up here on Skye instead of in a grave. They owed that thanks to Admiral Jenkins. “I guess there is our proof that it has been the IN attacking Skye.”
“Yeah,” Patrick mumbled.
After that everyone got really quiet. So much for their proof. It seemed hopeless, because the IN was so big, and there just wasn’t much they could do, stuck on Skye….
A group of men dressed in plaid hurried out of the building and into the ship.
“Let me see the glass.” Marcus grabbed the spyglass from Patrick.
More men came out of the base when the first group emerged from the shuttle a few moments later, carrying a crate. Then, like clockwork, more men came and retrieved more crates. A few of the men were dressed in black, but most wore plaid. MacLean plaid.
Patrick sucked in a breath.
Ciaran whispered, “Bugger.”
The inevitable finally hit Marcus. “We may have to break in there before they get the gate up.”
Everyone stared at him, but no one said anything.
Bannon’s eyes widened, Ciaran just stared at him, and Patrick….
Well, Patrick seemed to be thinking it over and forming a plan. He had his deep-thought face on. His brow furrowed and his lips pursed. Galaxy bless him. It was no wonder Marcus loved him so much. Finally he nodded.
“Why risk it?” Bannon asked. “Why not just wait till we are rescued and let King Steven and King-Consort Raleigh deal with it?”
Marcus’s heart thudded harder, and a sinking feeling settled in his gut. He’d been avoiding the truth, lying to himself, but now…. He couldn’t keep pretending. “Because I can’t make a satellite to contact Regelence. There just aren’t enough of the right materials. It was a miracle I was able to make chargers for the fraggers.”
No one said anything for several moments, and then Patrick rested his hand in the middle of Marcus’s back. A show of comfort and support. “We need to do more surveillance before we plan an infiltration.”
“We can use MacLean plaid,” Ciaran offered.
Again things fell silent as they all watched the men move crates, but Marcus was aware of Bannon wilting beside him. His heart ached for him. Marcus knew all too well what it was like to be away from his home with very little chance of getting back. At least he’d had Patrick with him. Reaching over, he covered Bannon’s hand with his.
Bannon squeezed his fingers. “I still think Captain Kindros will show up looking for me….” He winced, then amended, “For survivors.”
Marcus smiled. At least he was trying to look on the bright side, but Marcus didn’t have much faith in any IN, even the supposed good guys.
After that, everyone seemed to get lost in their own head as they watched the goings-on in front of them. At least thirty crates were offloaded before the shuttle left. There was no sign of their men, but they’d ascertained that the IN was responsible and that the MacLeans were involved. The question was, now what? Could Marcus get inside and send a message to Steven?
Marcus was still pondering it as they rode toward Lochwood Castle.
They crossed through the village and slowed their pace, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.
Lochwood Village was a typical Skye village. There were businesses on the one main road leading to the castle, with residences scattered around farther from the castle gates. Everything was spaced several yards apart, for privacy or perhaps safety. The roofs were thatched, and if one caught fire… well, it wouldn’t take long for them to all go up. The more space between would likely slow the inevitable disaster down.
The small village was dark this time of night. Even the tavern was quiet, if not for a few chickens and sheep inside small paddocks beside some of the homes. A soft breeze rattled some leaves blown in from the wood nearby. It was oddly comforting, but it reminded Marcus a bit of a ghost town or what he assumed a ghost town would look like from his reading. They passed the local furrier, with the skins flying nearly off the racks and back down like a flag flapping. The blacksmith’s forge was still surrounded by warmth, though the fire had long since gone out. The crudely drawn sign, with a needle and thread over the seamstress’s shoppe, swung on its chains, and somewhere close by a dog barked. After all these years, Marcus was still not used to the absence of an electrical hum or the soft swish of a lift going by