To calm the fury rampaging through him, he concentrated on his surroundings. They had left the horses and wagon some time ago as the terrain was not fit for either, and had begun steadily climbing into the troughs and gullies, the rocky ravines and cliffs of the Dragon’s Back.
The terrain wasn’t fit for an aging, half-crippled lord either, Magnus reflected. He had been as surprised as anyone when the seat of McRae’s wagon had been lifted out, long poles slotted into either end, and MacRae had been lifted up like some king, carried on the shoulders of two of his burliest men.
Right now, his old mentor was being carried over the rough terrain some way ahead of Magnus. He sat hunched in his carry-chair like some despot king, head swiveling from side to side as he surveyed their surroundings just as Magnus was doing.
The fury in Magnus’s gut tightened into a point, all aimed at the man in the litter. Whatever vestiges of misplaced loyalty he’d felt to the man had evaporated the moment he’d threatened Isabelle.
He’d left Dun Saith on this personal mission in order to bring Eamon McRae to justice. Yet, if he was honest with himself, there had been a tiny part of him, the lost teenage boy that still lived inside him, that harbored a hope that Eamon might still be in there somewhere. He’d hoped that the man who’d sheltered him and given him a home might still reside deep inside the man who’d emerged from the accident.
It had been a fool’s hope. There was nothing left of his mentor in the man before him now. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if Eamon McRae hadeverbeen the man he remembered, or if his recollections were skewed by the crushing loneliness he’d felt after his parents had died, and by his desperation to have a home and somebody to take care of him.
It didn’t matter. What mattered now was that somehow he find a way to complete his mission and bring Eamon McRae to justice. Although, looking around at the ranks of McRae guardsmen that surrounded him, he had no idea how he was going to do that.
McRae’s scouts led them through a twisting labyrinth of jagged rocks and thorny underbrush until eventually their path descended into a gully, the sides of which were so steeply sloped that they had to lean back to keep from tumbling forward. The ground was scattered with sharp stones and dry twigs that cracked and crunched beneath their boots, echoing off the enclosing walls.
Finally, nearing the bottom, he caught sight of their destination—a camp nestled in the heart of the ravine. It was an impressive setup for such rugged terrain. Tents made from coarse, weather-worn fabric were scattered across the ravine floor. A large firepit sat in the center, crackling embers glowing under a pot that exuded an aroma of simmering stew, the scent of which momentarily distracted Magnus from his grim thoughts. Surrounding the fire pit were several roughly hewn wooden benches, upon which sat men with gruff faces and hardened eyes, idly whittling at chunks of wood or sharpening their weapons.
Magnus’s stomach tightened as he recognized them. They were the outlaws who’d attacked Morwenna and Able’s village. One figure detached from the rest, striding toward them with an unmistakable swagger. The man’s face was cast into shadow by the brim of a sagging hat, but Magnus didn’t need to see it to know who it was. The long red plait was unmistakable.
He swaggered up to where McRae’s litter had been lowered to the ground. McRae himself didn’t bother to get up, but waited for the outlaw leader to come to him.
The redhead spread his arms wide and gave a gap-toothed grin. “To what do we owe this honor? Ye should have sent word—we could have put on a spread for ye.”
McRae’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Enough with the sarcasm, O’Connell.” He motioned towards Magnus with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I’ve brought ye a prize.”
O’Connell’s eyes swept over Magnus, a gleam of recognition lighting up his features. “Well, well,” he drawled. “If it isnae the mighty Magnus Kerr. Never thought I’d see ye trussed up like a hog.”
Magnus met his gaze squarely, refusing to be intimidated. He could feel the weight of every eye in the camp on him, their hostile gazes burning against his skin.
“Bring him here,” McRae ordered and Magnus was roughly pushed forward, causing him to stumble to his knees in front of McRae’s makeshift throne.
O’Connell sauntered over, taking his time as he circled Magnus, studying him from every angle. “He looks as strong as the stories say he is,” he noted, reaching out to prod Magnus’s arm.
Magnus jerked away from the touch and growled, his eyes flashing with warning. O’Connell only laughed again, finding amusement in the display of defiance.
“We’ll see how strong he really is. I know a few of my boys would like to test their strength against this one. Aye, he’ll give us some sport before he dies.”
“No,” McRae said. “That isnae why I’ve brought him here.”
Magnus was as surprised as O’Connell to hear this. Both men turned to look at McRae.
“Then what do ye want us to do with him?” O’Connell asked.
“I want ye to take him into yer band. He’s yer new recruit.”
O’Connell stared at McRae in disbelief and Magnus let out a low laugh.
“Ye are insane, McRae. Ye really think I would ever join this bunch of cut-throats and murderers?”
McRae’s dead eyes swung to him. “Does it look like ye have a choice?” He leaned back in his makeshift throne, his fingers steepling together.
His voice was cold and emotionless as he addressed O’Connell. “I’ve brought him here so that everyone will see Magnus Kerr for what he truly is—a traitor. He will ride with ye when ye make yer raids on the local villages. Let him be seen in the company of murderers and outlaws. Make it seem like ye do his bidding but keep him at a distance so nobody will see that he’s bound and gagged.”
The camp fell silent, surprised at McRae’s words. The sneer on O’Connell’s face slowly faded into a thoughtfulexpression. He seemed to be considering McRae’s proposition, weighing it against some internal scale.
“So everyone will think Magnus Kerr is our chief? And our raids are on his orders? Why?”
McRae’s eyes flashed. “Because I want him destroyed, that’s why. I want his reputation in tatters, and that of the Order of the Osprey along with him. Who will ever trust them again when it’s learned what one of their own is responsible for?”
