“Move yer arse now!” Aldred called to him from the direction of the stable.
Besides, who would the man have to argue with if Lachlann went and took a wife?
“Settle yer own arse. I’m coming.” Lachlann started off at a slower pace to give himself some space to shake off these thoughts.
There’d been no one that had tugged at his heart, sparked a desire to protect her. Not since Thomasina, and she was like a sister. Tommy, as they called her, was a special lass. Beautiful. Kind. No one had ever come close to her in spirit.
The sight of the chieftain’s treasured daughter, her brother at her side and coming his way, had Lachlann’s jaw tightening. The direct opposite of Tommy. With long auburn hair and smoky gray eyes, she was named for the Virgin Mary herself, but she asked for trouble with all her carrying on.
“Murchadh.” Lachlann acknowledged her lanky escort, guarding her, and trying to keep the lass out of any trouble she seemed more than ready to get into. Of Niall’s two cousins, this man was the one Lachlann preferred with his easy demeanor and jovial expression.
He smiled now in his relaxed way. “How fare ye? Have ye heard the Campbell is returning?”
“I had not.”
A thorn in their side, in any loyal Scot’s side, since the Campbells seemed bent on ingratiating themselves with the Normans, any Norman, who could give them the power and titles they craved so deeply. Rumor had it the clan had even gone so far as to organize a hunt for the pleasure of the visiting Norman king, Rufus. When his court had last ventured this far north, it was the Campbell who so openly embraced him. In truth, Rufus’s very presence this far north hit a sore spot, indicating, as it did, that the man believed the entire island was under his domain.
Lachlann hardened his expression. “Might it be possible for ye and yer brother to be the ones sent off this time?”
“Not after my brother’s latest exploits. My father may be requiring yer assistance again to improve his fighting abilities.”
“No doubt I could teach him more with my bare fists.”
Murchadh barked a laugh. “Ah, and I believe ye know my da’s favorite form of punishment.”
Banishment. “Aye. Yer father is not the most creative, my friend. He could use with some battle training himself.”
“And I would enjoy being there when ye tell him as much.”
Lachlann continued past, irritation worming its way through his innards. He didn’t need reminding of the shunning. A hard time indeed. And now the Campbells? Their arrival was not a good omen. Timing for this visit, after having just returned from a battle with the Northumbrians, was suspicious at best.
“Lachlann!” a voice in the distance called out.
Lachlann paused when he recognized the voice of the priest and turned back the way they’d come. He squinted his eyes. Father Michael? He stood in the doorway of the chapel, motioning him closer.
Niall and Aldred had just reached the edge of the tree line and were disappearing over the rise, too far ahead to catch without hollering. For the smallest second, Lachlann was torn in what to do, but then the memory of the priest’s hard glare came back. Ah, the reprimand. This might be the opportunity to set things right with the man, explain to him that he was no longer a child and the correction hadn’t been intentional. And wasn’t that quite apparent? He’d barely said it loud enough for anyone else to even hear.
From within the chapel, one of the nuns came alongside the priest. She also watched Lachlann, but with an anxious expression. That was enough to convince him to do the “proper thing,” leastwise as far as the good priest was concerned.
With quite a bit of reluctance, Lachlann retraced the path back to the chapel. Guilt made his steps heavier than they needed to be, and the priest’s dark expression seemed to confirm his first impression.
“Good day to ye, Lachlann,” the nun spoke first. “And how are ye this fine day?”
Surprised by her cheery tone, he accepted the small hand she extended, bowing slightly. “Hearty and healthy, and how are ye, sister?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Do ye not remember me?”
“This is Sister Elizabeth from the priory.” Father Michael looked down his nose at the two of them. “She assures me ye’ve met. That ye’ve even been there and helped them out on occasion.”
The priest’s tone carried so much doubt that Lachlann almost laughed at the man’s bad opinion of him, but quickly swallowed the urge.
“Of course. Sister Elizabeth.”
A small woman, slightly younger than himself, and always a gracious hostess. They had enjoyed her company.
“Ye’ve only just missed Niall and Aldred,” he said.
He, Niall, and Aldred had gone to the priory often over the years to help with upkeep—cropping and herding, filling in the gaps along the roof, digging a new well. Mayhap as a way of penance for some of their foolishness, but they hadn’t been there recently.
