her into motion, effectively cutting off any further objection the captain could make.
Gregor urged his chestnut stallion after her, leaving Lamond behind.
They rode due east, the low-hanging morning sun nigh blinding in a rare crystalline autumn sky.
The air was sharp against Gregor’s face. It snapped in Birdie’s cloak and swirled in her forest skirts. Her thick chestnut braid bounced on her back as she set a brisk cantering pace. She was easy in the saddle, her shoulders back and her body relaxed yet alive with the movements of the horse.
Despite the fact that he was unfamiliar with the terrain and should be keeping his eyes ahead and alert, Gregor couldn’t help but stare at her.
When they reached the hills that marked the clan border, she turned south. Occasionally, she would lift her voice to be heard over the horses’ hooves, pointing out a clearing where a cow had been stolen or a rocky outcropping where a Gunn plaid had been left in a wordless warning.
As far as Gregor could tell, there was no pattern to the attacks, nor any geographical feature that linked them, other than the fact that they had all taken place along this border. People were usually predictable, though, even when they thought they were being cunning. He’d have to consider that further once they returned to the castle.
When they crested a pine-bristled rise, Birdie reined in. Below, a roofless hut sat tucked in the valley between two hills. A half-dozen men swarmed about, gathering dry bundles of thatch for a new roof.
“This is where the Gunns attacked a fortnight past,” she said, her troubled gaze fixed on the croft. “They set fire to the roof in the middle of the night. It was a miracle Old Ruddy Morgan wasnae hurt.”
One of the men below had noticed them and waved. Birdie dismounted and walked her horse into the valley, so Gregor did the same.
“What brings ye all the way out here, my lady?” a near-toothless, white-haired man asked, squinting at them as they approached.
“I wanted to see how the progress on the new roof was coming along,” she replied, smiling at the others. They all stopped what they were doing and dipped their heads at her, their faces brightening to see the Laird’s daughter among them.
“The last of the burnt thatch has been removed, and the new is dry enough now to use,” the thin old man, who must be Ruddy, said. “If we make the most of the light this day, we’ll be done by sunset.”
Birdie nodded, then gestured toward Gregor. He’d already drawn the curious stares of the men. “I also wanted to introduce Gregor MacLeod. He’ll be helping my father’s men keep yer home and the rest of the border safe.”
That drew some skeptical glances—apparently Lamond wasn’t the only Morgan who was less than keen to involve outsiders in clan matters—but none would gainsay a man who clearly had Birdie’s support.
“Thank ye, my lady, for looking in on me,” Ruddy said, ducking his head.
“Send word to the keep if ye need aught,” she replied, lifting her hand in farewell.
That drew several more bows and reverent murmurs of thanks.
Clearly, Birdie was well-loved and respected by her people. Gregor wondered idly how much clan business the lass handled in lieu of the Laird. She’d said her father was no longer in his prime. With her mother passed, there could be no doubt who was running the keep—and mayhap the clan.
Once they’d remounted, Birdie continued southward. The hills flattened back into the open moors they’d crossed yesterday, but now they rode straight for the towering mass of Ben Loyal.
Snow already dusted the top of the peak, delineating its rugged contours and making it appear to scrape the very heavens.
Despite the crisp, dry air, the ground began to squelch under the horses’ hooves.
Gregor sharpened his gaze on the land. Looking across to the foot of the mountain, the grassy, open moor appeared to stretch unbroken. But upon closer inspection, the ground was a web of grass and moss interlaced with patches of standing water that reflected the clear blue sky above. The moor was giving way to a bog.
Every Highlander knew a bog could be dangerous. Those unfamiliar with the land could easily become lost, and quickly find themselves sinking into mud and muck that had looked like solid ground from only a few feet away.
Gregor trusted Birdie, though. She guided them without hesitation on a weaving path through the marsh. She didn’t slow until they reached the