Page 24
“Tamhas,” the man said, but his face practically said he wanted to murder Konnor the first chance he got.
Why did Konnor feel like he was walking into a trap? Every instinct Konnor had set his body to alert. His muscles tightened, and his knees bent a little. He relaxed his grip on his crutch in case he needed to use it as a weapon.
The man next to Tamhas was a little younger than Malcolm, short and stout with a graying beard and hair. He had intelligent eyes and a big, meaty nose. Konnor immediately liked him.
“Muir.” The man nodded with a smirk in his eyes.
“Konnor Mitchell,” Konnor said.
“I’ve been looking all over the castle for ye,” Tamhas said.
Konnor’s jaw ticked. “Oh yeah? What did you want?”
Tamhas took an empty cup and poured some beer from a jar into it. He moved the cup towards Konnor. “Sit. Drink. I’ll tell ye.”
Konnor glanced at the other two men sitting across the table. They were watching the exchange with frowns.
Cocking his head, Konnor sat at the bench and drank the beer. It was warm and tasted like weak Guinness.
“Is there something stronger?” He wiped his upper lip with his sleeve.
“Aye.” Malcolm reached to his belt and unhooked a leather wineskin. “Uisge.”
He poured the liquid into four cups. The men took their cups and drank without clinking. The liquid went down his throat like fire, and Konnor realized it was moonshine, not whiskey.
“Hmm. Why do you guys drink moonshine instead of a proper Scotch?”
The men exchanged puzzled glances.
“Who talks like that?” Muir chuckled. “What’s a proper Scotch? Scotch what?”
“I think he may be a wee bit slow,” Malcolm said.
Konnor’s hands tightened around the cup. “Come on, guys. Let’s stop the pretense. We all know you have this whole eclectic community thing going on. But I’d hoped we could speak man to man. Drop the bullshit.”
Malcolm’s face fell. “Bullshit? ‘Tis ye who should drop it.” He removed a dagger and stabbed it into the tabletop, his fist clenched around the handle.
Tamhas leaned forward. “Everything is strange about ye. The way ye speak. Yer clothes. Even yer goddamn hair. I canna place ye anywhere. Are ye a nobleman? A Sassenach? Do ye belong to a clan? Chances are, if I canna understand yer background, ye’re a threat to our mistress. And that is just something I canna have.”
Konnor ground his teeth. “I’m a regular guy from the States. What the fuck is wrong with you? These are regular cargo pants.” He pointed at his legs. “This is an army jacket. This is a T-shirt.”
They scowled at him as he pointed to his clothes.
“I’ve never seen anything like those in my life,” said Malcolm. “And what is that thin material? Wool? Linen?”
“Dinna ken,” Tamhas said. “And dinna want to ken.”
Konnor wasn’t a stranger to animosity. There were all kinds of guys in the Marines, and he wasn’t afraid of any of them. He didn’t particularly like these guys, though he understood why they were being like this. They thought they were protecting Marjorie. He’d hire every one of them as a bodyguard at his firm. Their dedication to her was impressive.
“My business is protecting the mistress,” Tamhas said, “And right now, ye’re more a threat than a friend, simply because I dinna believe ye and dinna trust ye.”
Tamhas threw a glance at the main table and the mistress herself. What was that Konnor saw in his eyes? Longing. Admiration. Love.
Was the guy in love with her?
Unexplainable jealousy slashed him across his gut. That wasn’t Konnor’s business. He didn’t belong here. There was absolutely nothing between him and Marjorie—and there wouldn’t be. But he wanted to punch the guy for looking at her like that.
“Are you her bodyguard?” Konnor asked.
