Free Highlander's Prize by Mary Wine

her.”
    “It would take a man, too. We used a heavy bar, one of the new iron-wrapped ones,” his companion added.
    Faolan grunted. “I suppose ye’re correct. There’s lasses aplenty sleeping in the kitchens too. Well done, lads.”
    The retainers left, the older one looking glad to be done with his laird’s bidding. Broen watched as Faolan waited for his men to leave the room before he emptied his cider mug.
    “Ye think I’ve gone mad.”
    Broen shook his head. “Nay, I think ye believe what ye say ye saw, but I’d be sorely tempted to tell ye it would be disappointing to hear ye spent the night in that chair because ye feared another encounter with Daphne. As far as specters go, she’s a fair bit better than the one I’ve got at Deigh Tower.”
    Faolan chuckled, returning to the good-humored man Broen called friend. It didn’t last, though; Faolan’s grin faded until he was once more somber.
    “Aye, that spirit walking yer halls is a mean one, and no mistake. Too bad ye did nae have a sister or three. If yer father had promised one to the church, maybe Deigh would be peaceful.”
    “I’ll just have to make me own way, as ye will.” Broen made to leave but heard Faolan stand behind him. Broen turned and raised an eyebrow at the suspicious look being aimed at him. “I’ve had little sleep since I left yer uncle’s home, Faolan, and I do nae plan to be gone from me own lands much longer.”
    Faolan nodded. “I do nae want to make an enemy of ye, Broen.”
    “Then have done with this nonsense about you delivering the English lass to quiet Daphne’s spirit. I’ll gladly help ye discover who caused her soul such unrest just as soon as I deliver Clarrisa to yer uncle so I can gain that information from Donnach Grant. Me men are demanding a feud, Faolan, something guaranteed to give me plenty of sleepless nights thinking of the men who died because I failed to be a good-enough laird to maintain peace.”
    Broen watched his friend clench his hands into fists until the knuckles turned white. “Think on it, man. If Daphne is disturbing yer sleep, she’s needing the same justice me own father does. Such a thing does nae come from making a prisoner of a wee English lass—even if I went and stole her, because I agree it was the best thing for us all. Honor is nae satisfied through women.”
    “Ye have a point, Broen. I’m nae blind to it.” But his tone made it plain he wasn’t willing to agree. “We’ll talk more in the morning. I’ve missed too much sleep recently to be making sound decisions.”
    Broen nodded before quitting the room. His men were leaning against the walls in the hallway. Shaw watched the doorway. Broen lifted his hand to keep the man silent while placing some distance between Faolan’s study and himself.
    “What are ye thinking, Laird?”
    Shaw asked the question quietly, but Broen could feel the weight of his men’s stares. No one was at ease, nor did they have any liking for Faolan’s desire to keep their prize.
    “I’m thinking we’ll nae be getting any sleep tonight, lads. I’m feeling chilled, too chilled to remain here.” Eyebrows rose, along with the corners of his retainers’ mouths. “Gather up the rest of the men and send them out on their way home under the excuse I do nae need all me men here.”
    “And how will we make our way past the gate?” Shaw asked.
    “First we’ll get the lass,” Broen answered. “There’s nae point in thinking on how to pass the gate without her.”
    And he wasn’t leaving without his prize. There was sure to be a priest or two who’d frown at him over his pride, but Broen didn’t pause. He made his way down the stone hallways, pinching out half the candles as he went. He left a few flickering in the darkness to make the staff think the wind had blown them out. Pitch blackness would have announced his plans. The hall was still full of merriment; the cider barrel, not yet empty. There were more pipers playing now, and couples