Greylen wasn’t surprised by Gavin’s harsh tone with his sister. Truth be told, ’twas the only way he seemed to address her of late. What did surprise him was that his first-in-command had yet to release her. Gavin must have realized the same, too, for he hastily removed his arm from around her torso and stepped back a full pace. Greylen watched Isabelle adjust her gown, cleverly blinking back tears as she did so.

“’Tis Greylen’s birthday. I only wish to bid him good day,” she explained, fully composed once again.

“’Tis not a good day he wishes for. He’s been at it since the crack of dawn. See you the practice fields,” Gavin said, motioning with his hand in their direction. “One fallen soldier after another. Your brother left them long minutes ago and they’ve still yet to stand.”

“Then perhaps you should put him out of his misery,” Isabelle suggested.

“’Tis misery he craves,” Gavin replied in a softer tone. “Please, Isabelle, heed my advice. ’Twould only blacken his mood more if he is the cause of pain to you.”

“Very well, Gavin,” she conceded with a sigh. “You’ll see, though, both of you. This night will bring what he so desires.”

Isabelle left on the heels of her declaration, yet as Greylen joined Gavin atop the keep’s step and looked to the sky, ’twas plainly clear—the only storms in the making were those that would be unleashed by Greylen.

Greylen spent the remainder of the day back on the practice fields. Occasionally he saw Gavin on the portico, assessing the damage he wrought. His first-in-command wouldn’t think twice that three days without sleep, and swordplay for the last eight hours, hadn’t diminished his laird’s strength. He was sure that Gavin took note of the number of times Greylen had changed the hand in which he held his sword—but four.

’Twas the gloaming that finally brought a roar from yonder fields. A dusk as clear and calm as the day.

“NOW,” Greylen bellowed. A demand of such force, it carried across the fields where it echoed for a surprising span of time. He watched as the front doors of the keep finally opened and Gavin’s form filled the frame. The cad still wore a crisp linen shirt and looked as if he’d had quite the peaceful day.

Greylen hoped to hell he had.

He knew his first-in-command steered clear of him since he’d seen him that morn, and he knew why.

Only Gavin could give him the fight he so desperately needed. Only Gavin could release the demons to which he wanted nothing more than to succumb.

Ten years of waiting…for naught.

He believed with every fiber of his being he would know peace that night. Yet ’twas painfully clear, tomorrow he would face another dawn—and he would face it alone.

Greylen watched Gavin approach as never before. No arrogance, no hint of gladdening malice upon his lips for that which he was about to perform. ’Twas only a man’s best friend who came to stand before him now.