too tired and too achy to feel, and it seemed completely unaware of the fact that they did not trust Ciaran.
We’re doomed!
He and Timothy were in perfect agreement.
§ § § §
At the awed gasps behind him, Ciaran stared up at the portcullis of Lochwood Castle with a sense of pride. No matter where he’d been, he’d always loved coming home, and tonight was no exception. But tonight he felt an extra thrill riding through the gates, knowing what an impressive sight it was. Why impressing Red made him feel good, he didn’t know or want to examine too closely. He turned to peek over his shoulder. Hmmm… perhaps impressed wasnae quite the right word.
Red stared at the keep with his mouth ajar. His green eyes tracked back and forth, but Ciaran wondered how much he was truly seeing. He looked… horrified. But how could that be? Lochwood Castle was the finest fortress this side of the Creagach River. Probably Red had never seen a castle so fine and was dazzled beyond words.
Red made a strangled sound in his throat, and his face paled more. “Louie?” he squeaked.
“I see it.” If possible, Louisa was paler than Red, but her expression didn’t change. She had a pleasant smile on her face, but her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked repeatedly.
“Am I missing something?” Ciaran asked.
They both shook their heads.
“Er, Ciaran, do you have electricity and computers?” Red asked, looking everywhere but at Ciaran.
Now it was Ciaran’s turn to look befuddled. “I dinna ken what those things are.” Did those things have anything to do with the object he’d confiscated? Guilt stabbed at him at the thought of the slate hidden in Ram’s saddlebag. He should tell Red about the slate and ask about it, but something held him back. No matter how attracted he was to Red, Ciaran had to be certain what side of things Red was on. The survival of his people depended on it. He hadn’t planned on taking over the clan so soon, but he was determined to do his father’s memory proud.
Red swallowed so hard, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Okay.” He chuckled nervously and nodded. “This is okay. It’s lovely. I’d love to, er, draw it. Wouldn’t you, Louie?”
Louisa continued to blink.
They rode under the shadows of the inner gate as the clank and groan of the outer gates closed behind them. The sound grated on Ciaran, even if it did mean safety. It was a testament to how dire things had gotten since he took over as laird. Before the attacks, they’d left the gates open at night.
The guards gave Red and Louisa odd, assessing looks, and Ciaran nodded in greeting at the people he passed. The castle was asleep this time of night, with only the guards on duty milling about, so they made it to the courtyard without passing any civilians. Ciaran had half expected a council member or two to set upon him as soon as he cleared the gates, but apparently his luck had held, because there were no elderly tyrants waiting for him. Only his aunt stood in the courtyard, and Guid God! What had she done to her hair?
When he had left this morning, her hair had been a very ordinary shade of graying blond. Now it was a brilliant royal purple. Ciaran squinted to make certain he was actually seeing things correctly. The firelight could play tricks on a fellow after so long in the dark, but… yes, he was seeing things correctly. A grin tugged at his lips. This wasn’t nearly as bad as the time she’d accidentally shaved off her eyebrows.
Aunt Agatha smiled as she caught sight of him but stayed on the keep’s front steps. She wore an equally colorful frock of bright green, and her hands, folded in front of her, matched. She’d stained them and part of the floor in her cottage in the process of dyeing her dress the day before, which was probably where she got the idea to do her hair.
Beside her stood Ian, Ciaran’s younger brother. Ian looked on the verge of outright laughter, until he caught sight of Red and Louisa, and then his face hardened. His dark eyes narrowed, and he quickly searched the rest of the group. If he’d had a sword, he’d have no doubt pulled it. Which was one of the reasons Ciaran had yet to commission one from the blacksmith for the thirteen-year-old. The other reason was suspiciously absent.