The Burden of a Scottish Chieftain (Clans of Mull #2)

Prologue

The man known as Egan strode across the courtyard to the small hut he’d been told to approach, grumbling under his breath. Why did they think he could handle bairns, of all things?

He knocked on the door and when it opened, he stepped inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he spoke. There were three men inside, two he didn’t know and the one he was accustomed to dealing with—the same man he’d dealt with since he left home.

The man was a cruel bastard, but he paid well so Egan continued dealing with him, even after two decades. Egan wiggled his shoulders, a reaction he always had to him, the scars on his back reminding him to do what was necessary in order to prevent any more whippings.

Once in his life was enough.

The man in charge, the one he knew as Karl—not his real name but one he used to protect his true identity—sat in front of the hearth while the other two flanked him, standing at attention, prepared to protect him.

Karl said, “I have news.”

“What news, my lord?”

“There’s more than one. This time, you have to get more. I want the golden faery, and there’s a lad too. And since none of us were prepared for the female archers, I won’t hold your failure at Duart against you. I’m giving you one more chance now that you know what you’re up against.”

“A lad?” Egan asked, doing his best to hide his frustration. This was getting more and more complicated.

“Aye. The lass with the golden hair is the faery, and they say there’s a lad with special powers who will be guarded by the fae. That’s why you have to take the faery and the lad. She is to protect him and won’t leave his side.”

“How old is he? What is his name?”

“How the hell would I know? That’s why I hire you. Now get out there, get the lass, find out which one is the lad, and I’ll handle everything else. If you see the golden-haired lass with a lad, he has to be the gifted one. Find him.”

“No names?”

“Nay. Go. You have a sennight to bring them both to me.”

Egan nodded, took the coin he was offered as partial payment, their usual arrangement, then took his leave.

Karl called out after him, “Garvie is gone. I’m depending on you.”

“Aye, my lord.” He gave the answer Karl expected and left.

How he wished he could be done with this. The truth was that he loved this job. He’d done it for Karl for many years and been paid well. He’d kidnapped young lads and lasses wherever he could find them, turned them over for coin, and didn’t care where they went. Oh, there had been a few who had surprised him, some even pissed him off, but none he couldn’t handle.

But these young ones he didn’t like. When he’d gone to Duart Castle, he’d seen too many, and quite a few of them had golden hair. How was he to know which lass was the right one? And they’d all been under ten summers old. He preferred them to be over ten.

The older ones he could slap, tie them up, even starve them, and they wouldn’t be a bother. But these wee ones? The more you hit, the louder they got. If they got hungry, they cried nonstop. He knew there were two golden-haired ones at Duart Castle. He’d seen them both with his own eyes, but he had no idea which one was the faery or which lad to take. There had been several.

He climbed into his boat and rowed toward Mull. He’d find them. As long as he got one of them right, they’d lead him to the others.

Then he’d have the last laugh over those daft bitches at Duart who fired the arrows like they were men. When had women ever been taught to battle like that?

If he were smart, when he finished with the bairns, he’d take a couple of those bitches out, just for daring to fire an arrow at him.

But first, he had to hire more men and scout for some golden-haired lasses.