entire clan at war in there. I dinna remember Connor nor Keavy thrashing about so.”

  “Ye do look larger this time, sister,” Ian noted with a wicked grin.

  Alasdair cringed. His brother was a dead man.

  Isobel locked a fierce scowl upon him. “Why, thank ye, Ian. With so much charm about ye, how is it we’ve nay married ye off to some poor, unsuspecting lass?”

  “I meant ‘lovelier’,” Ian hurried to amend with a hopeful smile. “Ye look even lovelier than last I saw ye.” He shifted, a pleading gaze aimed at Alasdair.

  Alasdair shook his head. “Nay, brother. Ye dug this pit yerself, and now it’s up to ye to find yer way out of it.”

  “I’m certain Ian is truly sorry for his ill-timed jest at the expense of a woman heavy with child,” Isobel said. “Are ye not, Ian?”

  Alasdair took a step back and watched. His brother might as well commit his soul to Almighty God because Isobel was about to have his arse.

  “Aye, dear sister,” Ian said, assuming a mournful look. “I truly am. How can I make amends for my thoughtless jest?”

  “Make amends?” Isobel’s head tilted the slightest bit, and her expression became thoughtful.

  If Alasdair didn’t know better, he’d say she was preparing to fire a kill shot.

  “Aye, sweet sister.” Ian’s smile stretched wider. “Name my penance, and it shall be done. I swear it.”

  Alasdair scrubbed a hand across his mouth, clenching his teeth to keep from laughing. He knew without a doubt what Ian’s penance would be. Isobel had been pestering him about that very subject for the past three weeks. Better Ian hear it from Isobel since she, along with Catriona and Mercy, had already decided his poor brother’s fate. Whenever those three women set their minds on something, it was done. God help Ian. His poor brother didn’t stand a chance.

  “Winter at Tor Ruadh,” she said.

  “Winter at Tor Ruadh?” Ian repeated. Brow furrowed, he shrugged. “Easy enough, even though I thought to winter here in Edinburgh with all of ye.”

  “Ye are needed at Tor Ruadh,” Isobel stated with the curtness of a military commander. “Gretna Neal needs a man’s assistance with her sons, and ye’re most definitely the man suited for the task.”

  Realization and pure fear flashed across Ian’s face. He shook his head while retreating a few steps. “Nay, Isobel. I know now what ye be about. I’m nay the man to wed Gretna Neal and take over the taming of those three demons a hers.” He shook his head faster. “I’m cursed, remember? Any woman I take dies. Would ye truly wish such a fate on yer friend? Why…what would Mercy do without her dear Gretna?”

  “Ye are nay cursed.” Alasdair rested his arm around Isobel’s shoulders. “And she’s nay asking ye to marry the lass. The woman merely needs help training up her bairns. Widowed now all these years. Two husbands dead. She couldna even bury the last one and have a grave to cry over. They never found the man’s body.” He gave Ian a hard look. “Come now, man. Are ye so hard-hearted that ye’d refuse a poor widow yer help?”

  Isobel leaned against him. Good. His dear wife was pleased with his words. Mayhap now she’d leave off nettling his arse about Gretna Neal needing a father for those three terrors of hers—the wildest, unruliest trio of children he’d ever seen.

  “If ye dinna agree to winter at Tor Ruadh, ye’ll not be wintering here either.” Isobel lifted her chin. “I dinna mean to seem stern, but ’tis yer Christian duty, and yer honor as a Highlander to care for poor widows and their children. I know how yer mother raised ye. What would she say about ye refusing to help?”

  Jaw tight, Ian shot a simmering look at Alasdair.

  “Come on, man. No one’s saying ye have to marry the woman. Just help her tame those hellions. It’s just one winter. Come spring, ye can be on yer way.” Alasdair grinned. “Ye always were the best at breaking horses, surely three lads willna be such a chore for ye.”

  “Ye’re a cold-hearted man, brother,” Ian growled, then jerked a thumb in Isobel’s direction. “And ye’re married to an even colder-hearted woman.” He stomped to the stable, coming to a halt in front of the wide, double doors to shake a finger at the both of them. “I dinna know where I’m headed. Maybe Tor Ruadh. Maybe not. I’ll see the two of ye come spring—if I’ve forgiven ye by then.” With a growl, he disappeared into the building.

  “He’ll winter at Tor Ruadh,” Alasdair assured as he pulled Isobel into his arms. He brushed a kiss across her forehead and smiled down at her. “Happy now?”

  “Nay,” she replied with a mischievous look.

  “Nay?”

  “Nay,” she whispered as she pressed as close as she could get so her lips were within a hair’s breadth of his. “I’ll nay be happy until I receive a proper kiss.”

  “Gladly, m’love.” Alasdair leaned into the task. Happily.

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  Maeve

  *

  Read on for an excerpt from The Dreamer – Highland Heroes Book 4

  Chapter One

  Glen Nevis, Scotland

  September 1701

  “If ye ride any slower, the horses will die of old age before we reach the keep.”

