Page 19 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

She had emptied his chambers.

She had put his people in them. Which was, he knew, a stroke of real cleverness because how exactly was he supposed to move his own displaced clan out of comfortable rooms to reclaim furniture? She had sent his belongings back to tower storage, and she had done it all with what he could already see was complete and deliberate satisfaction.

He went looking for Hamish first because he needed thirty seconds of conversation with someone who would not smile at him.

He found him in the South corridor, checking the window latches against the coming cold. Hamish took one look at his face and said, “The chambers.”

“Aye.”

“I heard.”

“Did ye stop it?”

“I was made aware of it after the fact.”

Sebastian looked at him.

“She moves quickly,” Hamish said, without particular apology.

Sebastian turned and kept walking.

He found a spare pallet in one of the garrison rooms, dragged it to the small chamber off the Great Hall that had been used for storage before his arrival, shifted three crates of candle tallow to make space, and dropped onto it, still wearing his boots.

The ceiling above him was low and water-stained.

Somewhere in this castle, Alba MacLaren was sleeping in his bed, in his chamber, surrounded by his empty furniture, and she was almost certainly not awake because she had done what she intended to do. People who accomplish their goals sleep well afterward.

He stared at the water stain.

Tomorrow, he thought. He would deal with this tomorrow.

* * *

The Southern Corridor was full of light when Alba finished with the servants.

Morning arrived clear and cold, sunlight streaming through the tall windows in long, bright beams that cast across the stone floor, making the corridor seem larger than it was. She had been there since shortly after dawn, organizing the arrangements forthe welcome celebration she had decided to hold for the arriving MacGregor families.

Food, space, music, if she could manage it. Small things. The kind of small things that told people they were seen.

She dismissed the last of the servants and turned back toward the window with the particular satisfaction of a morning going exactly as planned.

She heard him as he came up the stairs. She had been subconsciously learning that sound. The weight and pace of it, distinct from John’s measured step and Hamish’s quieter one. Sebastian walked like a man who never needed to announce himself and, therefore, never bothered to soften his approach.

She arranged her expression and turned to face him as he came around the corner into the corridor.

He looked exhausted. More than exhausted. There was a dark, purple bruise-like smudge under his eyes, and a deep, red line pressed into the skin along the corner of his jaw where his cheek had rested against raw timber instead of wool last night. His right shoulder dipped slightly, stiff and leaning on a knot in his back, while his shirt hung crookedly, the collar frayed and missing its top lace.

She smiled at him, entirely too pleased with the state of him for it to be decent.

She had three days left, a plan she was rather proud of, and, for the moment, the deeply satisfying sight of Sebastian MacGregor looking like a man who had lost an argument with a woodpile.

“I thought it important yer people feel welcome,” she said pleasantly. “A small celebration for the families arrivin’ tomorrow. Music. A proper meal.” She tilted her head slightly. “I hope ye daenae mind that I have begun organizin’ it.”

Sebastian looked at her.

“Ye emptied me chambers,” he said.

“Technically, they were me chambers first. I merely assumed a warrior of yer considerable reputation wouldnae be troubled by the absence of curtains.” She paused as though a thought had just occurred to her. “I did ensure yer belongings were carefully stored. Tower storage is quite dry at this time of year.”