“What do ye mean, she escaped?” Luthais screamed and swore, kicking at the ground. It took skill and strength for the trio of riders to keep their mounts in place, as the poor beasts could do nothing but react to Luthais and his screams.

Fergus hurried to the group, followed by his friends. “What is this?” he demanded, looking to the riders for an answer as it was clear he’d get none from his uncle. The man appeared close to apoplexy.

One of the riders explained. “We received word from the Reid escorts, who asked us to bring the message to the Campbell house. Moira Reid escaped the four Reids assigned to escort her here. They are currently looking everywhere for her, or else they would have brought the news themselves.”

“I suppose that is one way to avoid marriage,” Quinn whispered from behind him.

He had to hand it to her, whoever she had become as an adult; the lass had courage and skill if she was able to escape as she had. Tyrone Reid would not assign four riders to the task if they were not the best he had to call upon.

And she had done him a great favor, as well.

He would always thank her for it.

Luthais glared at him as though he could read his nephew’s thoughts. “I suppose this has something to do with ye,” he spat.

Fergus had been certain his uncle could surprise him no further. “How could it? Ye told me fewer than twelve hours ago of your plans to wed me to the lass.”

There was no argument his uncle could make to counter this, so he consoled himself with a few more colorful turns of phrase before storming into the house. The riders appeared all too relieved to ride away.

Which left Fergus with Rodric and Quinn, the three of them looking at each other with equally dazed expressions.

“I suppose that is the end of that,” Rodric suggested with a shrug. “Ye are no longer under obligation and might do as ye wish.”

“I suppose so.” It was a great relief, to be certain, but it had come so suddenly as to leave him somewhat unsettled.

“Will ye come with us, then?” Quinn was all but prepared to mount up and ride away, it seemed.

Fergus could not blame him for his haste, as the Campbell household was hardly a pleasant place even in the best of times.

With Luthais storming about the place as he was, swearing up and down and throwing anything he laid hands upon, it went from unpleasant to dangerous.

Though he did not wish to spend another minute, he did feel as though he could exhibit the same haste.

“I must first speak with my father,” he relented. “And ye have somewhere ye need to be. I shall meet with ye at Padraig’s, or perhaps at the inn. I had planned to meet with Murphy there.”

“We shall see ye soon, and if we see Murphy first, we’ll tell him ye have business with him,” Quinn promised as he untied his gelding from the post. “Ride with care.”

“And the same to ye,” Fergus replied, only partly paying attention to the words which came from his mouth. The question of what to say to his father weighed far heavier on his mind.

Tavis was where his son had expected to find him—in Luthais’s study, cringing as the man screamed and railed against him, against the Reids, against everything in his line of sight.

Including Fergus, who observed from the doorway.

“I ought to have known a matter involving ye or your worthless son would end in such a manner,” Luthais growled, lifting a mug and pulling his arm back as though he prepared to hurl the thing at Tavis’s head.

This stirred Fergus to action, and he was quick to place himself between the two men. “Neither my father nor I have anything to do with this,” he snarled, looking at his uncle as he would have regarded an enemy on the field of battle. Would that he might bury his dirk in the man’s chest and watch him die.

“Nay?” Luthais asked with a barking laugh. “Perhaps if the prospect of marrying ye were more attractive, the lass would not have taken such a risk. She would rather place herself in mortal danger than marry the likes of ye.”

“Or perhaps she was just as disgusted at the notion of being sold into marriage as I was. Perhaps it was ye who bargained badly when ye made this plan for us,” Fergus argued before turning to his father and helping him into a chair.

It was clear the news had taken the strength from him, which was to say nothing of the abuse he’d sustained thanks to his brother-in-law.

“I am sorry, lad,” he murmured, shaking his head with a mournful frown. “This was all for naught.”

Guilt and disappointment battled for control in Fergus’s mind. He merely patted his ill, aging father’s shoulder before whirling about to face his uncle.

“You will see to it that my father is well cared for until he recovers from his illness,” he demanded. “If the man is ill, it is your doing. Bringing him all this way, and for what? To press him into accepting this scheme of yours.”