  Ian Cameron ignored his cousin’s jests. In fact, the man could shove them up his arse. After all, Sutherland’s views would be a damn sight different if he was the one the MacCoinnich Clan was trying to chain to Gretna Neal.

  “They didna say ye had to marry the lass,” Magnus de Gray, fellow mercenary and brother by battle, if not by blood, sagely reminded. “They only wish yer help for the poor woman. T
hose sons of hers need a man’s guidance. Yer Christian duty, aye? Helping widows and children.”

  “Ye truly think me that daft?” Ian cast a dismal glance around as they entered the village at the base of Ben Nevis. The place had become too cluttered, even acquired the stench of a town. It was a great deal busier than its former state of scattered dwellings belonging to a few MacCoinnich crofters. Of course, it had been nigh on three years since he’d been here. He scowled at Sutherland. “Explain to me why Alexander didna choose ye rather than me for this task? Ye darken the halls of Tor Ruadh far more often than I, and ye’re a MacCoinnich to boot.”

  Sutherland gave him a sly wink and an even more irritating grin. “Gretna said she wouldna have me nor wished her sons trained up to be womanizers.”

  “At least it sounds as though the woman still possesses some good sense,” Ian grumbled. And it was further proof this had nothing to do with helping three boys become men. This was a blatant marriage trap for certain.

  “She’s still a beauty, too,” Magnus reassured as their mounts wound through a jumble of carts lining both sides of the lane. “Hair shines like polished copper and curves a plenty. That bonnie lass would keep a man warm through the coldest of winters.”

  “Then ye marry her,” Ian said. “I’ll dance at yer wedding, aye?”

  Clanging metal and an angry stream of cursing grabbed their attention. A pair of horses, harnessed for pulling a cart, trotted across the intersection in front of them.

  “Ye wee bastards! I’ll be a shootin’ ye, I will!” A short, disheveled man, hands shaking as he fumbled a rusty pistol free of his belt, jittered back and forth in front of a horseless cart. Pots, pans, and all manner of wares were scattered on the road, while some still swayed from the wagon’s racks.

  A young lad, accompanied by two smaller scamps, stuck out his tongue, then added a series of rude hand gestures to his taunting dance. “Try an’ shoot us! I dare ye, ye scrummy ole baw bag! That pistol of yers is shoddy as the wares ye rob the folk of Ruadh with!”

  A sense of doom tightened Ian’s gut. The trio harassing the traveling peddler looked vaguely familiar. He turned to Magnus and Sutherland. “Gretna’s cubs?”

  “Aye, cousin,” Sutherland confirmed as all three men dismounted. “There be all three of yer charges. Congratulations.”

  “Congratulations, my arse.” He strode between the jeering lads and the cursing man, just as the peddler aimed the weapon that looked too old to fire even if the man pulled the trigger. “Hold fast. Ye canna shoot these lads.”

  “The hell I can’t,” growled the old coot. He swaggered forward, greatly resembling a disgruntled badger. “Them brats been nothing but trouble to me all summer. Every trip I make through these parts, they pull some such devilry on me. Cause me nothing but grief. Now, they done gone and ran off me team and damaged me goods. Ignored it long as I can stomach.”

  “Damaged yer goods?” laughed the oldest boy, still spoiling for a fight. “Yer goods already be shite! They barely last ’til yer next trip through, so ye can charge folk double to mend’m.”

  “Ye see?” The peddler waved the pistol toward the lad. “No respect for their elders. None at all.” He thumped his chest, his faded tunic and jacket so grubby that dust puffed out in a small cloud. “And I’m not the only one that’ll tell ye them there three need to be horsewhipped and taught what for.” He swung the weapon up and down the street. “Ask any a these here folk. They’ll tell ye.” He jutted his scruffy chin upward. “And my wares be good as any, and cheaper than most. The poor here in Ruadh be lost and have to do without if it weren’t for old Duff Tamson. Heart a gold, I have. Ask any of’m.”

  “He’s a cheat!” the young ringleader shouted, charging forward.

  Ian grabbed hold of the lad’s collar and yanked him back. “Enough!” Still holding fast to the boy, he leaned forward and yanked the pistol out of the man’s hand. “And that goes for ye as well.”

  “But…”

  “Take it to great hall!” shouted one of the villagers clustered in front of the shops. “Chief’ll sort it!” The suggestion brought a rumble of assent through the growing crowd of onlookers.

  “A fine idea,” Ian said with a backward glance at Sutherland and Magnus. Both men agreed with a single nod. He motioned for the peddler to gather his team. The pair of horses had come to a halt farther up the way. “Fetch your team. To the hall we’ll go, and let the MacCoinnich do as he sees fit about this matter.”

  Tamson darted a shifty-eyed glance in the keep’s direction. “Chief MacCoinnich doesna have time for such foolishness as this.” He jerked a thumb in the boy’s direction. “If’n ye swear ye’ll thrash these boys good and proper, I’m a big enough man to accept that as payment enough for all me damages today.” With a labored grunt, he scooped up one of his pots and brushed it off. “Just a bit a dirt it seems. No real harm after all.”

