like this. He was only meant to solve this problem with the Gunns, not entangle himself with Birdie in this web of forbidden desire. Doing so was threatening his ability to think straight—which was further delaying him from returning to his true mission. As he knew all too well, his army wasn’t going to build itself.
Och, but there was the rub. The more this damned clan feud dragged on, the longer he had to stay here—with Birdie. It was a bloody good incentive to fail.
But if he continued to linger with her, shirking his responsibility to his country and ignoring his pledge to the other Horsemen, what kind of man was he? Not the kind who’d vowed at five and ten to stand up and fight for the weak, the helpless, and the innocent, in the name of what was right.
And of course the longer he stayed, the greater the danger that he wouldn’t be able to let Birdie go, even when the time came…
Belatedly, Gregor realized he’d changed course, guiding his horse not back toward the castle, but in the direction of the bog at the foot of Ben Loyal.
It was a good place to set aside his tangled thoughts and lose himself for a time. He could gather his wits and chew on what came next later, but for now, all his attention would be taken focusing on the bog so as not to tread into danger.
All was quiet except for the faint squelching of his horse’s hooves in the soft, damp grass. The sky overhead was rapidly lightening from the deep blue of night to the pale wash of pre-dawn. A bird darted by on silent wings, hunting the moths that occasionally fluttered up from the grass.
Gregor found himself pointing toward the rocky outcropping where Birdie had stopped to show him the iron ore. He vaguely remembered the route she’d taken, ensuring that they would remain on sturdy turf rather than sink into the deceptively thick mud, so he picked his way along the same course.
When he reached the solid gray stone, he dismounted, rolling his shoulders and neck. His gaze landed on a patch of red-brown mud smeared over the rock a few paces away.
Taking a step closer, Gregor eyed the streaks of mud. They almost looked like boot prints, but that didn’t make any sense. Gregor had been keeping every able-bodied man who could be spared busy with patrolling the border—including those who usually scoured the bog for iron ore.
As far as Gregor knew, none had been to the bog in more than a sennight. Mayhap Laird Morgan had instructed a few of the men to return to their work harvesting iron without Gregor’s knowledge. Or rather, mayhap Birdie had, since she was the one making most of the clan’s decisions.
Even still, it had rained just last eve, before he and the men had set out from the castle for their nightly patrol. Any mud the harvesters might have tracked onto the stones would have been washed away.
“MacLeod!”
Gregor’s head snapped up to find Lamond a long stone’s throw away atop his horse. He lifted a hand in a tired greeting.
Gregor released a hissing exhalation. Christ, he hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been strung until he’d nearly leapt out of his skin at Lamond’s interruption.
As he remounted and nudged his horse toward where Lamond waited, he tucked away the strange presence of the mud. He’d have to ask the Laird—or Birdie—about it later. Another opportunity to be alone with her was all too tempting.
“The men on the northerly border have all been sent back home,” Lamond said when Gregor drew up by his side. “And I thought ye might want company on yer ride back to the castle.”
“There is much to discuss,” Gregor replied, suddenly weary to his bones. “We’ll need to start from scratch with our approach—again.”
Lamond exhaled. “Aye.”
“But no’ just yet. I cannae think straight at this ungodly hour,” Gregor grumbled. “A new plan can wait until we’ve caught a few winks and a warm bite to eat.”
Lamond cast him a speculative glance. “Verra well.”
They rode in an amiable silence for a time, for which Gregor was grateful. Over the last fortnight, Lamond had gone from a sour, almost antagonistic opponent to a partner of sorts as they’d worked together on this matter with the Gunns.
Though Gregor much preferred this new, agreeable side of the captain to the surly, hostile one he’d met a fortnight past, he couldn’t help but wonder at the change.
“Tell