Free Highlander's Reckoning (The Sinclair Brothers #3) by Emma Prince

question.
    “Speak, man! Has the Bruce returned to Loch Doon?”
    “Nay, our scouts don’t believe so, my lord. Despite
all the excitement, no army, or even a small band of men, has shown up. And no
procession has arrived either. But…”
    “What?” Raef said, trying to keep from unleashing
his temper on Gordon, though the man deserved it.
    “One scout heard a rumor that there is a new lord at
Loch Doon, a…a Highlander by his dress. He wears a red kilt with thin lines of
green and blue in it.”
    A Highlander. In a red kilt.
    No, it couldn’t be.
    In a flash, Raef spun back to his chessboard and
slammed both fists into it, sending the red and white pieces flying. As the
pieces landed on the floor and rolled at his feet, he smoothed his sandy blond
hair back from his forehead, though one of his hands remained clenched.
    After a few deep breaths, Raef turned back to
Gordon. The hulking coward had taken a step back from Raef’s rage so that he
stood against the closed study door.
    “What of Kennedy?” Raef said calmly.
    “He is to be sent away, if he hasn’t been already.”
    Raef could feel the knuckles on his left hand going
white, even as he smoothed his hair again with his right hand. Like Gordon,
Gilbert Kennedy was a fool. But also like Gordon, the ineffectual Laird and
keeper of Loch Doon had been under Raef’s control. Not only had Kennedy paid a
small fortune—of the Bruce’s money—as a settlement to prevent Raef’s men from
laying siege to Loch Doon, but he also paid taxes to ensure the castle’s safety ,
as Raef had explained to him.
    Now Kennedy was out, to be replaced by…
    If he let himself finish the thought with Gordon in
the room, he very well might strangle his hapless captain of the guard.
    “Double the number of scouts in the northwest,” he
said to the man instead. “I want daily reports on Loch Doon. Can you manage
that, Captain?”
    Gordon nodded quickly. At Raef’s wave of dismissal,
he slipped out the study door.
    A Sinclair. A Sinclair now ruled Loch Doon instead
of Raef’s lackey. A Sinclair was now holding the nearest castle to Dunbraes. A
Sinclair was now no doubt plotting against Raef.
    And yet, a Sinclair was also now within striking
distance.
    Raef bent to pick up the red and white chess pieces
that littered the floor. His father had given him this fine set, each piece
carved carefully out of walrus tusk. Half of the pieces remained tusk-white,
while the other half were painted blood red.
    His father had taught him how to play on this
magnificent set. Of course, within a matter of months, Raef was besting him at
the game. Likewise, it had been Raef’s strategic mind and clever maneuverings
that had distinguished him among the English nobility as a tactician and
military wit. Such skill had earned him Dunbraes and granted him the
opportunity to lead a campaign all the way into northern Scotland for the
Battle of Roslin.
    And if it weren’t for those bloody, barbarian
Sinclairs, he would have won that battle and secured himself a position at the
King’s side. But somehow they’d managed to outflank him, sending him and what
was left of his men back to the Borderlands like whipped dogs.
    And then…
    Raef ground his teeth as he placed the white queen
back on the board.
    And then, Robert Sinclair had stolen his intended
bride, Alwin Hewett. She was an English virgin, meant for him, but that filthy
savage had soiled her, rutting with her and turning her into a debased Scot
like Sinclair himself. And he had even thwarted Raef’s efforts to have her
murdered so that her death could be used as a rallying cry for the English.
Instead, Raef was made to look the fool, his bride married to a Scotsman who
plowed her, ruined her, sullied her with his savageness.
    Then there was his sister. If he were honest with
himself, he cared less about the loss of Jossalyn than he had about the Hewett
girl. Jossalyn had always been an annoyance at best, though she did serve well
as a