of MacKay warriors. A man had his pride, after all.
Promptly ignoring his fretting consort, Marcus leaned forward to see Ram. “You were plotting revenge on Ciaran for the swim in the moat? That was ages ago.” Marcus grinned at the memory. Several summers past, before Ewan MacKay was murdered and Ciaran and Ram returned to Lochwood, Ciaran had tossed them in the Campbell moat. It had taken them both a dunk in the creek and two baths with Glenna’s special lavender soap to get the stench out. Marcus had burned their kilts and shirts.
“Exactly. He’ll never see it coming.”
“In all fairness, you both had that coming for teasing him about his crush on the blacksmith.”
Ram snorted. “The man was—” He waved his hand around as if trying to find the word. “—honkin’.”
Chuckling, Marcus shook his head. “Yes, he did… still does smell bad. I think he bathes only once every summer in the creek.” And what a sight that was.
“Smells more like he bathes in the moat.”
It really did. Probably all the hours sweating in the blacksmith hut. He was a handsome fellow, though, with his long reddish blond hair and his brawny arms and chest, and he rarely wore a shirt. All that hard work pounding metal showed.
Marcus’s mare seemed to sense how close they were to a nice stable and some hay, because she hurried her pace. The trot was hell on Marcus’s back and leg, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels in and let his mount have her head. That helped. Her gait evened out as she hit her stride.
Patrick and Ramsey did likewise, following his lead. The horses were not the only ones ready for some supper and a nice bed. They left the other five clansmen behind, running toward the castle. It hadn’t started as a race, but it turned into one. They were neck and neck the whole way, none of the three of them willing to concede defeat.
Marcus continued the pace until he crested the top of the hill. Loch Sterling’s surface looked like glass reflecting Lochwood Castle’s powerful visage. Slowly the sights and sounds of clan MacKay gathered around them as the men with him reined in, all of them slowing. The wagon and other men were still a ways behind them. With a grin, Marcus glanced at his opponents, who’d also slowed.
The exhilaration of winning didn’t last long. The throbbing in his hip and leg radiated pain through his back. It was all Marcus could do to keep his gaze on the gate as it rose up, allowing them entrance.
Several guardsmen called out hellos.
Marcus raised a hand in greeting, gritting his teeth against the twinge it caused. There was no two ways about it—he was going to need help getting off his horse. With any luck he could convince Patrick to take them somewhere a little more private. Steering his mare toward the lists, he turned to ask, preparing himself for the scolding, but then a commotion sounded in front of them.
“What is that? You’d think everyone would be in bed at this time.” Patrick clucked his tongue and changed direction toward the courtyard.
So much for the privacy of the lists. Galaxy help him, Marcus was drained. Sweat had started popping out on his forehead due to the pain. He needed a hot soak in a tub, but it appeared that was going to wait a little longer.
Ram shrugged and followed Patrick. “It’s probably Ciaran waiting fer a progress report.”
It was all Marcus could do not to whine “Can’t that wait….” He had things to tell Ciaran and Bannon too, but first… a hot bath and a pint of liniment, maybe a gallon. Or better yet, maybe he could just bathe in the liniment. Glenna had sent four bottles with him yesterday when he’d left the Campbell keep.
Inside the courtyard, at the foot of the keep, stood two Campbells: Douglas and Ross, Laird Campbell’s oldest son. Ciaran, Bannon, and Angus stood on the steps. “Apparently, it isn’t Ciaran who couldn’t wait for a report. Looks like Patrick’s men.” They’d been waiting for a report from the men Patrick sent to the building site yesterday.
The men all turned as they approached. Something in the way they held themselves and the blank expressions made a shiver wrack through Marcus. Then he noticed two MacKay women weeping a few yards away.
Patrick slid off his horse, walked to the two Campbells, and slapped them both on