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left, just off the beaten surface. It was followed by more rocks. The stones were impacted into the ground. Worn smooth with erosion and age. Large. More than a man could lift, and that hypothesis was only based on the surface area. There could be much more boulder beneath the sod for all Neal knew. Perhaps that explained why these people had just left them haphazardly looming from the ground, creating a tripping hazard for any unsuspecting traveler.
    Or his horse.
    Neal steered his mount to the right. The animal instantly obeyed. Thundercloud didn’t exhibit any fight. That was exhilarating; exactly as it had been the first time it had happened. Good thing . The rage that had colored his vision a reddish tone, gotten him atop this beast and clamped in place, and then pulled the reins from Rory, had long since vanished. Neal didn’t know the procedure for staying atop this beast if it acted up and decided to buck him off again, although clamping his thighs about its girth and grabbing a fistful of mane had already proven to work. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that mad, or the reason for it. He never lost his temper anymore. He rarely even raised his voice. Anger was an emotion, and he couldn’t afford those. Exhibiting emotion in any transaction was a surefire way to lose the objective.
    Every negotiator knew what to project when they first approached a bargaining table. No emotion. Little expression. Zero sense of approachability. Neal hadn’t been labeled as a heartless man for no reason.    
    The stones got more numerous as he continued. Rory was somewhere behind him. Neal didn’t look to verify it. He heard him occasionally. The kid had a slight cough, and his horse a strange wheeze. Either could prove troublesome. Or, both. Neal wasn’t a chemist, but he knew the rudimentary power of bacteria. And penicillin didn’t exist. He supposed he could figure out something with molding bread, but he really didn’t want to worry over it.
    He had a market takeover to plan.
    Everything else was a waste of mental and physical energy.
    The rocks became more numerous, jumbling together as they rose to stirrup level. Neal continued on. The conglomeration of stone grew thicker as well as higher. It had reached the height of his saddle when Neal deduced the purpose for it. It was a wall. Stoutly made. The stones were now shaped and fitted together, easily eight or nine feet in width. He moved his gaze above it and got the instant reason for such a wall. Beyond it was nothing but sky and water. And a large spit of land that jutted out into the span, getting splashed with white-crested waves.
    It was an awe-inspiring view. Worthy of note. And extremely ill-advised.
    Neal had visited several castles, spent an entire summer on the enterprise. He’d received quite the education in castle building. There’d been a reason. He’d contemplated buying one, and wasn’t spending resources on a piece of history if he didn’t know what it entailed. He’d decided in favor of acquiring and then restoring a ruin located somewhere in the interior of the continent. And why? Because castles were already drafty affairs. Interior climate control was impossible to maintain. Any castle built on a seacoast, especially at this altitude, would be open to the elements. He hoped it wasn’t built on a cliff. He’d have to deal with erosion, too.
    It was obvious the original builders had chosen the location for the view. They hadn’t given one thought to the consequences. Owning this bit of real estate meant a constant battle with nature just to keep any structure intact, let alone habitable. Perhaps there was another location on his property better suited for building. He could always relocate. Use modern techniques. Confound the hell out of any historian centuries from now. Neal snickered, made a mental note to put it on the list for consideration, and looked back up the path.
    The wall at his left was now being paralleled by one