  The peddler’s sudden change of heart told Ian all he needed to know. Perhaps the lad spoke the truth about the man’s business practices. With a firm shake, he stilled the boy’s struggling to escape his hold. “Which of Gretna Neal’s sons are ye?”

  The child glared up at him and stood taller. “I be Evander. The eldest.”

  “And I be Rory,” the next in height said with a cocky toss of his head. “Middle son.”

  “And yerself?” Ian looked to the smallest of the three red-haired demons.

  “I be Finn,” the boy said in a quivering voice barely above a whisper. He looked neither as brave nor as pleased to be there as his brothers. He twitched his freckled nose as though it itched. “I be the least of us, but I be nine, sir.”

  “Well, then.” Ian rested his hands on the older brothers’ shoulders. “Evander. Rory. Finn. Do the three of ye feel this matter needs airing in the great hall?”

  “Aye,” Evander belted out. “Let the chieftain rule it.”

  Tamson snorted out a laugh, then sneered at the boy. “The MacCoinnich’ll have the three of ye stripped to the waist and whipped in front of all and sundry! Ye want the entire clan seeing ye cry for yer mam?”

  “We’re not afeared!” Evander touted with a threatening step toward the peddler.

  “Aye!” Rory chimed in, while meek Finn shuffled back a step.

  “The boys shall ride with me and my kin,” Ian said. He took a step toward Tamson. “Gather yer team and meet us at the keep, or I’ll send the MacCoinnich guards to fetch ye.”

  The scowling peddler swallowed hard, then rolled his shoulders. He dared to fist both hands as though readying for a fight. “Who be ye to claim such control of the MacCoinnich guards?”

  “I be Ian Cameron, cousin to the MacCoinnich, and a man weary from a long journey and in no mood for liars or cheats, ye ken?”

  Tamsin’s hands relaxed, and he made a nervous swiping of his palms against his coat. “Aye, then. I see. Reckon I’ll get my team now and follow soon as I can.” The man took off at a fast gait, arms pumping at his sides.

  Ian herded the boys over to the horses, pointing Rory to ride behind Sutherland and Finn to ride with Magnus. “Evander, ride with me. I wish to hear yer side of this day’s events.” He mounted, then reached down for the lad.

  Evander took his hand without hesitation and scrambled up behind him. “That thieving man tricks the poor with smooth words and wares that he’s made sure will fall apart by the next time he passes through the glen. Then, when he returns, they have to buy more or pay him to mend them.” Evander thumped his small fist atop his knee. “Heard more than one folk say it’s so. And Mam Hattie swears to it, even.”

  “Then why has no one brought it to the chief before now?” Ian halted his mount and checked the lane behind them. Duff Tamson was still in the process of hitching his team to the wagon. The man moved as slow as tree sap in the dead of winter.

  “Mam Hattie says it’s ’cause the old bastard finds out things about folk and uses it to make them afeared of saying anything. Says he’s sly and mean as an egg-suckin
g stoat. Says she wouldna put any evil past him.”

  “What things?” Ian found it a little hard to believe the man possessed the ability to blackmail every patron. A belated sense of his mother’s long-ago teachings woke his conscience. “And dinna use the word bastard, ye ken? Especially not around women.”

  “I dinna ken what things he finds out for certain, but Mam Hattie knows. Ask her. She’ll tell ye.” Evander fidgeted behind him. “Mam Hattie says those who know better and have enough coin get their goods from Master MacElroy’s shop. Those who dinna have the money are left to deal with Tamson and his thievery.”

  “Ye’re telling me that no one, neither the poor he’s robbed or anyone else, thought to bring such a matter to the chieftain?”

  “The poor are afeared. Not just ’cause he threatens them, but ’cause without him, they’d have to do without.” Evander shifted again, seemingly unable to sit still while they waited for the peddler to join them. “The others dinna care. Mam Hattie says they gots their own fish to fry.”

  For the life of him, Ian couldn’t remember this Mam Hattie, but from the sound of it, the woman was Evander’s main source of information. In other words, the village gossip. “Why did ye not tell yer mother? She wouldha told Lady Mercy or brought it to the chief. She has Alexander’s ear.” He knew Gretna. If folk were being mistreated, she’d never stay quiet or look the other way. She always helped those in need.

  “My brothers and me hardly ever see Mama,” Evander’s bravado weakened considerably, and his voice grew quieter. “If she’s no’ helping Lady Mercy, she’s out with a healing or getting bairns into the world.” The lad shrugged. “Everybody needs Mama, and they dinna be shy about asking. She says we must nay be selfish ’bout never seeing her ’cause we’re old enough to understand that it’s her duty to help folk.” He sniffed. “So, the boys and me dinna bother her about nothing. We handle what needs taking care of ourselves. But daren’t ye say any ill about her. She’s the best mam in all the Highlands and loves us fierce. Tells us all the time how she loves us. And she’s nay had an easy time of it either, ye ken?” He pointed down the street. “That old baw bag’s finally caught up with us.”