moving his legs back over the bench. “Come. Let’s go take a look.” He hissed out a breath as his first leg hit the ground on the other side.
Ciaran hurried around the table. He started to grab Marcus’s arm and help him up but settled for handing him his cane. Marcus hated to be coddled. And Ciaran couldn’t blame him. It must be hard not to be able to do something so simple as ride horseback. Oh, Marcus could ride, but he always paid the price the next day. Ciaran had asked him about it once after seeing a long burn scar on Marcus’s leg, but Marcus had just said it was an old injury. Patrick had similar burns on his back. Ciaran had always suspected it had to do with whatever had brought them here. He now knew it was the IN, but he still had no idea of the details.
§ § § §
The lists were only slightly less chaotic than normal. Instead of hacking at one another with swords, his men stood around watching and waiting. The excitement was a palpable thing. It was as if they were waiting for a minstrel to perform, only without chatter.
Patrick stood in front of an archery target very close to Angus, who was pointing a fragger at the target. He nodded at something Patrick was saying, and then he fired the weapon. The shot hit the target near the bottom, far away from the center.
Angus’s audience cheered as if he’d decapitated an enemy with one blow of his sword, and then immediately they quieted… waiting.
Ciaran shook his head in wonder. “If we dinna get better than that, I dinna think our odds will be any better.”
Marcus chuckled beside him. “They will improve. It takes a bit of practice.”
“I hope so.” If not, they weren’t any better off than when they used swords and bows and arrows.
The warriors parted a little, the group on the outside moving in to get a better look, and Ciaran’s gaze was drawn past Patrick.
Louisa, dressed in a lovely gray dress with the MacKay plaid draped over one shoulder, taught one of the warriors in much the same way Patrick was, by standing close enough to grab the weapon if need be.
The men waiting their turn were just as enraptured as the group watching Angus and didn’t seem to mind in the least that their teacher was a woman. Perhaps that’s why they were enraptured? Louisa was a beautiful woman.
Ciaran grinned at the thought. It might be a good way to get them to practice. But where was Red?
He continued his perusal past Louisa and nearly bit his tongue.
Red stood in a similar stance. His hair hung over his forehead nearly to his eyes, but the concentration on his face was a marvel. He was always handsome, but now, he almost looked… dangerous. The intensity was similar to what he’d displayed in battle. It stirred Ciaran. He’d always liked strong men, men who could take care of themselves and fight beside him, and at this moment, Red was very much that man. He had one hand on the bottom of the long fragger he’d confiscated and the other on the shoulder of….
Is that Ian holding the rifle?
“He’s guid with them.” Agatha sidled up next to him.
Ciaran glanced at his aunt. Where had she come from?
As if reading his mind, she dipped her head toward the targets. “I’m waiting on my turn.”
God help them all! “Is that a guid idea?”
“It’s an excellent idea!” Marcus said. “Fraggers are not heavy and unwieldy like your claymores. Anyone can become adept with them, no matter their strength.”
Right. Louisa and Red were shooting. But Aunt Agatha? And Ian? Ciaran’s gaze snapped back to his brother and what Agatha said registered. Them. He searched the surrounding area and found Fiona only a yard or so away from Ian and Red. She wore a kilt… again, so he’d missed her at first.
Ian shot, hitting the target just right of center.
Fiona actually clapped and bounced on her toes a little.
Ian smiled so big, it made him look like the kid he was. He turned to Red, and they slapped hands together over their heads. Red smiled as wide as Ian. Then miracle of miracles, Ian turned to Fiona, and she gave him a thumbs-up. He handed her the fragger, and he slapped her on the back.
Ciaran stared in awe. They were not only not trying to vex each other—they seemed to be getting along and