The Scot's Quest - Keira Montclair Page 0,2

movement of his eyes or his head. Rarely did anyone question him—even now, many years after his sons had officially taken over the leadership of the clan.

The laughter of two bairns carried to them, putting a wide smile on the old man’s face. A wee lassie and a wee laddie came racing across the courtyard.

“Seanair, watch this. We racing!” John, Alasdair’s son, pointed to a tree a short distance away and nodded to the wee lassie next to him.

“Go!” she said.

The two ran to the tree, laughing and giggling all along the way. John touched the tree a few seconds ahead of the lass. “Coira, I won. Do again. Then you win.”

Grandfather nodded, apparently satisfied with the lad’s approach to his play, then kept moving. “You’re a fine runner, John. Continue your practice.”

Watching the bairns reminded her of her own childhood. Of the way she, Alasdair, Els, and Alick used to carry on together. Although the lads had all been born on the same night, something that had bonded them together, Dyna, born a year and a half later, had always been a part of their group. At three summers, she used to guide their games. She had always been the one to help put a stop to their bickering and battles and propel them to more interesting activities.

When she was about ten summers, her grandsire had told her that the lads had no idea she controlled them. From then on, she had paid attention to the way the lads played with her, and it soon became clear that he was right. They did whatever she did. One time, they had even followed her straight through a deep puddle of mud that she’d managed to side-step at the last possible moment.

Els had entered first, Alick following him in blindly. Alasdair, usually a bit more alert than the others, had caught himself just in time, saving himself from a drenching.

Alick’s mother had bellowed from across the courtyard. “Alick, those were new boots you just muddied up.” Alick had stopped in the middle of the muck, slightly in shock, while Els climbed out of the other side.

Grandsire’s laughter had carried to her from the parapets. She had many fond memories of playing with her cousins, one of the many reasons she enjoyed watching John and Coira.

As the wee ones took off for another race, Dyna and her grandsire continued on to the MacLintock keep. Just before Grandsire opened the door, he whispered something in her ear.

“And so it begins again.”

She’d been thinking the same.

***

Derric Corbett ended his sparring with another of Bruce’s warriors, wiping the sweat from his brow. He’d removed his tunic because it was a warm day in early autumn, and he didn’t wish to dirty one of the few tops he had.

“You’ve built up, Corbett,” his sparring partner said. “Just from your swordplay?”

“Aye.”

“Apurpose?”

“Aye. Have you not seen the Grant warriors? Especially the cousins? They’re all bigger than any other warriors. They claim ’tis from swordplay.” He grabbed a skin of ale and downed two swigs. There was a breeze at the moment, something he loved to feel across his body.

The only thing that would feel better was Dyna Grant—her hands, her breasts, her lips… Would she notice his new bulk?

That thought got a reaction from his traitorous groin, just like it always did, so he spun around and headed to the nearby burn to throw cold water on his face.

It was there Robert the Bruce caught up with him. Dark-haired and clean shaven, King Robert had a dignified look one didn’t often see in a man who spent much of his time living in the forests. He looked more tired than usual, battle weary, but he was relentless in his pursuit of the claim to his title as King of Scotland. The capture of his wife and other family members showed in the lines in his face, but his eyes still demonstrated a keen mind. Their king believed in stealth and cunning over brute battle strength.

“King Robert,” Derric said, nodding to him as he dipped his cupped hands into the water and threw the cool refreshment across his face and neck.

“Corbett. I was searching for you. I forgot to tell you something. A lass named Senga came looking for you when I sent you on patrol two moons ago, said she’d known you last year. She was a drifter, following my camp, but she asked specifically after you. Do you recall her?”

He stopped, remembering the lass with golden hair,