Free Shadow Music by Julie Garwood Page A

trail.
    Now he had a dilemma on his hands. He didn’t know if the rider was friend or foe. Should he try to hide? No, the rider had already spotted him. Gelroy said a prayer and decided to hope for the best.
    Lo and behold, it was Baron Geoffrey riding toward him. He made the sign of the cross in thanksgiving, and as soon as the baron was within shouting distance, Gelroy called out to him. He reminded him that they had met before at the abbey, nearly two years ago. Without mentioning the baron’s daughter, Gelroy asked the baron if he had been with the Buchanans. “It seemed to me you were coming from their land.”
    “I was,” Baron Geoffrey answered.
    “Do you know the Buchanans well?”
    “We are distantly related, and though I had thought to pay my respects and not linger more than one night, a tragedy occurred. A warrior was missing. The men were out searching for him and were expected to come back to the holding yesterday but were delayed by a terrible rainstorm the night before. I had to wait for Laird Buchanan to return home.”
    “Could the warrior’s name be Liam MacHugh?” he asked mildly.
    “Aye. So you have heard what happened.”
    “I’ve seen him,” he said. “He was brought to the abbey, the poor soul.” The baron was rendered speechless. Gelroy took advantage of his condition.
    “You’ll be getting a high place in heaven, even though you’re English, if you’ll go back and tell Laird Buchanan this news so that he can tell Laird MacHugh.”
    While Baron Geoffrey was reeling from the information given so casually, Father Gelroy turned around and nudged his mount into a trot down the mountain.
    “Wait,” the baron shouted. “You cannot go without—Is Liam still alive?”

    Gelroy slapped his horse’s hindquarters to get it to speed up. Without glancing back, he called over his shoulder, “Oh God, I hope so.”

    T HE LAIRDS WHO LIVED IN THE NORTHERN HIGHLANDSwere a prickly group. They were known to be unpredictable, unreasonable, and ungracious. They were also known to be savages upon occasion. Yet if Baron Geoffrey were to accuse any of them of these flaws, they would believe he was flattering them.
    Aye, they were a peculiar lot, and no one, Geoffrey believed, was more peculiar or hardheaded than Laird Brodick Buchanan. Brodick didn’t have any problem letting Geoffrey know that, even though they were related, he still disliked him intensely because he was English. Since Brodick’s wife also happened to be from England and was Geoffrey’s cousin, Brodick explained very bluntly that he couldn’t come right out and say that he hated all the English, just some.
    The rude laird also told Geoffrey that he didn’t want him stepping foot on his land, yet Geoffrey knew that if he honored the laird’s wishes and didn’t pay his respects when he was in the area—and every laird in the Highlands would know that he was—then Brodick would consider the slight a grave insult and would have no choice but to retaliate.
    The baron had only visited once before, just after Brodick married Lady Gillian. He had been asked by his uncle Morgan to check on Gillian’s well-being. Morgan, Geoffrey’s father’s youngest brother, was a cranky, reclusive old man, who couldn’t believe that Gillian would be content living in the Highlands among the wild Buchanans. To Geoffrey’s surprise, he found Gillian not only content but quite happy.
    She could not have been more gracious to him, and her kindness more than made up for her husband’s hostility.
    Although he would never admit it to Brodick, Geoffrey was impressed with him and his wife. They didn’t live in a fine castle but rather a small cottage no bigger than Geoffrey’s steward’s home. It was apparent that neither Brodick nor Gillian cared about impressing outsiders but, rather, concentrated on more important issues. Brodick’s sole duty was to protect his wife and his clan. Gillian’s duty, at the moment anyway, was to protect her unborn