Rhynn’s Swords~
Murdoch Connor
Connamara, Connor
Cleland spoke his piece over dinner that night. He told Murdoch about the letters, the fiery prophet, and the likelihood Anne was about to grab Walter by the short hairs.
Every so often, Cleland cut a glance at the Burkes. It was clear he thought Murdoch kept odd company. A surly old captain, a genteel nenan, and a half-breed with skin the color of honey.
When Cleland began to repeat himself, Murdoch’s eyes wandered down the table. Tessa was in a gown tonight, with her hair down. He seldom saw her in a gown. A nagging little itch burned in that spot between his shoulders he couldn’t reach.
Murdoch forced his attention back to Cleland. The general was reminding him of his duty, and of the words in an old treaty his forefathers signed.
