Regardless of how the marriage had occurred, Ranulf had proved himself to be a fine laird, one that guarded the southern Glen Coe MacDonald lands with Nordic ferocity.
With the five Highlanders crowded into his study, Seamus choked with stuffiness and propped the narrow window open. His study had a view of the aged portcullis gate, where he could see whoever decided to enter the castle grounds proper. Seamus studied the dirt path rimmed by new growth of tender green shoots. Spring had begun to unwrap winter’s cold grasp and warmer weather had become the norm. Right now, in his study cramped with the thick bodies and thicker musk of his men, he wished the cooler weather had hung on longer.
“Why have ye called us here?” Ranulf asked, his voice low and full of caution and with good reason.
The village right on the border in his demesne had been reived by Campbells, and he and his men were infuriated at the continued antagonism. Yet the Campbells represented the sitting king, and a strike against the Campbells without evidence or provocation was seen as a strike against the crown. As the MacDonalds had not signed the oath of loyalty, any retribution on the Campbells was a dangerous proposition indeed.
“Ian, please share what ye wrote me earlier.” Seamus kept his face toward his window as he spoke.
Ian moved closer to Seamus’s desk and faced his brother-by-law and nephews.
“Nigh a fortnight ago, a few village women were walking back from the village. ‘Twas later in the day, but sunlight skill graced the earth. Several highway men accosted them, and one woman was gravely attacked.” Ian narrowed his eyes at the men, and they took his meaning. She hadn’t only been attacked, but violated. Such things happened on the larger roads that crossed several clan lands, but upon one’s own lands on a smaller road deep in MacDonald territory? That did not bode well.
Reade shifted uncomfortably. ‘Twas more to this tale, he was certain.
“Do ye know who these highwaymen were?” he asked. Ranulf grunted next to him and nodded. They had an idea about who these villains were.
“The woman who managed to keep her wits about her gave a description of raggedy men in blue-green Campbell plaid.”
Ranulf’s grunting turned to grumbling. He had confronted them directly before, and this was going to make his position close to the clan borders much more precarious. What wouldn’t the Campbells do to bring the MacDonalds and their allies under the thumb of the foreign king? Reade shuddered at the thought, and at the realization that Blair could have easily been taken by the Campbells after they had slain her husband, and what might she have suffered from them? The prospect of any harm befalling Blair made him grind his teeth until they ached. His father turned to face them.
To know that Campbells and their brigands were traipsing around MacDonald lands caused the vein in his father’s forehead to throb, and Reade didn’t blame him. Reade wanted to leave right then, right with his brothers, cousins, and fellow kinsmen, and slaughter the Campbells that bordered their lands, just for spite. Having to wait on a Jacobite uprising was agonizing trepidation — Reade didn’t have the patience for government machinations.
“They grow bold because ye are on the border to their lands. We did no’ believe they’d try that farther inland, yet here we are. We must stop these attacks before they press any farther north,” Seamus announced. “These interlopers will learn that if they poke the Highland bear, the bear will fight back.” Seamus stepped to his desk and drew out a rough map of their Glenachulish MacDonald lands and the surrounding clans. “Here and here are the smaller paths that fork off the main road. Here’s where women were attacked. And Ranulf has had continued encounters here at the border. These tributary roads,” Seamus explained as he swept his finger over a large area of the map, “is where we should heighten our guard. Start searching the MacDonald lands in earnest. I’ll assemble the Glenachulish warriors if ye and Ranulf do the same.”
Seamus tipped his head at Ian, who nodded his assent. They would work together to staunch the plague of Campbell leeches that sought to suck the life from the MacDonalds and other Jacobite Highlanders.
Ranulf grunted again. “I appreciate this, Seamus. Perchance ‘tis what we need, a larger show of force. These Campbells are arrogant, to be sure.”
“To be sure,” Seamus agreed, “but no’ a one of them can count past ten without removing a shoe.”
The men chortled at Seamus’s assessment of the Campbells, then with one hand, Seamus reached to a narrow sideboard and skillfully nipped five narrow glasses with his fingers. He set the glasses at the edge of his desk, then grabbed another glass and a decanter of goldenusige beatha. Seamus poured a heavy drink for each of the men and himself. Then he lifted his glass high in the air. Reade and the other men followed.
“To the king across the water,” Seamus intoned. Every man knew of whom Seamus spoke — of the rightful King James presently taking refuge in France.
“The king across the water,” they chanted back and slammed the whiskey in a large gulp.
Reade had spent theday scouting with other MacDonalds, and from what Blair could surmise from the chatter at the keep, MacDonalds from the far reaches of the Glen Coe lands searched for Campbells. Why they were searching or which specific Campbells, Blair couldn’t guess, but it relieved her that if Paden had decided to return and search her out, the MacDonald riders would send him scampering back under whatever rock he’d crawled out of.
If they didn’t kill him first.
Blair tied her hair back with a kertch and spent the day with Mairi and Adaira in the kitchens, making bannocks. Sorcha preferred to make as many as possible for the week rather than making them daily, which meant a flurry of oat flour on baking day. In Sorcha’s mind, a clan should never run out of bannocks. Even if there was no other food for an entire clan, there should be bannocks.
“They hold,” she said with a smile before she left the women. Adaira rolled up her tight sleeves, and with a smile wider than her mother’s, tossed a pinch of oat flour at them.
Her joy was infectious, and soon they were both laughing along with Adaira. Blair had never met anyone who found bliss in the most mundane of tasks, as if living that day was enough to bring happiness, and she bit the inside of her cheek as she laughed along with the other woman. Adaira was the type of lass who had a smile at the ready for anyone she met, yet her smiles this morning may have been a result of a series of communiques that had arrived for Seamus the day before. Blair had peeked at Adaira as the lass had excitedly accepted one letter tied with a blue ribbon. A suitor, perchance? From the wistful look on Adaira’s face as she carried the missive to her private quarters, that was most likely the case. A fortunate man her suitor was to have a beloved as amiable and joyous as Adaira.
Thinking on Adaira’s possible love interest made Blair think of Reade, of their recent openness in both their feelings and their bodies, in the heady emotions he induced in her as of late. She might have gone so far as to say shelovedthe bear of a man, with his flashing green eyes and rash behavior, if she could say she knew what love was. That was part of the problem. Could she identify love if she had it?
Her heart fluttered deep in her breast. She liked to think might be able admit it to herself, but their relationship and their trust in each other was too fresh to speak it aloud. Blair didn’t have the courage to tell him directly how she felt about him.
As she rolled out the oat dough, a provocative idea came to her head. Something that might let Reade know that her trust in him had grown. That she had come to care for him . . .
“Och, and what brings such a smile to your face?” Adaira teased, snapping Blair from her lewd thoughts.
“Oh! Nay, I mean naught. I’m —”
“Thinking on your barrel-chested Reade,” Mairi quipped to finish her sentence, and the ladies erupted in chirps of laughter.
