he’s seventy-six.” Fiona reached out and plucked something out of Ram’s hair. It looked like heather. She held it up and arched a brow.
Ram’s face turned pink, and he snatched the sprig from her fingers. “Uh, that may be my fault. I told Bridget.” Bridget was Frasier’s niece and apparently Ram’s newest lover. Och, but the man worked fast. “Ye’ve only been back ten minutes.”
Ram’s blush got darker. “I only needed five.”
Fiona snorted. “I wouldnae brag about that if I were ye.”
“Ciaran!” The stable door slammed open again. This time it was Angus who poked his head in. “Greer hasnae….” His gaze lit on the group of them, and he stopped.
They all looked at him.
Angus gawked at Fiona, and he did a double take. “Och! Lass, what are ye wearing?”
Before Fiona could give Angus the “go to hell” look she’d given him and Ram, Ciaran held up a hand, the hand that still held the object he’d found. “What about Greer?”
“What?” Angus looked at him. “Oh, Greer has nae made it back from the Campbells yet. But I sent a group out tae the crash site tae bury the bodies.”
“Guid.” Ciaran opened his hand. In his palm lay a small round disc with the emblem of a bird with outstretched wings. Not just any bird, but an eagle. The same eagle he’d seen on the fabric from seats in the wrecked ship. “He’s hiding something.”
Ram stepped to the end of Horace’s stall and held out the slate. “Aye, but then so are we, or had ye forgotten?”
§ § § §
Ellenwine Castle, the Campbell keep, on Campbell land, twelve kilometers west of MacKay territory
Marcus was well and truly stuck; he couldn’t even get his leg to obey. Bloody hell, this rained meteors. He thought about moving it, even willed it to move, but his leg had disconnected from his brain. “Bugger!”
Leaning his head back against the battlement wall, he stared up at the cloudy sky in disgust. After the accident, his leg was good for only one thing—pain. But even now, it didn’t match the ache in his chest at the moment, and that was a pang that wouldn’t go away until he could see the riders clearly. He’d spotted the light of their torches twenty minutes ago, but now they were close enough he could actually tell how many of them there were, assuming he could get his decrepit arse off the cold stone floor.
Using his other leg and his arms, Marcus tried to scoot over to the crenel opposite him but got tangled in his cloak. So he rolled onto his left side and got his good knee under him. He gripped his cane in his right hand and tried to get his right knee up with his left. A sharp stabbing sensation arced through his thigh and up his spine. He pounded on the offending limb, trying to work the kinks out, but he didn’t have much luck. Stars, that hurt. Tears welled behind his eyes, but he kept them at bay. The pain in his chest and his need to see the riders was stronger than the throbbing in his leg and back. It was a gnawing need, like his life depended on it. And in some respects, it did. Marcus used all his upper body strength and sheer determination to get his leg under him and get to his feet.
Leaning against the battlement wall, he stared at the riders as they approached the barbican and under the portcullis. There were three of them, thank galaxy, and they looked no worse for wear. They chatted and laughed among themselves, their voices carrying all the way up the battlements. The tightness in Marcus’s chest didn’t ease up until he spotted the nearly white tresses blowing in the breeze.
Patrick always did hate things on his head. He sat tall in the saddle, with an inborn pride that made him look bigger than he was. He stood out like a shiny new penny among stones in the midst of the other two riders, with their dark cloaks and dark hair. Patrick moved with the easy gait of the horse, like a man who spent a lot of time in the saddle. And he did. Nearly as much time as he spent training with a sword. As if sensing him, Patrick looked up as he approached the castle.
Their gazes met, and that connection they’d always shared flared to life inside Marcus. Relief stole his breath, and his chest loosened its stranglehold