Excerpt:
Damned MacDonells.
Why the hell did those bloody fools have to keep raiding? Had they not yet learned their lesson?
Laird Torsten Mackenzie crouched just out of arrow’s reach from the high, thick walls of the MacDonell’s castle.
The fortress loomed up in the moonlight, but despite its fortifications, he planned to breach it this very night. A promise
he’d made the last time the bastards had dared to cross onto his land.
Torsten was certain he’d been clear that any further raids on his lands would not be tolerated. Another raid from the
MacDonells was a declaration of war, he’d even put it in writing so the imbeciles would not be confused. Yet, despite
his warnings, the arseholes had done so again, trampling crops, burning crofter’s homes, beating tenants and violating
women.
Rage lanced hot through Torsten’s veins. He gripped the reins tighter, his body stiffened, and his mount, Lucifer,
tossed his head in irritation. When he got ahold of Donald MacDonell, that sorry excuse for a laird, he was going to beat
him to a bloody pulp, until the last of his breath escaped and his face was unrecognizable.
His warhorse snorted and Torsten loosened his grip, concentrating his fury on the castle just beyond.
“My laird?”
Torsten glanced at Little Rob, his second-in- command, a man not so little in personality or size. He, too, had steel-
studded leather armor covering his leine shirt, his green and blue plaid muted in the darkness.
“Wait.” Torsten glowered at the wall and keep, imagining the men inside celebrating their latest raid, and reliving
every horrifying moment. Well, Torsten, wasn’t celebrating, and his people surely weren’t. They were trying to pick up
the pieces of their lives, while desperately trying not to relive it. Donald MacDonell had better start praying now, for
Torsten would show no mercy.
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