“What was that?” she said, cupping a hand to her ear exaggeratedly. “Not sure I heard you.”
He shook his head but couldn’t help smiling. “I said ye win. Yer plan worked. I never would have believed it but there we are.”
He could not be more pleased with how well the estate was now running. The men each knew their duties and as they were on a rotational basis, there were far fewer squabbles about who was doing what. Abigail had been the architect of that.
Her grin widened. “You’re welcome.”
They had ridden out that morning to make a round of lands near to Dun Treve. As lord of the keep he needed to be seen out and about to remind people of his authority—and it gave him the perfect excuse to spend some time with Abigail.
They reached his tethered horse and mounted, Abigail up front and Reid sitting behind. He was just about to nudge the horse onto the path back to the castle when he was distracted by a group of men walking along a ridgeline in the distance. One of the men was tall, broad-shouldered, and had dark brown hair that blew in the breeze.
And he was wearing a Muir plaid.
Reid’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be, could it? But he would know that figure anywhere, that arrogant tilt of the head, that proud way of walking. It belonged to only one man.
Cinead Muir.
Reid’s thoughts evaporated. His vision went red.
“Yah!”
He drove the horse into a gallop towards the ridgeline.
“Reid!” Abigail cried. “What are you doing?”
He barely even heard her.
“Reid! We’re going too fast! Stop!”
He didn’t. With gritted teeth, his lips pulled back into a snarl, and hair whipping out behind him, he urged the horse to greater speed. The ground flew beneath the horse’s hooves, splashing through puddles, thumping over the uneven ground. Lather formed on the beast’s flanks and her eyes rolled, wide with terror.
He stood in his stirrups. “Cinead!”
The group of men halted and turned to look over their shoulders, shock flickering over their features.
“Cinead! Face me, ye bastard!”
Taking the reins in one hand, Reid reached down for his sword—then the horse caught a hoof on a tussock. He was suddenly catapulted through the air and landed on his back with a thump that was enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
In the next instant, he was on his feet, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he sprinted towards the group of men. He drew his sword.
“What are ye doing on my land!” he bellowed, gripping the sword two-handed. “Come to face me at last?”
The men drew no weapons. They took no defensive stance. Instead, they scuttled backwards, eyes round with fear. Cinead was at the rear of the group, looking as frightened as the rest of them. Where was the arrogant expression? Where was the superior attitude, where was the—
Reid blinked. It wasn’t Cinead.
This man was as tall and broad across the shoulders and had the same color hair, but that was where the similarity ended. This man had a bulbous nose and a scraggly beard along with pock-marks on both cheeks.
Reid skidded to a halt, staring at the men. He ran a hand over his face, trying to gather his thoughts. They stared at him, terrified.
“Why are ye wearing a Muir plaid?” he asked at last.
The big man went pale. “I...I didnae realize it was the Muir colors, my lord, honest I didnae. The wife bought it at market. My own had become threadbare.” He pulled the plaid from his shoulders and tossed it into the dirt. “I’m loyal to the Campbell, I swear!”
“Who are ye?” Reid demanded.
“The name’s Ramsey, my lord. I’m the smith over from Taffbury.”
