Reckless Protector: Isaacson Trilogy Book Three

5

Ulric held his ground even as Gunnar let loose a string of curses and Esmund entered the barn.

"You know," Esmund said with a huff of vexation, "I'm tired of you two slamming doors in my—what in blazes is happening here? What are you doing with my battle hammer, Ulric?"

The shadow collected in upon itself, taking the shape of a man, revealing a face that none of them expected to see so soon.

"Gary?" The name hissed across Ulric's lips like a curse, bringing a foul taste to the air before he could bite it back. "That's a new trick."

"What is the deal with people making use of our barn lately? First Ingrid, now you..." Esmund grumbled, rolling the door closed and picking up Father's cudgel from the weapons rack to his right. "Who else is back there hiding? Is Anthony with you?"

"Only me," Gary Marshland said as he flung his dark cloak behind his shoulders and bowed.

He was a man all three Isaacsons had worked with on many occasions over the last twelve years, easily recognizable by his strange attire and overall appearance. Straight black hair, cut level with his jaw, swung forward and lent a dramatic air to his bow.

Pure black was the only color any of the brothers had ever seen him wear. The holsters wrapped around his thighs, forearms, and across his chest, heavily laden with all manner of weapons were made of charred leather to blend seamlessly with the rest of his attire. He straightened and glanced between the three brothers before settling his gaze on Ulric, "I've come to beg your aid."

Ulric watched him with a wary eye, taking note of his heavily armed person. "You're sporting a few extra weapons than normal."

"For good reason," Gary sighed. "I was unsure if you or your brothers would give me a chance to explain myself before killing me."

Ulric quirked a brow and rested the battle hammer against his shoulder. "Why should we? You're a traitor. Westmoreland has told us to deal with you however we see fit."

"Traitor?" Gary frowned, "What are you talking about?"

Gunnar approached with his weapon held at the ready. "Don't play the innocent. We know all about your involvement with 'The Angry Wolf.'"

"I am no traitor," Gary said, stepping closer to Ulric, "My involvement with that band of renegades isn't what it looks like."

Esmund scoffed and twirled the cudgel, "Isn't that what they all say?"

"In this instance, it's the truth."

Ulric shook his head and clucked his tongue, "They say that too."

"I know how this must seem, but you must believe me. I'm not who or what Westmoreland told you I was."

Gunnar pressed his battle hammer against Gary's stomach, "Well, then...talk. Set us straight."

Gary licked his lips and put some space between him and Gunnar, "I'm involved with the 'The Angry Wolf,' I have been for quite some time, but it isn't what you think...it's changed—I've changed because of it."

"Changed how?" Esmund asked with a frown.

Gary glanced between the three brothers and shrugged, "We used to be a force for good. We showed that berserkers were undervalued in society and could bring about change. But after Clover Hill..."

"That was fifteen years ago," Ulric said, raising a dubious brow. "How long have you been a part of their group?"

"Eighteen years."

"And you were there? At Clover Hill?" Gunnar said.

Gary hung his head. "To my everlasting shame, yes."