Warrior’s Redemption Read Free Page B

You ken as well as I do he’ll no let her come to us. No willingly. No here, where she might decide to use her gift for your benefit. She’d no be under his control and he’ll be having none of that. I can scarce believe he allowed Dermid to journey here.”
    Their youngest brother’s arrival had surprised Malcolm as well. Granted, someone had to deliver news of their father’s demise and present Torquil’s demands. But it seemed entirely out of character for Torquil to have sent Dermid.
    “Aye,” Malcolm agreed, frustrated at his own inability to interpret his elder brother’s intent. “It’s no like him to give up any pieces on his chessboard.”
    Whatever the new laird of the MacDowylt schemed, it made little difference. Malcolm’s course was all too clear. He could no more leave his sister in Torquil’s clutches than he could have turned Elesyria out into the cold this night.
    “No matter the cost. We bring Christiana here.”
    Patrick nodded, rising slowly to his feet. “In that case, it’s best I pay a visit to the MacKilyn. We’ve no enough men on our own to confront Tordenet Castle.”
    “Wait.”
    They would need help, no doubt. And Patrick was correct in wanting to ensure that the only remaining ally to Clan MacGahan supported them still. As much as it galled Malcolm, there was no option but to court the favor of Angus MacKilyn, as fickle an old man as ever walked the land.
    But not by sending Patrick. He needed his brother here to keep watch over Elesyria until they could determine why she had come and what she wanted.
    “Send Eric with a small party of men. I prefer your attention directed toward our houseguest, at least for the time being.”
    Just in case.
    Again Patrick nodded, a small quirk of his eyebrow the closest he came to questioning Malcolm’s decision. “As you wish, my laird. ’Tis a task well within the abilities of the captain of yer guard. I will see it done.”
    Malcolm leaned back in his chair, the sound of Patrick’s retreating steps in his ears. Lifting a hand to his face, he massaged one finger across the bridge of his nose, giving thanks for his brother. If only everything else in his life could be as predictable and steady as Patrick.
    Immediately, he sat forward, his eyes opened wide.
    “I dinna mean it!” he offered to the empty room.
    Best not give the old gods of Asgard any more targets this day.

T hree
    C OMFORT, W YOMING
    P RESENT D AY
    W HERE THE HELL is she anyway? Hiding? She knows damn well I meant pumpkin, not pecan!”
    “Now, Charlie, think of your blood pressure, darlin’. She’ll be right back.”
    Dani Dearmon pulled the collar of her old sweater up against the wind and made her way through the early shower of snow crystals out to the ancient cottonwood tree, ignoring the upraised voices coming through the back door of the truck stop where she worked. She squinted against the biting sting of ice hitting her face and poured a capful of milk into the little bowl she’d fitted into the crook of the lowest branch.
    “I certainly hope you appreciate this, Faeries,” she muttered, turning from the tree and making her way back toward the sprawling building and the argument she knew awaited her.
    Not an argument, really, she corrected herself.More of a mini confrontation. But she was used to those now. Though they were old Charlie’s stock and trade, she’d learned long ago that he must have been the original inspiration for the saying about someone’s bark being worse than his bite.
    “What’s this I hear ’bout you having an oven full of pecan pies?” The old man stood in the center of her kitchen, his short stature and scraggly beard making him appear more like an out-of-place gnome than the owner of the biggest truck stop on this side of the state. “You lost what little sense you had? Halloween means pumpkin! Pumpkin is what you have for holidays, gal.”
    Dani turned from hanging her sweater on a peg by the door and smiled at the old man,