“Come, I’d have you meet some of the newest men in my acquaintance. ” Winking, he added, “A learned sage once instructed, ‘a stranger does not a good leader make.’”
Magda noticed at once that these men were dressed differently from the rest, in muted tartans, a few wearing low boots or leather shoes and hose, though most were barefoot. About a dozen of them carried dirks and small rounded shields, but there were also a few with hooked pikes, as well as two archers in the group.
“Have you ever met a true Highlander, lass?”
“I . . . I can’t say that I have,” she said nervously, instinctively tucking herself closer to James’s side.
One man stepped to the front, locking his eyes with James so sternly that Magda might have laughed had he not looked so dangerous. He stood solidly, with feet apart and hands at his waist, an enormous claymore strapped to his back. Magda estimated he was still a teenager, despite his already great height and the deference the other soldiers seemed to pay him.
“This would be Ewen Cameron, chief . . . rather, soon-to-be chief of his clan.” The men exchanged nods.
“You Lowlanders tarry, even as the sun breaks the sky,” the young warrior growled in a deep and thickly accented burr. “I’d be off while Aberdeenshire is still abed. Uncle”— Ewen nodded at an older, much grizzled man in his party—"did you scout the right flank?”
“Aye, lad, there are wee shallows a ways downriver fit to cross.”
“You can take the ponies,” James suggested.
Ewen’s uncle merely glowered, incredulous. “We’re not traveling to England, lad. God gave Highlanders two feet, and we ken how to use them.”
“Fine.” James nodded. “They’ll be paying mind only to the front line.”
“Aye. My thought as well,” Ewen said. “While you busy them with musket fire, we’ll split them in two at their flank, and the battle is done, quick as you please.”
“Do it,” James ordered. “Leslie’s hired men are eager to repay yesterday’s humiliation. Let them. What they don’t know of you Highlanders won’t hurt them.”
The Highlanders all nodded solemnly. “’Tis the greatest courage of all, sending men into battle,” Ewen said, the gravity of his hushed words a contrast to his young age. “But you’d not kill a trout with a cannon, aye? The town’s defenses demand stealth, and my Cameron men are unrivalled overland.”
“What a pretty wee meeting.” General Leslie appeared, approaching leisurely, wiping his teeth with a rag. “Is the lassie leading the charge now,” he asked, his eyes, overfamiliar, roving down Magda’s body, “or has she appeared just to muddle the men’s minds?”
“Have a care,” James growled slowly.
“The men are in formation and ready to march,” Leslie said, disregarding the last remark. “You’ve not lost your stomach after yesterday, have you? I’d as soon test Aberdeenshire hospitality and bide my day with a warm lass on a soft bed, but it’s your nobles who’ve called for the attack.”
Ewen regarded the general, and his granite-still features narrowed to a scowl. “Tapadh leibh, Marquis,” the Cameron said, turning slowly to face James. “We’ll not let you down.”
“It seems you’ve been busy, lad,” Leslie snarled after the Camerons disappeared into the trees. “What scheme have you set our enterprising Highlanders to?”
“I’m sending a small outfit downriver.”
“Are you indeed?”
“Aye, Aberdeen will not expect a charge from her side. We’ll hold the bridge, and the Camerons will deliver a surprise attack, effectively splitting their defenses.”
Blood leached from Leslie’s face, his lips pursed white with outrage. “What makes you think you’ve the authority to order my soldiers about?”
“Those Highlanders are Scotland’s men, not yours,” James warned, steel in his voice. “You are merely an opportunistic musket-for-hire withmycoin in your purse.Thatis the source of my authority. You will just have to bear up, aye, General?”
“You will sup by my side tonight, I’ll wager.” They stood not far from a cluster of readying soldiers, and James cast his voice for her ears alone.
Magda’s mind raced. James was off for another day of battle, and she was unable to staunch the cascade of morbid scenarios that filled her head. Her brother had always been off trying to save the world, and here Magda was again, about to say good-bye to another who would live, and quite possibly die, doing the same.
She tried instead to commit the moment to memory. The mossy smell of the earth beneath the trees, birdsong growing louder with the dawn, the creak of the leather straps on James’s armored breastplate. His near-black eyes and the steadying force of his presence. And the light dusting of stubble, bleached yellow from the sun, along his mouth and jaw.
“Something of interest, hen?”
“Excuse me?” She was startled back into the moment.
“You were staring at my mouth.”
