“Funny,” James said as he kicked the blade across the ground. “I’d have taken you for more of a garrote man.” He moved quickly to Ewen’s side. “Something more subtle than cutlery. Now I shall just avail myself of my friend here—”
Despite his heft, the Campbell managed to dart to the edge of the tent, pulling a pistol from atop his cot. Tearing open a paper cartridge of powder with his teeth, he began to load his gun.
As Ewen struggled to free his hands from their ties behind his back, James was there in an instant, severing his bonds with a single flick of his blade, as though the laird had been bound by mere ribbon.
A loud click reverberated through the tent. Campbell had cocked his pistol. James sprung across the room, landing the point of his sword on the quivering flesh of Campbell’s neck, just as he’d taken aim at James’s chest. The moment hung in time as they stood, poised to kill, caught in a stalemate.
The Cameron was a blur of red and green plaid, slamming into Campbell from the side. The men hit the ground hard, Campbell emitting a clipped grunt, his pistol discharging with a deafening bang.
Campbell’s guard pushed his way into the tent. "What—?”
“Come, Lochiel.” James pulled Ewen to standing. “We’ve no time now.”
Before the guard could act, the two men disappeared through the hole James had made in the tent.
Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky to a slate gray, and the morning air was crisp, with the clean smell of snow to it. The sounds of Campbell’s men rousing from sleep followed them as James and Ewen snaked their way around tents, racing from the Covenanter encampment.
There were shouts at their backs now. Spying a large rise, James dashed around the base to the left and then shot uphill. The trail was littered with large rocks, and while Ewen plowed a straight line, muscular legs pumping up and over rocks, James raced ahead, vaulting an uneven path up, springing from rock to rock as he crested the rise. He fell to kneel behind a gray and white mottled boulder. Straining, he could hear his Royalist troops on their descent from a brae not two hundred yards away.
Ewen appeared, collapsing beside him, and both men laughed quietly.
"We wait but a moment,” James said, "then will join MacColla as the river meets the sea.”
“Aye, a wave to crash over Campbell’s wee picnic.”
“You’re bleeding, lad.” James turned Ewen’s head hard to the side to study his wound.
“Och, just a scratch.” Ewen flinched back. “Though I thank you for arriving when you did.”
“The pleasure’s mine, Cameron. You owe me an ear.”
James cocked his head to listen to the approaching fighters. “The sea is upon us.” Their eyes met in broad smiles. “And now we shall exact our revenge.”
“Aye, Graham. We shall indeed.”
Chapter 30
She felt trapped, anxious to get out of there. The Cameron library, though amazing, only went so far to break up the monotony of Magda’s daily life at the castle. The first weeks had been a wondrous peek back in time. Robert had been a mixture of politely unobtrusive and oddly amusing as he’d shared history and lore about Scotland and the various clans. But she couldn’t monopolize him all day, and Magda found she wasn’t really expected to do anything other than appear for meals. Since she was interested in neither gossip nor needlework, she thought she’d go crazy from boredom.
Magda traced her fingers along stacks of yellowed manuscripts and the leather spines of books, looking in vain for something that would be a quick, fun read. SomehowCaesar’s Commentariesand Sir Walter Raleigh’sHistory of the Worlddidn’t do it for her, despite the fact that James had told her they were among his favorites. She picked up Quintus Curtius’sHistory of Alexander the Great, but wasn’t very optimistic.
“Pardon?” a voice said at her back.
She startled, and turned to see the maid Kat standing there. She couldn’t have been much older than Magda, yet hard work was already ravaging her, clear to see in her red, cracked hands and the number of wiry white strands that already marbled her tightly wound bun.
“My apologies, mum.” Looking suddenly stricken, Kat bobbed a quick curtsy, and the cups on her tray clinked precariously.
“Oh, not at all.” Magda rushed to push aside books, clearing a space for the tea. “This looks lovely.”
And it did. The tray held a number of delicate pieces of china and silver. Cups and saucers, a small pitcher of milk, miniature spoons. Magda had her eye on a plate of shortbread sprinkled with thick granules of sugar, a sight which more than made up for the beige skin she spied floating atop the milk. The picture was completed by the yellow crocheted cozy that topped the teapot.
“Will that be all?” Clutching a handful of her dirt-colored linen skirt in one hand, Kat began to edge out the door.
“Yes.” Magda pulled off the tea cozy, then paused and ventured, “I mean, no.” Folding and smoothing it slowly onto the tray, she asked, “Are there any other rooms, do you think, that I might be interested in seeing?”
Kat looked at her doubtfully, and Magda rushed, “I mean, I saw that there was another wing to the house, but that seemed a little scary. Well, what I mean is, is there maybe a den or someplace else you know about?”
“Oh, aye.” Kat nodded, finally understanding. “I don’t know of dens, but the women all gather in the common room for needlework. ” She added brightly, “Would you like me to bring your tea there?”
