No one responded, but MacRuairi was only echoing—albeit in harsher, MacRuairi-like terms—what they’d all thought at one time or another. The man who’d been one of their brethren was now an enemy—and a threat to them all.
Except maybe to Gregor. “Is there any news?” he asked.
“The rumors are spreading,” Campbell said. “It’s only a matter of time before your name is being bandied about like MacRuairi’s and Gordon’s. You will need to take precautions.” He looked at him. “Has the lass been told?”
Gregor nodded. “Just today, before you arrived.” He filled them in on the men who’d been in the forest.
MacSorley nodded. “Maybe Hunter will be able to find something when he arrives.”
“I thought he and Striker were in the south with Edward Bruce?”
“They are, but you don’t think they’d miss your wedding? Hell, Arrow, there is no man in Scotland any of us are more eager to see wed,” MacSorley added with a grin. “They and Raider are bringing your dispensation from the good bishop on their way north.” The Bishop of St. Andrews, William Lamberton, was well known to them all. His support had been a huge factor in Bruce’s success thus far.
“I’m surprised Raider can tear himself away from the babe.”
Boyd’s wife—his newEnglishwife—had just given birth to their son a couple of months ago.
“He’s been in the south with Striker and Hunter, but I suspect he’s been making the journey to Kilmarnock often,” Campbell said with a wry smile. “Ice and Saint will arrive with Chief in a few days.”
“And Angel?” Gregor asked. Helen MacKay née Sutherland—Magnus “Saint” MacKay’s wife and Kenneth “Ice” Sutherland’s sister—was a gifted healer and had become the personal physician of the Guard. Unconsciously, he fingered the scar at his neck where he’d been shot with an arrow that should have killed him. Itwouldhave killed him had it not been for Helen. He owed her his life, and it had created a special bond between them—much to her husband’s continued annoyance.
Cate would love her. They were actually quite a bit alike. They were both pursuing interests that had been the preserve of men—Cate with her training in warfare, and Helen as a physician.
“Saint left to fetch her as soon as the king received your message. He knew she’d have his bollocks if he let you wed without her being there to see it. The king, Douglas, and Randolph would be here as well, but they are readying the army to Perth to begin the siege.”
Gregor nodded. It was what he’d expected. “When?”
“A week,” Campbell answered with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m afraid you will only have one night with your bride before we must leave to join him.”
Gregor cursed under his breath. He’d hoped to have at least a few days. Cate would be disappointed. Hell,hewas disappointed.
But at least he’d be ready. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to clear his head, but being with Cate had worked. The past week had relaxed him and reinvigorated him for the battle ahead. It wasn’t just Bruce now; there was Cate as well. He wanted her to be proud of him—to be the kind of man she could count on—and he wouldn’t let either of them down. He hadn’t lost his edge. If anything, the time with Cate had sharpened it. He was eager to pick up his bow and prove it.
“I don’t know,” MacRuairi drawled, giving him a long, knowing look over his tankard of ale. “If the way Arrow was looking at his wee bride tonight was any indication, I’d say he’s already had quite a few wedding nights.”
The black-hearted mercenary who was meaner than a snake and gave true meaning to his bastardy had obviously been around his needling cousin for too long. He was beginning to sound like him.
Gregor shot him a warning glare and told him to go do something that was physically impossible. The bastard only smiled.
Of course, MacSorley—the needling cousin—couldn’t let the matter rest. “Anticipated the wedding night, did you? Is that what happened? We wondered how the lass had gotten those manacles on you so quickly. Although now that I’ve met your wee ward, I understand. That sweet face hides a crafty mind—and I have the bruises to prove it.”
Gregor’s eyes narrowed, the muscles at the back of his shoulders flaring. He leaned forward. “What the hell are you insinuating, Hawk?”
He wasn’t going to let anyone cast any aspersions on Cate or speculate on his motives for marrying her.
MacSorley held up his hand. “Back down, Arrow. No reason to get all prickly. I wasn’t insinuating anything. I’d wager you aren’t the only one seated at this table who has been unable to wait for a priest. We all have our breaking point—I met mine five years ago. We just despaired that you’d ever meet yours, that’s all.” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and grinned. “There’s no shame in being trapped by the right woman. And from what I see, you’ve been good and trapped.”
Gregor relaxed and eased back in his chair. “Go to hell, Hawk. It’s not like that.”
The famed seafarer’s grin turned smug. “I’d say it’s exactly like that.” MacSorley put his hand up to his ear, as if he were listening. “What’s that crashing sound I hear? Must be the sound of all those thousands of hearts breaking across the Highlands. The most handsome shark in the sea has been good and hooked.”
Gregor shook his head. “Hell, Hawk. I’m saying my vows, not taking them.”
MacSorley waved off the protest. “I’ve experienced the lass’s unusual skills firsthand. If I were you, I wouldn’t give her a reason to put a knife to my throat—or anywhere else, for that matter.”
Gregor’s mouth quirked, remembering Cate’s words to the same effect.
“He won’t,” Campbell interjected.
