"Ye have no concerns about him marrying an Englishwoman?” Somerled asked Liam.
"Nay,” replied Liam. “Why should I object to a wee lass who saved me from rotting on the gallows?"
"She saved ye so that ye could help her."
"Oh, I think she would have done it e'en if she hadnae needed our help or if we had refused it for she kenned that her brother had sent for us. She also kenned that we had done no wrong."
"But, to marry a lass, any lass, just to keep her from having to marry another doesnae seem a verra wise thing to do."
"Weel, ‘twas a wee bit more than that,” said Sigimor, ignoring the small snort of laughter from Liam. “She is a bonnie wee lass, of good blood, stronger than she looks, and good company.” Sigimor could see that his twin ached to press him harder on the question of why, but he held his tongue.
"She has a temper,” Somerled said and several of their kinsmen murmured their agreement.
"Ye insulted her, didnae ye. S'truth, ye are lucky she got angry, nay hurt, or twould be my temper ye would be dealing with now. She doesnae understand why everyone acts so appalled and neither do I."
"Mayhap they are appalled that a laird would wed an Englishwoman, nay one of our own. If they kenned she was kin to a Sassenach Marcher laird, they would be e'en more so."
"Besttheyget o'er it,” Sigimor said, casting a hard look at all his kinsmen. “She is just a wee lass. Aye, a wee lass who saw her brother die screaming in pain, who grabbed that bairn and spent three days hiding from her brother's killer in the bowels of her own home, and who spent part of that time listening to the screams of her people as Harold tortured them, trying to get them to betray her. And, a wee lass who saved my life, as well as Liam's, Tait's, David's, Marcus's, and Nanty's."
"True, but she wanted something from you."
"Aye, she did. She wanted us to help her get that bairn away from Harold, out of his murderous reach. She ne'er asked for more than that. And I agree with Liam. She would have freed us anyway. I have no doubt of that. I will see Harold dead because I want to, because he killed a mon who once saved my life and wants to kill a woman and bairn for naught but greed. I married the lass because I wanted to. Harold's plots just gave me a good reason to drag her afore a priest, one she found hard to argue with, though shedidtry.
"So, heed me,she is my wife, a Cameron now.” He was pleased to hear Liam second that claim. “All I care to hear about now are some plans concerning Harold The Usurper."
In the taut silence that followed, a boyish voice said, “We are going to kill the bastard ere he touches our lady."
Sigimor looked at his youngest brother Fergus who was not quite thirteen. Tall for his age, and nearly bone-thin, Fergus was the only one of his brothers, aside from Somerled, who looked most like him. When he saw how the boy began to shift nervously in his seat beneath the scowls of so many of his kinsmen, Sigimor gave him a broad smile. The boy's quick acceptance of Jolene touched him deeply. He would make sure that none of the others made the boy pay for that.
"Weel,” muttered Fergus, encouraged by Sigimor's smile, “sheisjust a wee lass trying hard to keep that bairn alive."
"Exactly,” said Sigimor as he stood up. “I need to bathe, rest a wee bit, and find some clean clothes ere we gather for our evening meal. Mayhap by then ye will have set aside your fool prejudices and have a few suggestions about how I can keep my wife and that bairn out of the hands of their enemy."
Somerled fixed his gaze on Liam the moment Sigimor was gone. “Ye truly find naught to trouble ye about this?"
"Nay,” replied Liam. “Watch them for a wee while and ye will see why I dinnae."
"Keeping her out of another mon's hands is still a poor reason to wed a lass."
"Aye, unless, of course, ye grab that reason with both hands to get a lass to sayaye.” Liam smiled crookedly at a still-frowning Somerled. “Remain wary, if ye must, but ye will see that all is weel. Cease trying to make Sigimor see his choice of wife as a bad one. Old Fingal has beaten that to death, e'en tried to turn Sigimor's eyes toward Lady Barbara MacLean, a widow who has been asking about Sigimor, a Scottish lass. At the moment, Harold is the darkest shadow o'er their marriage. He will be sniffing about on Dubheidland lands verra soon."
"And he will die for it,” said Somerled, most of his kinsmen loudly agreeing with him. “Ye outran him, did ye?"
"Wasnae difficult. The mon seems to have lost his horses whilst on MacFingal land.” Liam laughed along with the rest of his kinsmen.
Harold sipped at the tankard of bitter ale the plump serving maid had brought him. Everyone in the dimly lit tavern part of the inn watched him and his men warily, unwelcome carved deep into their hard expressions. He could not fully blame his men for not wanting to linger here for long. If not for the desperate need to get more horses, he would not have stopped.
"M'lord,” said Martin as he hastily sat down on the bench across from Harold, “we may have trouble."
"May? May?” Harold took a deep drink of the ale to still the urge to scream. “We have had to enter this nest of barbarians. We were robbed of our horses and supplies by those filthy MacFingals. We are being robbed again and again as we try to get more horses and more supplies. Oh, and every man in this place would take great pleasure in slitting our throats. And,nowyou say wemayhave trouble? What, by the devil's foul breath, isthis?"
"A minor annoyance if what I hear is true,” Martin replied calmly as the serving maid set a tankard of ale in front of him.
"Have the Camerons finally decided to face us like men?"
"Nay, but someone is hard on our trail. Word has it that we are not the only Englishmen riding toward Dubheidland."
Harold propped one elbow on the scarred table between him and Martin and rested his forehead in his hand. He swore, softly and profanely, for several minutes. Everything was falling apart. He had taken over Drumwich and rid himself of Peter. It had all been so remarkably easy and it should have been enough. Instead, he was dragging himself and his increasingly mutinous men all over this cursed country, paying as much for a toothless mare as he would for a well-trained destrier, and paying a king's ransom for oats and cheese. Harold knew who was following him now, knew that somehow the other Gerards had discovered what had happened at Drumwich. One brief taste of all he had dreamed of for so long was obviously all he would ever have and he knew exactly who to blame.
