Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 162(@200wpm)___ 130(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
The man lifted a hand when he spotted Torden.
Torden returned his attention to the iron.
Carneil, the merchant from Morra Mist. He had stopped at Torden’s home more than once over the years, usually to sell him something he didn't need while somehow convincing him that he did.
The wagon rolled to a stop. “Morning, Torden.”
“Carneil.”
Carneil climbed down from the wagon and glanced toward the forge. “What are you making?”
“An axe.”
“For yourself?”
“Nay.”
Carneil nodded, but instead of heading to the back of his wagon and trying to interest Torden in his latest wares, he remained where he was.
Torden noticed.
“What do you want, Carneil?”
Carneil smiled. “You always did have a way of making a man feel welcome.”
“You've never needed welcoming before.”
That wiped the smile from Carneil's face.
Torden set down his hammer. “What trouble are you in?”
“A woman.”
Torden picked up his hammer again. “Take your wagon and go. I don’t do woman trouble.”
Carneil laughed. “I thought you might say that.”
“Then you wasted a journey.”
That didn’t phase Carneil, having come to know Torden. He went right on talking. “Her name is Margaret MacLaren.”
Torden returned the iron to the coals.
“I've been seeing her whenever my travels bring me through MacLaren land.”
“Does her father know?” Torden asked and thought himself a fool for doing so.
“Nay.”
“Smart man.”
Carneil sighed. “Margaret is promised to Brandon of Clan Drummond.”
Torden worked the bellows. “Then find another woman.”
“I don't want another woman.”
Torden glanced at him. “And there is the problem.”
Carneil shook his head. “You really don't understand love.”
“Don't intend to.”
“Margaret loves me.”
“Then why is she marrying Brandon?”
“Because her father arranged it. Coins will be exchanged. Land granted.” He sighed in frustration. “The agreement has nearly been signed.”
“And Brandon?” Torden asked, again wondering why he did.
“He doesn't want the marriage either. Margaret finally told him about me. He's willing to break the agreement.”
“Problem solved.”
“Nay. Chieftain MacLaren refuses to release her. He says his daughter's honor and the honor of his clan will suffer.”
Torden removed the glowing iron from the coals and carried it to the anvil. “What does MacLaren lose?”
“An alliance with Clan Drummond.”
Torden brought the hammer down. “What else?”
“Coins and lots of them.”
Another strike of the hammer. “What else?”
Carneil hesitated. “Land.”
Torden stopped and looked at Carneil. “MacLaren doesn't care who his daughter marries.”
Carneil frowned. “She is his daughter.”
“It matters not to him. He only cares what her marriage brings him.”
Carneil's expression hardened. “Margaret is worth more than coin or land.”
“To you.”
The words silenced Carneil.
Torden returned the iron to the coals. “You're a successful merchant.”
“Aye, I am,” Carneil said proudly.
“You own ships.”
“Several.”
“Wagons.”
“More than several.”
“And you have coins.”
Carneil's eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you suggesting?”
“Buy her.”
Carneil stared at him. “I am not buying Margaret.”
“Then don't marry her.”
“Torden—”
“MacLaren wants coin and land. You want Margaret. Give him something he wants more than what Drummond agreed on.”
Carneil paced a few steps. “I could insult him.”
Torden snorted. “MacLaren?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You're a wise businessman, Carneil. Stop thinking like a man in love and look at it as a business deal.”
Carneil fell silent.
Torden could almost see the merchant taking over from the besotted man.
“How much?” Carneil asked.
“Enough that he won't argue.”
A slow smile appeared on Carneil's face.
“You make marriage sound remarkably simple.”
Torden snorted again. “It's the love that complicates it.”
Carneil laughed. “I'd give everything I own for her.”
Torden pointed the hammer at him. “Don't tell MacLaren that.”
Carneil laughed harder. “I'll let you know what happens.”
“No need.”
“You'll want to know.”
“I won't.”
Carneil climbed onto his wagon. “I think you will. Besides, I owe you for the sound advice.”
Torden shook his head and returned to his work as the wagon rattled away.
Love.
It made otherwise sensible men foolish.
He had his home, his forge, Sorcha, and, when the rest of the Highlands left him alone, peace.
He wanted nothing more, and certainly nothing as troublesome as love.
The night was clear and cold, the stars scattered thick across the dark sky.
Torden stood outside his cottage, his arms folded across his chest as he looked toward the mountains in the distance. Sorcha was settled for the night, the forge had gone cold, and there wasn't another soul around for miles.
Just as he liked it.
No quarrels to settle. No fools threatening one another. No merchants asking his advice about love.
A smile tugged briefly at his mouth… peace.
He drew a deep breath of the cold night air and looked up at the stars. There were nights when he wondered how many times he had stood beneath them just like this. Seasons came and went. Years passed. Men grew old. Children became fathers and fathers became grandfathers.
The stars remained and so did he.
Torden's smile disappeared. He had learned long ago not to dwell on that.
A breeze stirred through the trees and suddenly stopped as if someone had snuffed it out.
Torden’s brow wrinkled.
Then the silence changed. It was no longer the comfortable silence he knew so well, but something deeper.
He felt it before he heard it. A distant rumble.