“So you’re not then. No wonder your hair’s uncovered. I might have guessed. Cam MacGregor would choose a harlot above my pure Gertrude.”
Cam stiffened in his seat but before he could say anything, Rachel spoke. “Actually, I am. Not that it should matter one bit.”
He picked up an onion and bit into it. “It matters.”
“Why? Can’t marry someone who’s been sullied, is that it? You’re all right there. I haven’t even been close to sullying. Sully and me live very far apart. Opposite sides of the globe in fact.”
Cam had had enough. “We are not here to discuss my upcoming nuptials,” he said, pushing his trencher away. “We are here to work together to fight the darkness that sweeps this land. Bickering will not solve that. Our enemy would be most gratified to know we sit here arguing this and that while he draws ever closer.”
Hamish drained his goblet and then belched loudly. “We did not arrange a marriage in the midst of a war though did we?”
“Enough,” Hubert snapped. “When is your patrol due back?”
“One of them deserted at Wicke,” Hamish said, puffing his chest out proudly. “Cam had him tossed off the cliff rather than tell us what he saw.”
Cam waited for the ripple of talk to die down. “Is this true?” Hubert called across to him.
“Once again your son takes gossip and turns it into fact.”
“So you say there was no deserter?”
“One of my men did desert, that much is true.”
“So where is he? What did he say of the barefoot man?”
“Nothing. He threw himself off the cliff rather than return to face justice.”
“Liar!” Hamish shouted. “You murdered him.”
“Hamish,” Hubert roared. “You will be silent for the rest of the meal or I will personally cram this goblet so far down your throat you will never speak again. Is that clear?”
Hamish went to open his mouth and Hubert raised an eyebrow. His mouth closed a second later and remained closed.
Cam nodded to the other clan chief before continuing. “The rest of the patrol are due back any day and we must be patient. Once we have the news they bring, only then can we discuss tactics. You are all welcome to stay here until they return.”
“The virgin should be sacrificed.”
“Who said that?” Cam asked, looking around the room. He looked in vain but the idea spread like a wave, growing stronger as each voice took up the cry. “Aye, a sacrifice.”
“We must appease the Old Gods.”
“The barefoot man cannot be fought.”
“We must beg for their help.”
“Sacrifice at midnight, like in the old days.”
“Enough!” Cam shouted loud enough to quell them all. They looked at him but he saw what was in their eyes, especially when they looked at Rachel. He stood up and looked from one face to another. “The laws of the Highlands still apply. If a sacrifice was called for, the Laird would choose the one to be sacrificed. Last time I looked, I was Laird of this clan. There is no call for that barbaric practice anymore. Our enemy is a man and we fight him as men, not as heathens. I am in charge and there will be no more talk of sacrifice. If any of you wish to challenge me you do so now and you better make sure your sword is sharp.”
He waited. No one said a word. “No? Then enjoy the meal we have provided in kinship and drink well. Where is the blasted cook? My goblet needs refilling.”
He sat back down and tore off a hunk of meat from the chicken carcass in front of him. As he chewed his impatience grew. Where was the cook? She was embarrassing him in front of the MacKenzies.
“I will be back,” he said to Rachel, getting to his feet.
“Please,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Don’t leave me with them. I don’t trust them.”
He tapped the top of her hand with his own. “Dinnae worry. You are under my protection. No harm will come to you. I swear it.”
