The barmaid shrugged – it was her answer and his dismissal.
Reade opened his mouth to speak, but Maddock elbowed him, warning him to keep his rash words under control. Better to keep quiet about their intentions than be bull-headed about it. Instead, Reade ground his jaw, the desire to shake an answer from her burning in his stomach, but he was already on Campbell lands, and she was merely a lass without answers. He returned with his brother outside.
“What did they say?” Hewie, one of his father’s warriors, called out.
Reade skulked to his horse and mounted. “They dinna ken Paden or his whereabouts.”
“Are we going to the next town? Something larger than this village? They might know where the lout might be.” Conall asked. His horse whinnied, as if asking the very same.
Maddock and Reade shared a look. If it were Reade’s decision alone, he’d tell them to ride to every croft and town until they found the lugabout. Maddock’s more level look, however, gave Reade pause.
What would it serve to look past the border villages? And who would share information about Paden’s location, if he even was in the Campbells’ lands? He could just as easily be hiding in Cameron or Steward lands, or in the surrounding trees. Who was to say he wasn’t hiding out in McDonalds’ own woods and had managed to elude the MacDonald scouts?
Reade hated the uncertainty of it all.
Maddock moved his horse next to Reade’s and leaned over close to him.
“Unless ye want to start a war with the Campbells this day and no’ find Paden,” he lectured in a low voice, “mayhap we should return. There’s but eight of us. And Father would tan our hides if any of us misstep and end up clapped in irons at Fort William. Let us come up with a better strategy. Ravaging the Campbells lands is perchance no’ the best way to find the man. If he’s even here.”
Reade rubbed his palm against his jaw. Maddock’s words had merit, as did his statement that Paden might not even be on these lands. ‘Twas like searching for a ghost. And his father had instructed that they do not draw too much attention, if they could manage. Any deeper into Campbell territory and they would surely do that, if word of their appearance hadn’t already made it to the local laird or Breadalbane Campbell himself. Maddock was right – ‘twouldn’t do to give the Campbells and the king’s soldiers a reason to drag them to The Garrison. Reade ran his fingers through his wild, damp hair.
“Maddock has the right of it. We will inquire at every croft and village we pass as we return to MacDonald lands. Then we will begin a search of the surrounding southeaster woodlands, a more intensive one. ‘Tis a more sound venture, aye?”
Hewie grumbled, but the other men nodded. They might want their sword to taste Campbell blood, but not be outnumbered in doing so. Reade wrapped his reins around his hand and jerked his horse northwest, back toward the road that let into his lands.
Only a few crofts sat between them and their border, none of whom had ever heard of Paden Gordon. They might be lying, but what evidence did Reade have to the contrary? None. While they had been eager for this undertaking, now he could see that ‘twas rushed and no’ thought out as well as it should be. Like Reade, Seamus and the men had reacted without much forethought. Reade flicked his eyes to his more evenly tempered brother. Mayhap ‘twas why Maddock rode with them, to be the voice of reason on this rash endeavor.
The tree line marking the MacDonald border was visible from the road, mere lengths away, but a jangling sound in the distance caught their attention. Reade curbed back on the reins, slowing his steed, and wrangled the horse around.
Reade’s chest leapt at the sight of Campbells, a handful of them, coming around the bend in the road, riding hard. Mud kicked up, splattering the horses and the bedraggled men who rode them.
Was it Paden? Or had the local laird sent in reinforcements?
Campbells, aye, but not ones sent on behalf of the laird. And not Paden and his men.
These were rough men, worn, with tattered kilts, mangy hair, and worn weapons.
Highwaymen.
The same ones that had attacked Ranulf’s kin? Or Ian’s lass on the road?
Mayhap they are, Reade thought bitterly.
Hot fury boiled in Reade’s head. He reached over his shoulder and slid his claymore from its scabbard at his back.
“Fraoch eilean!” he shouted and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks.
Maddock and the other men followed, shouting their war cries and unsheathing their swords.
Reade leaned over his horse and focused on the lead man, a lanky fellow in torn plaid and carrying a nicked sword. The man sat up tall in his saddle, intending to bring his sword down on Reade’s head.
The fool couldn’t be more obvious about it,Reade thought.Never let your enemy anticipate your move.
Just before his sword was in reach of the wretch, Reade shifted his heels into the horse and jerked on the reins. His horse canted to the man’s right side instead of his left, and he wasn’t able to account for it in time. Reade’s sword sliced against the man’s midsection and slid through his right side in a bloody spray. The man collapsed hard against his horse’s neck, bouncing once before he slumped to the ground.
His brothers and the other MacDonalds galloped around him, raining their swords down on the remaining ruffians. The clang of blades echoed across the narrow glen as the MacDonalds dispatched the highwaymen.
If they had been the ones to attack Ian or Ranulf’s land, they would never do so again. The riderless Campbell horses pawed at the blood-soaked ground. Maddock instructed his men to gather their reins and lead them home.
