They stopped beside a burn that tumbled down from the hills and dismounted, letting the coursers drink. Joanna slid from her saddle with a barely suppressed whimper. David stood on shaking legs, trying to look brave and failing.
For a long moment, nobody spoke. They just stood there, listening.
No shouts, no signs of pursuit. Nothing but the rush of water over stone and the ragged breathing of exhausted horses.
Craeg’s shoulders dropped. They’d put enough distance between themselves and Berwick. For now.
“We’ll give the horses a short breather,” he said roughly.
Greig snorted, already loosening his saddle girth. “Our mounts need proper rest. We all do.”
“No,” Craeg replied. “We can’t rest yet … not this close to the border.”
Their gazes met and held, and for a moment, Craeg thought Greig might challenge him.
They were the same age. Good friends who’d grown up together on the Isle of Mull. Greig was the Maclean clan-chief’s firstborn son, while Craeg was about to step into the role of Chieftain of Moy. One day, when Greig became clan-chief, Craeg would bend the knee to him. But not today. Murray had handed this responsibility to Craeg, and that meant that Greig and Ailean had to heed him.
Greig’s lips pursed, and he favored his friend with a curt nod before turning away to tend to the horses.
The tension bled from the air. They were safe. At least for the moment.
Ailean appeared at Craeg’s elbow, wiping sweat from his brow. “Christ, I’m parched.” He crouched by the burn, cupping water to his mouth. “When we finally get back to Mull, I’m crawling into my bed and sleeping for a week.”
“A week?” Greig looked up from checking his mount’s legs. “After this ride, I’m claiming a month. Two, maybe.”
“Ye’ll be lucky to get twodays,” Ailean shot back with a grin. “Yer Da will have ye overseeing the harvest before yer arse hits the mattress.”
Greig groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Despite everything, Craeg felt his mouth twitch. Ailean and Greig’s banter was something he could rely on. The familiarity steadied him.
“Wishing ye were back on Mull?” Ailean asked then, glancing at Craeg.
Craeg harrumphed. In truth, he wasn’t. Mull was the last thing on his mind tonight. It wasn’t just because of their mission either. Recently, he’d done his best not to think about the future. Things would be different when he returned home. His mother had made it clear that she wished to step down as ‘lady laird’, to hand the rule of Moy Castle and its lands over to her son. It was an honor, but also a responsibility. Heaviness dragged at him then, and his breathing quickened. Sometimes, it felt as if a gilded cage awaited him.
“Ye’ll have to take a wife, ye know?” Greig quipped then. “A chieftain will be expected to start siring sons.”
Ailean pulled a face. “Just as wellourfathers are still hale and hearty, eh?” Stepping back, he slapped Greig on the shoulder. “We’ll be free as young bucks for a while yet.”
Greig’s smirk faltered, while heat ignited in Craeg’s gut. He didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“Our old men will be proud when they hear we saved the king,” Ailean added, ignoring his companions’ reactions. “We’ll be heroes.”
“Don’t get ahead of yerself,” Greig muttered. “Rae Maclean won’t be impressed if he hears his son is mouldering in an English prison.”
Ailean snorted, yet took his point.
Craeg didn’t venture a comment. Instead, something cold and sharp dug under his ribs.
Both Ailean and Greig clashed with their strong-willed fathers at times, and yet they worshipped them too. They wanted to make them proud. But Craeg’s father had died years ago, and his memories of him were far from rosy. Even if Leod Maclean were still alive, he wouldn’t be proud of his son. All Craeg remembered of him was bitterness and scorn.
He hoped the devil was roasting the bastard in the fiery depths of hell.
Oblivious to the dark turn of Craeg’s thoughts, Ailean turned away then and walked over to their charges. Hunkering down, he spoke to David and Joanna in a surprisingly gentle voice. Soothing their fears. His friend could be brash, yet he had a tender side too, one he usually reserved for dogs and horses.
Craeg turned his face northwest. Dumbarton lay in that direction. The brief respite was over. Yanking himself back to the task at hand—now wasn’t the time to let himself get distracted—he huffed out a sharp breath. “Time to leave the coast.”
“Aye.” Greig shifted alongside him, his profile hawkish in the glow of the rising sun. He looked so much like his father these days. Tall, brawny, with long dark hair he tied back at his nape. “The road forks just a few furlongs north of here.”
