“I don’t know what became of them. They were not among the dead.”
“We must send word to the lord protector.”
Duncan shook his head. “Cromwell will do nothing. He sent over four hundred men to hunt the Devil after he killed my father. Most of those men were killed by Highlanders who side with the MacGregors. He will not tax his army so again. That is why he leaves the duty of killing the outlaws to the noblemen of Scotland.”
“But you are his vassal, uncle. Your entire garrison was killed. Surely he will send reinforcements.”
“It will take time.”
“Then I will find her myself,” Robert vowed.
“Where do you propose to look first?” Duncan did naught to conceal his mocking smirk. “This man holds no patch of ground in Glen Orchy, Glenstrae, or Rannoch. He left the banks of Lammond long ago and disappeared into the north. Since then, he has been as difficult to capture as the mists that hide him. If Cromwell’s army could not find him, you certainly won’t.”
Robert’s expression hardened, reminding Duncan of the lad’s father when Colin had set out to find the MacGregor after he had escaped. Liam Campbell had been pleased. At least, he had accused, one of his sons did not shyt his breeches in the face of a common outlaw. But Duncan had known the truth of it, even if his father was too blind to see.
Colin had been well loved by their father. He was tall and well muscled compared to Duncan’s scrawny physique. His dark good looks had also earned him the favor of the castle wenches at Glen Orchy. Robert’s resemblance to his father was a bit unnerving. Their eyes were the same, light brown flecked with gray and green and glinting with determination. But the similarities between father and son ended with their physical appearance. Robert Campbell was no coward.
“I know in which direction to ride,” Robert said stiffly.
“And when you come upon him,” Duncan challenged, “how will you succeed in gaining your sister back when you could not even keep your sword in your fists the first time you faced him? I fear you will not escape his wrath a second time.”
“I do not care if he kills me. I will free my sister from him first.”
“Braw words.” Duncan searched his nephew’s eyes and was pleased at the raw resolve lighting their depths. The Devil had to be stopped, but Duncan had decided long ago that he would not give his life simply to avenge those who perished at the fiend’s hands. His father might have thought him a fool, but he was not fool enough to think he could live through an encounter with Callum MacGregor. Nae, but he enjoyed taunting the beast. The law was on his side when it came to hanging the rebellious Highlanders and branding their women. But he had not thought the Devil would ever return here. MacGregor had to be completely mad to slaughter Kildun’s garrison a second time.
“Callum MacGregor needs to be dead.”
“If he has harmed my sister, he will be.”
“If?” Duncan tempered his query with a withering sigh. He would never make the same error his father had made in allowing doubt to grow in the heart of his kin. Robert had to know and understand well that the MacGregors were their enemies. Doubting the like gave room for pity, and pity bred sympathy. Nae, Duncan would nurture Robert’s fury and mayhap the lad would succeed in ridding them of the Devil once and for all. “Lad, I’ve no doubt he will violate her. Let us pray he does not kill her.” He smiled tightly when Robert rushed for the stables again. “We will need more men!” he called out.
His nephew slowed to a halt and looked over his shoulder at him. “You said it would take time.”
“Not if they come from Scotland,” Duncan promised. “I can assemble at least one hundred within a few days. But Robert,” his uncle added when Robert turned to face him fully. “When we find the bastard we will employ a more effective strategy than charging his holding.”
“What do you mean?”
Duncan looked toward the castle doors, returning once again to that day—and the only thing that had stopped MacGregor from killing him. “He has a weakness. And I know what it is.”
Chapter Eight
“GOD CURSE YOU!”
Kate’s eyes darted to the right to see who had hurled the offense, but the dozens of faces staring back at her all looked equally guilty.
Beside her, Callum lowered his gaze, avoiding the accusation and anger thick in the air. He knew he was not welcome in Roderick Cameron’s village. They were afraid of him. ’Twas why he had dismounted before he entered the village and commanded his men to do the same. Leading his warhorse by the bridle gave him a less intimidating appearance.
“Go back to the hell that spawned ye!”
These people wanted peace, no matter what it cost them.
“Why do they hate you?” Kate tugged on his plaid. “I thought you said their laird was your friend.”
When Callum lifted his eyes and met her incensed gaze, the sudden urge to smile near overwhelmed him. It astonished him that even while he was being so painfully reminded of what he had become, the indignation Kate felt over his rebuke could soften his black heart.
“They dinna all hate me. ’Tis only the MacGregors who curse me.”
She stopped walking, stopping him, as well, with her hand still on his plaid. Her eyes opened wider, and Callum allowed himself a moment to bask in the knowledge that she truly didn’t know who he was. As far as she was concerned he was simply a MacGregor laird, guilty of the same as any other. And some traitorous part of him gloried in it. She didn’t know of the blood that covered his hands. That covered all of him. He should tell her the truth, but the truth was too harsh and ugly, and it would change the way she looked at him.
