Page 41 of A Highlander’s Heart

After several minutes while the two men on the rampart merely stood and stared at them, another joined the two.

Patrick Gunn, a distant relative Morgan couldn’t—and didn’t want to—trace. A man he’d clashed with in the past, and whom Morgan had always waited for him to dump poison into one of his drinks.

Patrick stabbed himself in the chest with his thumb. “I am the laird of Gunn Clan. So ordered by the king. Be off with ye. Ye are a traitor to the clan.”

Morgan turned to Gregory. “What think ye of this? You’ve been in front of the king no’ that long ago.”

Gregory cupped his chin with his thumb and index finger and frowned in thought. “Since yer uncle claimed to have an order—which was fake—from the king when they took my wife, I wouldna’ put too much faith in this claim, either. Besides, yer uncle was executed only several weeks ago. It seems too soon for all that is necessary to disclaim ye as the heir and make this mon the one.”

Morgan nodded and turned to Patrick. “Open the gate immediately. I would see this order from the king.”

Patrick and the two men argued among themselves. Morgan turned to Gregory. “I would ask you to prepare yer men for battle,” he said, and Gregory nodded.

“With pleasure, Laird.” He turned to the warriors “Get ready to battle.”

The men all drew their swords and roared with pleasure at the chance to fight such an obviously unprepared group of warriors.

Patrick and the men with whom he argued suddenly stopped, realizing that they were about to be attacked. “Wait!” Patrick shouted to them and then called to the Gunn soldiers on the ground. “Open the gate.” Then he turned and left.

The gate slowly opened and Morgan led the men and his wife into the outer bailey. “Where is Duncan?” He was the man in charge of the stables and someone Morgan knew he could trust.

“Right here, Laird. Welcome home.” The man of about forty summers smiled he approached the group with long strides.

Morgan leaned over and said softly to him, “I injured my leg in the battle with the Mackenzies. It’s still a tad sore, so I may need ye to steady me when I dismount without letting anyone see.”

Duncan nodded. “Aye, Laird.”

As gracefully as possible, Morgan slid from his horse. His leg was stiff and he nearly collapsed once he landed on both feet. But before anyone could notice his infirmity, Duncan put his arms around him in a bear hug, supporting him until he felt steady.

“Och, mon, ye’re squeezing ma ribs,” Morgan gasped said in a soft, choked voice.

“Ye didn’t mention ye injured yer ribs, too.” Duncan responded just as softly. Then he stepped back, clutching both Morgan’s upper arms and grinned into his face. “Oh aye, quit yer complaining, Morgan Gunn,” he chided fondly. Morgan took a careful breath and then nodded to let him know he was steady. With that, Duncan clapped his upper arms and stepped away. “Welcome back, Laird,” he said.

“It’s good to see ye, old friend,” Morgan said sincerely. He turned and walked up to Patrick, who glared at him.

“I would see the king’s order now.”

“’Tis put away safely.”

Morgan just stared at him.

“Word came to Clyth Castle that ye were a prisoner at Castle Leod and would be executed shortly. Since we had already received word of yer uncle’s execution, I was next in line.”

“I doona ken why ye think ye are next in line after me.”

Patrick stiffened. “I am yer da’s cousin’s nephew.”

Someone behind Morgan tried unsuccessfully to smother a laugh.

Morgan frowned at the unsufferable upstart. “Lucky for ye, since I am here now, there is no need for ye to be troubled with laird duties.”

“Be that as it may, ye need an heir. And a Second-in-Command,” Patrick snarled.

He turned and, looking at Emma who had left the wagon to come stand near him, reached out his hand. “Since I am married, may I introduce Lady Emma Gunn. I expect to produce my own heir soon.”

Patrick’s brows rose almost to his hairline. Then he pointed to Emma. “The lass is a Mackenzie!”

Morgan placed his arm around Emma’s shoulder. “Aye, she was a Mackenzie. Now, Emma is a Gunn.”