One
1360
Abernathy, Scotland
Sorcha was supposed to be asleep, but her father’s yelling had awakened her. Of course, she could have stayed abed, which was what she knew she should do, as it was not yet even dawn, but she’d always had trouble doing what she was supposed to do. Her mother, God rest her soul, had said it was because Sorcha had needed to battle her way into this world, turned the wrong way as she had been in her mother’s stomach, and then she’d been born sickly and had to struggle to stay alive. Mother had always said Sorcha was a natural-born fighter.
Unfortunately, that is not the accepted thing for a lady to be, Mother had always added with a sigh.
Hearing her brother Finn’s voice rise up in protest to something Father was saying, Sorcha quickly donned a gown and slippers and crept down the stairs, staying low. Her legs trembled from both her nerves and her crouched position. If Father caught her, she feared he’d marry her off in a fit of anger, as he had done to her sister, Constance, several months prior, not even a fortnight after Mother had died. Poor Constance had never even been disobedient like Sorcha, not until the day Father caught her in the arms of one of his commanders. Father had yelled that the Earl of Angus’s daughter was not supposed to waste her worth on a mere commander. All the years of Constance’s meek, obedient behavior had not saved her from Father’s anger.
It had taken only a sennight after the discovery of the kiss and Constance was gone, married off to the Earl of Mar, who had shamelessly arrived to collect Constance with his mistress on his arm. The earl had informed her sister in front of a room full of people, Sorcha included, that he expected an heir immediately or Constance could anticipate the same treatment his first wife had received. If the cook’s whispers were correct, the earl’s first wife had met with her death in a most suspicious manner. Sorcha knew by Constance’s letters that she was absolutely miserable. The earl was a cruel, selfish man who kept his mistress in the room across the hall from Constance.
Directly after Father had married Constance off, he had told Sorcha in plain terms that if she disobeyed him one more time, he’d find a husband for her that made the Earl of Mar seem saintly. She didn’t doubt him for a breath. He’d threatened it several times in the past few weeks, too, and she had spent many a sleepless night worried about to whom he might marry her.
When her mother had been alive, Sorcha had kept the slightest hope that she might one day have the good fortune of marrying a man she cared for, as Mother had often managed to influence Father’s choices and treatment of them without him seeming to realize it. It was one of the great secrets Sorcha and her siblings knew but never dared to utter aloud. Thanks to Mother, Sorcha had been allowed to learn to read and write, Constance had not been married off at fifteen as Father had wanted, merely so he could gain land, and Finn had been able to avoid going to war after Mother had convinced Father that Finn’s talents were needed at home. Her brother had a quick mind for arguments but no skills as a warrior, a fact Mother and Sorcha had often done their best to help Finn disguise. Yet Father knew and was cruel to Finn because of it.
Mother had managed to protect him for a bit, but not one day after her death, Father had demanded Finn go to battle. And it had only taken that one battle for him to realize the full extent of how his son, his heir, was not the man he hoped. Now Father was determined to make Finn a warrior.
Sorcha peered over the top of the stairs toward the open door of the great hall. She could see Finn’s profile as he stood just inside the door. The man next to him was much taller and broader, but all she could see was a wide expanse of shoulders. With care, she moved down one step and then another until she could see curly dark hair, a chin covered with dark stubble, and the side of a square jaw. Her stomach twisted with recognition—Hugo, the Earl of Ross’s son. His arms were crossed in his usual arrogant and annoying manner.
She nearly groaned. What was he doing here? She narrowed her gaze on Hugo. The man had absolutely no compassion for others, which was only one of the reasons she did not care for him.
She shimmied down another three steps, craned her neck to see if anyone had turned toward her, and dashed off the steps and to the left, where she could see fully into the room.
Her brother’s and Hugo’s backs were now to her, and upon the dais sat her father, Hugo’s father, and two men she did not recognize. She instantly knew they were wealthy, however, by the richness of their cloaks and the many men hovering about them. She glanced over her shoulder toward the stairs and the direction of her bedchamber. If she were wise, she would go back to bed and keep doing her best to go unnoticed by her father. She prayed that at the upcoming feast, she might finally meet a man that truly stirred her and that, God willing, the meeting would lead to a love match that Father would accept. Or one that she would be willing to defy him to secure.
