“How is Ellie?” MacGregor asked innocently. “I’ve been meaning to drop in for a visit next time she visits Campbell’s wife at Dunstaffnage.”
The taunting grin fell from MacSorley’s face. His expression darkened, turning instantly deadly. “You aren’t going anywhere near my wife, MacGregor—not unless I’m there with her.”
Gregor quirked a brow and smirked. “Worried, Hawk? I thought you hung the moon and stars in your wife’s eyes?”
“More like prudent,” Campbell interjected dryly. “Even the smartest lass can be a little blinded and act silly around you. Believe me, MacSorley here isn’t the only one to be relieved to hear you’ve finally been snared.”
“Aye, so where is the lass who finally got her claws in you, Slick?” MacSorley added. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Cate, who’d been standing at his side as he welcomed his brethren, had finally exceeded her patience. She drew off her coif, poked him in the chest with her finger, blew a wisp of hair away from her adorably dirt-smudged face, and glared at him. “Aye, Slick”—she shot a glance to a stunned MacSorley—“a fitting nickname, by the way. Aren’t you forgetting someone when you are discussing all these ‘lasses’?”
“Bloody hell, MacGregor,” MacRuairi said, “it’s a lass!”
“A lass pinned you down?” MacSorley said. He looked up as if the gods were smiling on him (which they usually were). “Thank you!”
No doubt the seafarer was thanking them for the future fodder. But Gregor would cure his friend of that belief soon enough, when he let MacSorley be the first one to practice with his soon-to-be bride. The unsuspecting Viking would be on his back in seconds. He couldn’t wait.
But introductions had to come first. Once made, not even the normally expressionless MacRuairi could hide his surprise. He could read their minds. This cute, wee lass in a simple tunic, hose, and mail was the woman he’d chosen for his bride? Damned right! He eyed them all challengingly, almost daring one of them to say—or think—anything.
Campbell came forward first and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. You’ll have to excuse our jesting. We meant no offense. It’s just that we don’t often see MacGregor here bested by anyone, let alone a squire—or a lass,” he added with smile.
Cate looked up at his partner warmly. “I am not easily offended, my lord…Campbell?” she added, with a confused look to Gregor.
Gregor smiled wryly, guessing the source of that confusion. The Campbells and MacGregors had been locked in a vicious feud before the war broke out, and probably would be again once it was over. Indeed, it was their enmity in the early days of the Highland Guard that had given Tor MacLeod the idea to make him and Campbell partners.
God knew, it wasn’t the only unlikely pairing. But it had worked. He and Campbell were like brothers now. Too bad all the pairings could not have worked out so well, he mused, thinking of Seton and Boyd. The Guard was still reeling from the defection of “Sir” Alex Seton. The England-born, Scotland-raised knight had been an ill pairing with the fierce patriot Robbie Boyd from the start. But no one had ever imagined he would betray them.
Turning from this troubling thought, Gregor smiled at Cate. “Aye, you heard that right: Campbell. It turns out this one has a few redeeming qualities. He’s a quiet bastard, though, so don’t let him surprise you.”
Cate looked up at him and said in a low voice, “Are they…?”
He quirked his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed.
Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded. He’d known it was going to be impossible to keep the others’ identities a secret from her once she knew the truth about him. Although this was certainly faster than he anticipated, as he hadn’t known his brethren were coming.
Discovering why they were here, however, would have to wait. Nothing was going to make him miss the opportunity to see MacSorley on his arse.
Hours later, the four men were gathered around the large table in the solar. Gregor sipped his wine, trying not to grin as the seafarer shifted on the wooden bench.
MacSorley’s sore backside hadn’t been Gregor’s only reward. He was also nursing a nice black eye that he’d earned when Cate’s elbow jabbed harder than she’d intended. Cate had been horrified, MacSorley had been silenced, and Gregor and the others had laughed until they cried.
“Hell, Arrow,” MacSorley said, grabbing a nearby cushion to slide onto the seat. “I can’t believe you taught your wee ward all our secrets. I never imagined a lass could learn to fight like that.”
“It was John mostly.” He grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she? I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it myself.”
“Just don’t let my wife see it,” MacRuairi said dryly. “I have a hard enough time keeping her away from the battlefield. God knows what she’d do if she got it in her mind that women could fight.”
He shuddered reflexively, and Gregor tried not to smile. Talk about unlikely pairings. MacRuairi, the mercenary without loyalties, had wed one of Scotland’s fiercest patriots, Bella MacDuff, the former Countess of Buchan.
“Your betrothed is small, but surprisingly quick and agile,” Campbell said. “She moves like…”
His voice dropped off. They all guessed what he had been about to say, and sobered.Like Seton.
“Has there been any word?” Gregor asked quietly.
Campbell shook his head. “So far he’s kept his vow.”
“Keptonevow, you mean,” MacRuairi interjected darkly. “He may not have shared our names with the English, but he betrayed us in every other way that matters. ‘Sir’ Alex had better stay in London and pray he never finds himself face-to-face with one of us on the battlefield. I would enjoy sticking my blade in his back to repay the favor.”
