Page 13 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“Who?”

“Some of the Queen’s maids. They say that there is a small river just past the forest’s edge.”

Rob nodded, and she set off with a grin, tossing her horse’s reins into his hands with a flick. At least she would be in a good mood when she returned. Perhaps she would even be happy enough to talk with him in the same way that she talked with the rest.

As Kenna disappeared, merging into a circle of women that was headed into the trees on the opposite side of the road, in search of the river that lay just beyond, Murtagh came slowly up beside him.

“Off to wash?”

“Aye.”

“Still want me to follow?”

“Aye. But ye aren’t to look, ye ken,” Rob said, patting his sword in a pretend challenge.

“What if I just look at the maids? Oh, no need to pull that weapon, milord. I’ll be a perfect gentleman and make me mother proud.”

“And yer wife as well,” Rob said, making Murtagh roar in laughing agreement as he dismounted and made his way after the women.

Though he and Hugh were yet to find any trace of the Gordons hiding in the forests and hills, Rob still felt a nervous tension clutch him whenever he rode off, especially since Kenna had started spending so much time in the company of the Earl of Sutherland. If rumors were to be believed, the Earl’s wife had gone so far as to order their blacksmiths to blunt the edges of his swords so Sutherland couldn’t possibly hurt himself should he ever become bold enough to draw one from its sheath. Though it pleased Rob, on the one hand, to know that his wife was riding with a man unlikely to ever tempt her away from him, he was also a bit nervous for her safety should the worst happen while he was away.

So, whenever Hugh tried to coax him away from the rest, Rob had done a quick survey of the slow-moving crowd for his wife and would sadly refuse if she was riding alongside Sutherland and Sutherland alone. It had only taken a few times for Hugh to work out Rob’s reasoning.

“Put a guard on her and be done with it,” Hugh had said with an eye roll before muttering a few rather impolite things under his breath about how Rob’s priorities should have been out in the hills rather than the maid in his bed.

Murtagh, the bastard who had ruined his plans to get Kenna begging with a poorly timed headache, had earned the task.

“If she notices ye,” Rob had warned when he issued the order, “I’ll be sure yer flasks are filled with nothing but water ‘til we get back to Dounie.”

The memory waned as the party settled into its usual ritual of unloading piles upon piles of camp supplies—far more than Rob would have deemed necessary. There were trunks upon trunks of clothes, tents dyed in the bright colors of the clans they would house, and enough food to prepare nightly feasts of stew and roasted apples. It was hardly the march of war that Rob had thought it would be when he left Dounie with only a few clothes and the barest collection of supplies.

All down the line, the clans broke off to find their compatriots to set their tents in order, and defendable rows moving out like a spiral from wherever the Queen set her pavilion. Rob set his tent on the edge of the Fraser camp as always, his men giving him coy teases that it was so they wouldn’t hear him and his wife after dark. They weren’t wrong, in a sense. But Rob was more afraid of the men hearing silence than hushed moans.

Though Rob had not left Dounie with the luxuries a woman would wish to have on the road, especially in present company, the trunks upon trunks of Kenna’s things that were now being carted along with them provided extra blankets, a water basin, and plush pillows. As he filled their simple, white tent with these things, he had to admit that it was a pleasant change compared to curling up on the ground with only his plaid and a horse blanket for comfort.

Rob had just finished unloading and unsaddling the horses, in a particularly good mood, when he heard the rapid beat of footfalls behind him. He turned and took a step back, his hand dropping to his dagger, only to find Murtagh, his face flushed and his eyes wide. Rob’s heart began to race. He reached for his horse, ready to race to find Kenna when he saw her, emerging from the trees far behind Murtagh at a dead sprint.

“Sorry, milord.” Murtagh gasped as he sucked in fresh air after skidding to a stop next to Rob. “But I may have been seen.”

“Ye don’t say,” Rob replied through gritted teeth.

“Rob!”

Kenna was now on the edge of the Fraser tents, her hair soaking and her dress clinging to her from being put on before she had dried. Rob thought he had seen her angry before. He thought the little angry quips here and there was bad enough, but no, this was Kenna irate. Her brow was furrowed, crushing her big blue eyes down into harsh slits and her cheeks were as red as new tartan. Her hands were clenched into fists so tightly that they had become as pale as parchment left in the sun for too long. And, Rob understood with a bit of pride, she was quite the runner.

“Damn, she has got some legs on her. I’ll see ye at sup then,” Murtagh said, hustling away just as Kenna came crashing into him, shoving him into their tent as if privacy was necessary and the entire camp hadn’t seen her sprinting at him with steam flying from her ears.

“How was yer wash?” he asked tentatively as soon as the tent flaps closed behind her.

“Ye have yer men watching me?”

“I have one of my men set to guard ye, lass, fer yer protection.”

“Guard? Guard?” Kenna shouted.

“He wasn’t supposed to be seen. I ordered him not to look at any of ye.”

“They are mortified! I am mortified! They’ll be hardpressed to ever speak to me again.”