Page 18 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

He was almost certain of it.

Sleep pulled him under before he could examine why he’d needed to think it twice.

Chapter Seven

Sebastian had been on his feet since before dawn.

The Eastern Drainage crew had hit solid rock two feet below the blockage, which meant the re-channeling would take longer and cost more than he had told Hamish.

Three of his men had gotten into a dispute with two MacLaren farmhands over grazing rights on the southern field, which had required forty minutes of his time and considerable restraint from everyone involved. The castle’s main water wheel had a cracked spoke that the MacLaren carpenter had apparently been aware of for six weeks and had not mentioned to anyone in authority, possibly because there had been no one in authority he trusted enough to tell.

That last one bothered him more than the others. A holding where problems went unreported was a holding where people had learned that reporting them made things worse. He filedit away to address later, added it to the growing list, and kept moving.

By the time the sun sank behind the Western Ridge, he had inspected every inch of the outer walls, reviewed the revised supply inventory with Hamish, settled the grazing dispute with a boundary line that satisfied nobody completely and everyone enough, and had not eaten anything since a heel of bread at midmorning.

He wanted his bed. Specifically, he wanted to fall into it face-first without removing his boots and remain there until something genuinely catastrophic required him to get up.

He took the East Staircase and ended up in a linen corridor he did not recognize, doubled back, found the right turn on his second try, and reached his chamber door with much less dignity than he had at the start.

He was going to learn this castle thoroughly. Tomorrow.

He pushed open the chamber door. He stood in the doorway and looked at the room. Then he stood in the doorway and looked at the room again, longer, slwoer.

The furs were gone. The table was gone. Maybe he got lost again? “Nay…”

The chair he had specifically told Alba he would sleep in instead of the corridor was gone. The curtains had been taken downfrom the window, leaving bare stone and gray evening light. The chest where Hamish had repacked his belongings after the tower storage incident was also gone.

The bed was gone.

Sebastian stood in the doorway of his chamber and looked at the room, saying nothing for a very long time.

Then he turned, slowly, toward the housekeeper who had appeared at the end of the corridor. Her apron was bunched tightly in her fists, her knuckles white as she chewed her bottom lip, her eyes darting frantically from his boots to the bare wall behind him.

“What,” he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper, a level murmur that made the housekeeper instantly freeze mid-breath. “What happened to me chambers?”

The woman swallowed, a distinct click in her throat. Her hands twisted together in front of her apron, wringing the linen into knots.

“Lady MacLaren ordered all the upper chambers opened for yer people, me Laird.” The words came out in a careful rush, as though speed might help. “She said they’d lost everything and should have the comfort of choosin’ their own rooms. She said they should decorate them as they wished and feel at home. She said a warrior of yer reputation wouldnae be troubled by simple furnishings.”

Sebastian looked at her.

“And me belongings?” he said.

The woman’s eyes went briefly to the ceiling in the manner of someone seeking divine assistance. “Tower storage, me Laird.”

He held the silence for three full seconds.

Then he laughed. One short, sharp, completely humorless sound that echoed off the bare stone walls of his empty chamber and returned to him sounding just as hollow as it felt.

He turned away from the door. He walked down the corridor. He descended the stone steps one heavy, deliberate step at a time, matching the rhythm of his footsteps against the cold sequence etched in his mind.

First, the deliberate misuse of clan authority.

Second, the destruction of military property, retainin’ walls, and iron latches included.

Third, the systemic insubordination of a hostage toward a presidin’ commander.

By the time his boot hit the flags on the lower landing, he had the terms laid out clearly, his jaw clenched around a speech so bluntit would wipe the mocking smile right off her face before he even got to the third grievance.