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weight, and his age: only twenty-seven years. He had been chief since he was little more than a child. A wife would be good for him, perhaps temper his steel with a bit of softness, bring him the joy of bairns of his own… and of course there was the matter of an heir, which was a subject Drust knew far better than to bring up.
    Bren would not wed, and so there would be no heir. At least not yet. His brother believed wholeheartedly in the family prophecy that every laird of Creagmor had but one true mate; his perfect other half, the one meant to join with him to carry on the family line. Bren denied it of course, told everyone else it was nonsense. But Drust knew better; he knew his brother perhaps better than he knew himself. And so, though Bren took what he needed from the many willing lasses of the village, he made it clear to one and all that he would not be tied to any one woman in particular. Not that Drust himself wanted to be tied to one woman either, but then, he was not Laird, so he could do as he pleased in that matter. And for now, it pleased him to be alone.
    Aye, Drust agreed that Dirc was up to something; that much was obvious. He also had a strong feeling it had to do with Bren’s future. He only hoped that his suspicion was right, and that the old sorcerer could pull it off without Bren finding out and interfering. He would help, in any way he could. He gestured to the door with his chin.
    “Go then, and see her for yerself. Dirc left word in the village that he went to Ingarry this morning, and he willna be back yet.” Drust expected Bren to refuse, as he rarely involved himself with such things, especially things that Dirc had a hand in, and so he was astonished when his brother let out a breath from between his clenched teeth and nodded.
    “Aye Drust, I think I will.”
    He watched as Bren turned and walked away, his features set in a determined line. When he came to the door, he carelessly waved his hand, and it opened. Drust’s eyes widened in surprise, then immediately narrowed in concern. Bren never used magic so heedlessly, and certainly not to merely open a door. His brother must be very seriously distracted. And when Bren was distracted, things were apt to go to hell in one way or another.
    Just outside the keep, Bren came across Eian. Nearly ran into him in fact.
    “Bren, Dirc has a lass…”
    “I ken it”, Bren cut him off. “Drust said as much.” Not pausing, he started in the direction of Dirc’s cottage.
    Eian shot him a look and went into the keep. “What the hell’s wrong with Bren?
    Drust shrugged. “I dinna ken. Needs a woman, I suspect.”
    “Ah.” Eian nodded in complete understanding. If a man didn’t take care of his more carnal needs often enough, it could surely put him in a bad temper. He worked hard to keep his own fulfilled, and as a result he felt his own temper was fairly even most of the time. “I’ve told him as much; from what I can tell, he doesna indulge nearly often enough. It’s not good for a man to fight his baser nature like that. He’ll crack eventually, wait and see.”
     
    ***
    Bren paused at the edge of the small dooryard to carefully shield himself from the sorcerer’s mind, in case he hadn’t really gone to Ingarry as he claimed. He would never hear the end of it if Dirc knew he was sneaking around his home like a lad to catch a glimpse of a bonny lass. In truth this was not something he would normally do, were he completely himself. But for the last couple of days he had been strangely restless, prowling around, unable to concentrate on anything for very long. Everything around him seemed more… intense, until he was about ready to jump out of his own skin. Now he found himself compelled, aye compelled , to come and see this lass of Dirc’s for himself. Granted Drust had said she was bonny, a complement his brother rarely doled out, and that alone was enough to intrigue any man, but it did not explain the odd sense of urgency he felt.