The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,106

responses to the youngling’s endless chatter as civil as possible—curt but polite. Four long days of companionship it had been. Time that should’ve been peaceful. A pleasant summer ride through the Highlands. But by the furies in every level of Hades, the hours had been anything but quiet. It ended today. He had tolerated all he could stand. “Shut it, aye?”

Evander Cameron, the eldest of his brother-in-arms’ adopted sons, shrugged away the command, then urged his horse into the lead. The lad didn’t give a rat’s furry arse about Magnus’s sour mood nor the blatant insult his mother, Gretna, had dealt to them both. She had shamed them in front of the entire keep, swearing they both needed a lesson in the proper treatment of women, and perhaps the chore of fetching Magnus’s lately discovered illegitimate son might impress upon them how actions always had consequences. How dare she say such a thing in front of everyone.

His guilt regarding this situation weighed heavier than his massive warhorse. Remorse about leaving the Lady Bree Maxwell alone and pregnant pricked his conscience just as greatly as if he had knowingly deserted her, which he hadn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t meant to leave her in such a state.

Hell’s fire, how had she gotten with child so easily? It had been but a single encounter. He had known at the time it was foolhardy, but the lovely lass had made it impossible to refuse. Her father’s edict for her to marry a man renowned for his cruelty had forced her to seek release from the betrothal by the most defiant way she knew. If she couldn’t marry for love, she would at least lose her virginity in friendship. She’d hoped it would free her from the despicable union, even if it meant imprisonment in a nunnery. She had been so desperate—and oh-so enticing. When he had told her he didn’t love her, she’d laughed! Said it didn’t matter. Now, even without that blasted emotion, look where he’d ended up.

“What was their clan’s name again?” Evander called back. “We shouldha seen their keep by now because there’s a village up there a way. See the white of the buildings against the blue of the sea beyond? Is that not Inbhir Theòrsa? Ye said Inbhir Theòrsa was the last village before we reached the water’s edge. Ye said if we made it there afore we found the keep, we’d somehow missed and gone too far.”

“I am well aware of what I said,” Magnus snapped. As much as he hated to admit it, the boy was right. They should’ve reached the keep by now. How the hell had they not?

Oblivious to his elder’s sharp tone, Evander tilted his head and squinted up at the brilliance of the sunny sky. “Hear those birds a keenin’? Is that what terns sound like?”

“Aye. Those are terns.” Magnus frowned as he turned his mount and scanned the landscape behind them. An eerie uneasiness stirred deep in his bones. “Their clan is Nithdane,” he added, more to keep the boy from repeating his question, and hopefully, delay him in coming up with any new ones. He needed silence to study the area. Something was sorely amiss.

“Ye did say the keep was well before the village, aye? Said they were separated by a good distance but still within view?”

Ignoring Evander, Magnus urged his mount off the dirt path and backtracked. In the distance loomed an overgrown mound of charred stones he didn’t remember from before. He headed for it at a dead gallop, dread churning in his gut. Once he reached the ruin, he pulled up short. What had once been tall, imposing walls were now crumbling piles of rubble bleached white as old bones. The dark greening of moss covered the debris closest to the ground. Bits of charred wood and twisted remnants of rusting metal peeped out from clumps of sedge and thickets of nettle. Nithdane Keep was no more.

“Is this…or was this it?” Evander asked, reining in beside him.

The lad dismounted and poked around the tumbled down shell of what had once been a decent-sized keep. Not a massive fortress, but good enough to make a small clan like Nithdane proud. When the lad came upon a rotting post with a skull at its base, he backed away, crossing himself with every step. “What do ye reckon happened to them all?”

“Back to yer horse.” Magnus refused to dismount and disturb Nithdane Keep’s ghosts. He turned his beast toward the