A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,65
remembering to shuffle like a lackey.
A harried maid slammed fresh tankards in front of Gair and Padruig as Stuart resumed his seat. Stuart had not had a chance to drink his first tankard, but Gair and Padruig were experts at putting away ale.
“Macdonald,” Padruig said.
Stuart took a fortifying sip. The ale wasn’t bad, as far as ale went, though he’d had better. “What Macdonald?”
“The lass’s brother.”
Stuart had thought that was who he meant. “Broc. A complete arse. Stay away from him.”
Over my dead body will my sister run off with a Cameron and a rebel! Broc had shouted it at the top of his voice, and Fiona had quietly told Stuart he’d better go.
Broc Macdonald had inherited his father’s lands, becoming laird of the surrounding glen. He had an ancient castle that had been made comfortable with modern furniture and carpets. So why was Fiona not there, warm and snug, even if she’d have to look after the ungrateful swine, and instead out in the deep cold between Inverness and Culloden Moor?
“He has it.”
Stuart snapped back to Padruig. Even Gair ceased his drinking to frown at his partner. “Who has what?” Gair demanded.
“Broc Macdonald has the sgian dubh.”
“Oh, aye? We just spent half an hour picking through that dross, and ye tell me it’s for nothing?”
Stuart eyed Gair calmly. “You only think it a waste because Fiona caught you nicking half of it. Why do you think he has your knife, Padruig?”
“Worth a chance, wasn’t it?” Padruig said. “The young Macdonald lass put me in mind of her brother. He happily watched his kinsmen be slaughtered then picked them clean. I saw him doing it.” Padruig folded his thin lips together, having made the longest speech Stuart had ever heard him utter.
Stuart hadn’t been aware Padruig and Gair had been anywhere near Culloden during the battle, but he said nothing about that. They’d been on hand to help the surviving Mackenzies flee to France in Gair’s rickety ship, true, but he hadn’t realized they’d come in from shore.
“What are ye saying?” Gair asked Padruig. “Ye want the lass to go home and tell her brother to give it up to ye?”
“I’m saying he should.” Padruig flicked a bony forefinger at Stuart. He lifted his tankard. “And we should go along with them.”
Gair regarded his partner in amazement. “When did ye become so daft? It’s Christmas in a few days, and I planned to put me feet up here and wait for Hogmanay.”
Stuart lifted his hand for attention. “What makes you think Broc Macdonald will even let me near his house?”
“Ye have his sister,” Padruig said.
Stuart shook his head. “I haven’t seen the woman in more than a year. That’s nae having her, Padruig.”
Padruig shrugged as though that was something Stuart needed to work out.
“I agree with Gair,” Stuart said. “You’ve run mad. I’ve never heard ye once mention the name of Fiona’s brother or this sgian dubh ye want.”
“The lass brought it to mind.”
So calm was Padruig, as though what he asked was a trifle Stuart could fetch for him in five minutes.
“Help me understand.” Stuart tried to keep his voice steady. “Until I find it for you, I’m to be in your debt and follow you about Scotland like a hostage to your clan?”
Padruig pursed his lips as he thought this through, then gave Stuart a slight nod.
“And if I refuse?” Stuart hadn’t battled for months against King Geordie’s armies, Butcher Cumberland, and the Black Watch, nor survived weeks imprisoned and tortured, to succumb to the whims of Gair and Padruig. “Ye don’t want to cross me, man,” he said to Padruig.
Padruig’s one good eye went icy and the hand that rested on the table tensed. Stuart kept his focus on that hand, which he knew could draw a knife in a flash.
Gair laughed, the sound lost in the general noise of the tavern. “I don’t know why he’s so set on retrieving this knife, lad, but Padruig don’t set on a thing often. Best indulge him.”
Stuart could fight them both—he’d taken on larger and tougher men. But together, Gair and Padruig made a formidable team, especially because they fought dirty, knew more tricks than a pair of weasels, and would not give up until they defeated their foe. They’d not survived this long without that sort of doggedness.
Stuart opened his hands in a gesture of surrender, pretending to relax, though the thought of facing Broc Macdonald and so many memories chilled him. “So be it.”