“Scheme?” Luthais turned purple once again, shaking with fury. “How dare ye, when this is the best match ye could possibly have hoped for?”

“Ye insist on saying this, but I find it difficult to believe. Especially as I have no wish for a match with any woman, ever. As I said, ye will see to my father’s comfort, and ye will drop the entire matter.”

“I will do no such thing,” Luthais hissed.

Fergus had expected nothing less. “Then I will bring my friends here to visit ye, along with a rather unpleasant band of cutthroats with whom I’ve become acquainted over the years.” When his uncle sneered, Fergus raised his voice to add, “I will also bring the full force of both the Anderson and Duncan clans at my back. If it’s war you’re looking for, Luthais Campbell, ‘tis war you’ve found if ye cross me.”

This was another matter entirely. To threaten with a handful of rogues such as himself was little bother to a man with a small army at his disposal.

To threaten such strength as Fergus knew would come to his aid—for neither Padraig Anderson nor Phillip Duncan could abide the evil of a man who took advantage of a smaller, weaker man—was another.

Luthais Campbell had few allies, having run off those his father had cultivated in years past with his tempers, his distrust of those surrounding him. After Moira’s escape, Tyrone Reid would not wish to align himself with one who might suddenly decide to take vengeance.

He would have no one to call upon should an invasion take place.

He backed down, as Fergus knew he would. “Aye, it shall be done.” How he gritted his teeth when he said it.

“I swear to ye, if I receive word he’s been treated with anything less than he deserves…”

“I tell ye, he shall be comfortable under my roof,” Luthais growled.

Fergus held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary before returning his attention to Tavis, who seemed to shrink into the chair he sat upon.

It pained Fergus to leave his father in that terrible place, where his much stronger brother-in-law might wear him down until there was nothing left. While the men were roughly the same age, a life of daily work and deprivation during the times work was slow showed itself in Tavis’s stooped stature and thin frame.

At the same time, Luthais looked as strong as a bear and would gladly fight one when his blood as up, as it was at that moment.

It seemed the height of cruelty to leave his father in the clutches of one who could needle and scream and berate him incessantly if given leave to do so, and yet it would be cruel to force the man into days of hard going when he was already ill.

“Come,” Fergus said as he helped the old man from the chair. “We shall go to your chambers, where you might rest.”

Luthais cursed them both as they made their slow way down the corridor and toward the wide, crumbling staircase.

Not only was the house unwieldy, but it was also poorly maintained.

“He will not give up his scheme so easily,” Tavis warned as they took one slow step at a time.

“I am aware of this,” Fergus muttered under his breath.

“If they find the lass, he will not allow her to escape again.”

“I am aware of this as well.”

“What will ye do now?” Tavis turned to him when they reached his bedchamber, a room similar to the one in which Fergus had spent the morning. With the deep hearth and a window through which the fresh southern air and sunlight might enter, it was as good a room as any in which his father might convalesce.

“I shall go on as I have been,” Fergus shrugged. “It is all I can do. Before then, however, I will see Brice. And his wife and bairn.”

Tavis’s eyes lit up. “I’m going to be a grandfather?”

“Ye may very well be right now,” Fergus smiled, softening at the sight of his father’s joy.

“A grandchild.” He shook his head, his voice soft with awe. “I never would have imagined it.”

“Aye, it appears as though one of your sons managed to make something of his life. As one would expect, it was he and not myself.”

Tavis’s expression hardened. “That is unfair.”

“Unfair, perhaps, but true.” Fergus left him then, returning to his chambers to gather his things—he had not emptied his packs, seeing as how he had not intended to stay, so there was nothing to do but fetch them and carry them to the stables to secure on his horse.

“I hope ye had your rest,” he murmured, stroking the gelding’s neck, “for we have more riding to do. Though our task is not as urgent now.”

Just the same, he would not take his time. He knew a close escape when he was in the midst of one, and this was one of the closest he had ever experienced.