“This was yer grandmother’s?” Catherine whispered, cherishing the ring even more knowing whence the heirloom came.
“Aye. I used to think much the same when I was a child. She left it to me. I’m certain she kenned I meant it for ye before even I did. I’ve carried it with me for years.” Rab admitted the last part only for Catherine’s ears. Even though she’d never worn the sapphire ring before their wedding day, it, and the ribbons he’d long ago purchased for her, helped him feel connected to her during their separation.
“Did ye nae pass the king’s messenger on the way here?” Peter, a senior guardsman, asked.
“Messenger?” Rab, Andrew, and Catherine asked.
The MacLaren patrol stared at them. Peter responded, “Aye. We didna expect ye since a messenger rode through yesterday. He spent the night. He went north to Edinample while another rode further west to—” Peter looked at Andrew and Catherine. “They met back together this morning, right here.”
“Fuck,” Catherine muttered. More than a dozen stunned faces turned toward her. “I didna mean to say it out loud. But I’m nae the first lady to think it.”
“I take it ye didna say aught to the Bruce before ye tore after us,” Rab said as he looked at Andrew.
“Nay more than ye did before ye ran away.” Andrew glowered.
But Rab merely nodded as he faced northwest. “Creag an Tuirc.” The Boar’s Rock. The MacLarens’ rally point.
“Aye. Ma father will ken that’s where yer father will go,” Andrew explained. “He willna let the fight be on our land again.”
“We ride for there.” Rab turned to Catherine. “Do ye wish to ride with me? We’ll be riding harder than we have so far.”
“I dinna want to slow Bolt with ma weight, but I ken Timber canna keep up.” Catherine patted her mare’s neck.
“Lady Catherine?” Peter spoke up. “Do ye still ride as ye did when ye beat Maude Sutherland that year?”
“Aye,” Andrew answered for her with a half-hearted scowl, his tone softening compared to a moment ago. The pride was audible.
“Then take ma horse, and I’ll take yers,” Peter offered. He dismounted before helping Catherine from Timber’s back. The warhorse dwarfed Catherine, and Peter looked like he sat on a child’s toy. But neither horse balked at their new riders.
Catherine struggled to hold on as the massive beast beneath her ate up the ground, remaining neck and neck with Bolt and Andrew’s horse, Hercules. She prayed she didn’t slide off, but her need to reach the place where both clans inevitably headed outweighed her fear. The dozen riders charged over hill and dale.
“There,” Catherine called over the wind. “MacFarlanes.”
They could all hear sword hilts banging against targes, the sound intimidating even to a trained warrior’s ear. The MacFarlanes were racing across the meadow, swords drawn and blue woad covering their faces.
“Aye, and over the brow of that rise is ma father,” Rab responded as the first wave of MacLarens streamed down the hillside. Their swords and targes echoed the sounds coming from the MacFarlane army. The MacLarens had come for battle just as the MacFarlanes had; woad covered their faces and their arms. Gazes darted back and forth as Andrew Mòr and Caelan became discernible from the larger forces.
The mixture of MacLarens and MacFarlanes urged their horses on as the first men clashed in the expanse ahead of them. Catherine kept her eyes on where her horse headed, trying not to witness the battle’s beginning. Rab and Andrew both released earsplitting whistles, their conflicting sounds discordant. They continued their clan calls to cease as they drew closer to the opponents. Rab turned to Catherine.
“Dinna come closer. Cullen, stay with Lady Catherine. I dinna trust that we can stop this.” Rab squeezed Bolt’s flanks as he left Catherine with his most trusted guard. He and Andrew watched as the battling clans noticed their approach, many turning toward them rather than carrying on the fight. Rab’s stomach settled back near his hips rather than choking him. The fighting might have stopped; however, the animosity was nearly palpable. Anger made the air cloying.
“I can only imagine what the king wrote in his missive,” Andrew Óg mumbled.
“Whatever it was, caused them to both ride here rather than to court. And they didna come to parley.” Rab watched his father break away from the front of the army and make his way forward, his fist held in the air by his shoulder to keep the MacLarens from recommencing the fight.
“Óg!” Andrew Mòr bellowed.
“Aye, Father.”
“What the bluidy hell has been going on? I trusted ye!”
“Uncle—” Catherine called as she and Cullen followed at a safer pace now that the fighting had ceased, even if it might only be temporarily. She’d slapped Cullen’s hand away when he attempted to take hold of her horse’s bridle to keep her from approaching.
“Nay, lass. I dinna wish to hear even a peep from ye.” Mòr glared at Rab and practically hissed. “Dinna look at me like that, lad. I’m nae going to touch her, but I canna say the same for ye.”
“Threaten ma son, and I will finally wrap ma paws around yer throat—” Caelan shouted.
“Ye have to catch me first. Ye havenae done that yet,” Mòr boasted.
