Robert Campbell was so relieved to be off his battered feet and on a horse that every so often he almost forgot he was riding with a troop of the most aggressive outlaws ever to inhabit Scotland. Remembering was simple enough, though. All he had to do was cast his glance left or right, in front or behind him. They were everywhere, and according to Graham, the MacGregors of Rannoch would meet up with them once they left Skye and entered the main Highlands. That they did so on horseback and not by boat was because there simply were none large enough at Camlochlin to bear the weight of the horses, and they would need them when they reached the mainland. Robert did not think they would lose too much time, for they flew across the landscape like a plague on the wind.
At first, the idea of being one Campbell amongst hundreds of his clan’s centuries-long enemy chilled Robert’s bones to the marrow. But traveling with them was quite different than when he had fought them at Kildun. They were a rowdy bunch, most certainly, and definitely hard as granite around the edges, but they possessed a wildness that appealed to Robert’s most basic nature. He almost pitied his uncle and anyone else who came against them. They had suffered years of persecution. But instead of growing weaker, they possessed the power of raw brawn and unmatched belligerence. Who, indeed, could stop them?
“How do ye fare, Robert?” The sudden appearance of Graham Grant at his side almost startled him off his horse. Only his sense of pride kept Robert’s exhausted body seated in his saddle. His surprise that Graham would be concerned for his well-being was another matter entirely.
“I fare well. You have my thanks for inquiring.”
Then Graham did something else Robert did not expect. He smiled before he kicked his horse’s flanks and raced on ahead.
They had to stop and refresh their horses by a flowing stream. The decision to halt was not Callum’s, though he knew the animals would never make it through the night at the speed with which he and his men rode them if they did not rest. He also knew Argyll would reach Kildun before him, so he ordered his men to make haste.
His gaze cut to a large boulder where Robert Campbell sat alone. Graham joined Kate’s brother a moment later, causing a scowl to mar Callum’s brow. Graham had pleaded for the lad’s life at Kildun, even going so far as to declare Robert Campbell his friend. He near got himself killed this day by protecting Robert yet again. Callum wondered if Graham harbored some fondness toward Argyll’s nephew.
Curiosity got the better of Callum, and he strolled over to where the two men sat together now.
“Robert was just telling me how his small troop arrived at Camlochlin.” Graham looked up briefly when Callum reached them.
“And how was that?” Callum asked and sat right beside Robert, who visibly paled at the sheer size of the MacGregor laird so close. Callum caught the apple Graham tossed him, tore his dagger from his boot, and began slicing.
“We . . .” Robert eyed the dagger. “We climbed along the cliffs from Elgol to Camlochlin.”
“On foot?” Callum asked, sincerely surprised. “’Tis a wonder ye were no’ killed.” He cut a wedge of apple and handed it to Robert.
“We lost men.” Robert accepted the offering and took a bite.
“’Tis a long way doun,” Callum said, then, “Are ye certain ’twas he who killed yer grandfaither? I’ve wondered who was responsible fer that.”
“Aye, he told me.” Robert admitted and then grew quiet again.
“Ye were correct about yer sister,” Graham said, sensing the young Campbell’s unease and hoping to ease it. “She is quite braw.”
Robert smiled before he even realized he did. “Aye, I told you she fears little.” He looked up as Callum rose to his feet.
“We’ve wasted enough time,” the laird snapped. “Get back to yer horses.” He walked off without another word. When he reached the others, he barked at them to move their arses, then leaped into his saddle with surprising grace for a man his size.
Graham rose to follow, but Robert’s voice stopped him.
“I considered you my friend. The first I had, if the truth be known. You led me outdoors that night . . .” Kate’s brother rose to his feet and set his gaze directly on Graham. “Was it an easy thing to betray me?”
What was there to say? It didn’t matter if Graham liked the lad. Their names made them enemies, made them do things they might not have done under another set of circumstances. Finally, Graham shook his head before he turned for his horse. “Nae, ’twas verra difficult, indeed.”
They crossed the narrows a little before dusk and then continued on without stopping again. Robert was bone weary, but he was grateful they did not tarry. And even more that the fearsome Devil MacGregor was going to help him save his sister.
Chapter Forty-One
THEY REACHED INVERARY leaving a trail of whispered rumors that an army of MacGregors was heading south, unharmed and unhindered by a Campbell knight who led them! Callum would have preferred the truth of it be known; they rode unharmed and unhindered thanks to the staggering fear that settled over anyone unfortunate enough to come upon them. They might be an outlawed clan whose heads were used to pardon the most offensive crimes, but they were bloody fierce, and people knew it.
Duncan Campbell knew it, as well, which was why he had wasted no time in gathering his allies to his side on his journey home. Callum and his men found themselves facing an army of Menzies, Drummonds, and Robertsons when they finally arrived at Kildun. True, the men looked less than confident when they saw the feral-looking Highlanders thundering toward them, each warrior taller in the saddle than the next. But Campbell’s army outnumbered the MacGregors by at least two to one, and that, according to Callum’s way of thinking, was what gave them the courage to draw their swords.
Callum was ready for battle—more than that, he was eager for it. He dragged his blade from its sheath and held it up, ready to plow his way through the wall of soldiers and take back the woman he loved.
Robert thundered past him and tugged his reins to a halt a moment before he, too, would have plundered through Duncan’s army. “Put down your weapons!” he called out with all the authority of a king. “Hear me! I am Robert Campbell, grandson of Liam Campbell, Ninth Earl of Argyll. These men have come here at my request to save my sister from the clutches of a madman, Duncan Campbell.”
“You speak treason against the earl,” one of the men shot back.
“Aye,” shouted another. “You ride with MacGregors and would turn your kin over to them. You betray your clan!”
“Nae!” Robert shouted. “It is my uncle who has betrayed his clan by killing his . . .”