Her stomach flipped at the prospect of marrying a virtual stranger, but her stomach turned to hard knots at the thought of being forced to marry someone like the Earl of Mar, who would treat her like a brood mare, or Hugo, who would forever think himself better than her simply because he was a man. She wished to have a marriage like the one her aunt, Blanche, Baroness Wake of Layton, had found. Blanche had disobeyed her and mother’s father’s wishes long ago by running off into the night with an Englishman she had met at a tournament and had truly loved.
So far, Sorcha had only met men with whom she didn’t care to be in the same room, let alone spend the rest of her life.
“Finn!” Her father’s booming voice made her flinch. “Ye’ve failed me again!”
Sorcha winced, and her heart clenched for her brother, imagining how their father’s cruel words likely made him feel. Finn had once been a happy child, but over the years, he had become an angry man, and Sorcha suspected it was because he could not please Father. She didn’t know for certain, because he no longer confided in her. It seemed the more she tried to help, the more scornful he became. It didn’t improve the matter that Father had often pointed out to Finn that she had more skill as a warrior than he did.
She could sense his resentment when he was around her, but he was her brother, her twin, and she loved him still. Because of this, she found herself creeping to the alcove under the stairs so she could see and hear better.
She watched as Father moved off the dais and advanced toward Finn, whose shoulders visibly stiffened at their father’s approach. Father’s boots thudded against the floor as he strode across the room and stopped directly in front of Finn. “Ye had one simple task,” he snarled. “Kill Katherine Mortimer.”
Sorcha’s breath caught deep in her throat, and she found herself pressing as far back into the shadowy, dusty alcove as she could. Her back met with the wall, and she inhaled a long breath of the musty air, trying to calm her suddenly racing heart. Father had ordered a woman’s death? Sorcha had long ago lost the notion that her father was a good man, yet to order a woman to be killed? And who was Katherine Mortimer?
Finn turned his head, and even from the cobwebbed alcove, she could see the side of his jaw set in anger. “The king’s mistress was heavily guarded.”
Gooseflesh prickled across Sorcha’s entire body, and her scalp tingled with fear. Father had ordered the king’s mistress killed?
Treason! Her father had committed treason and drawn Finn into it with him!
But why? Why?
She bit her lip, fearing she knew the answer. The king had been steadily stripping the nobles—her father included—of power, and the nobles were starting to rebel. She wrapped her arms around her waist, her heart pounding nearly out of her chest.
“Ye should have planned for guards!” Father rebuked, jabbing his finger into Finn’s chest. “King David would guard his mistress well! Anyone who is nae a clot-heid would ken this. He is obsessed with the woman, which is precisely why I ordered ye to kill her!” Father shot out a gloved hand and smacked Finn so hard that her brother stumbled into Hugo. A disdainful look swept across Hugo’s face as he shoved Finn away from him.
Sorcha pressed farther into the alcove, but there was nowhere to go. The wall blocked any retreat. For a moment, she wished desperately that she had stayed abed and had not heard this exchange, but with a squeeze of her eyes and another long breath, she pushed the thought away. Mother had always told her that everyone had secrets. Some would kill you slowly with the keeping, some would kill you quickly when revealed, and others would shape who you were. Secrets could make you better or worse, depending on if you learned from them. The trick was to know which was which. This was most definitely a secret that could get them all killed if King David learned of it. Thank God above that her brother had failed to murder the king’s mistress.
Finn straightened his shoulders and stood tall, his eyes glittering dangerously. Sorcha sucked in a breath, certain he was about to finally make a stand against Father. “I’ll hunt her down,” he said instead, causing bile to rise in Sorcha’s throat. “Even if I die in the process, I vow I’ll nae fail ye again.”
Sorcha trembled even as her father snorted. “If only yer vow held the weight of a capable warrior.”
Finn seemed to grow smaller before Sorcha’s eyes. His shoulders hunched, and his head dipped forward as if in shame. Usually, she would feel his woe at being dismissed so by their father, but all she could feel was horror. Finn intended to kill a woman because Father had commanded it; her brother was further gone than she had realized. Feeling powerless to stop it or to help him, she dug her nails into her palms, the edges cutting into her sensitive flesh.
“All is nae lost,” Hugo said. His strong confident voice rang of secrets that wielded power. “I ken where Katherine’s party is going and the path they are taking.”
Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “And how did ye come by such information?”
Hugo turned to speak to her father, and she could see that one side of his mouth had pulled into a pompous smile. “I joined with one of Katherine’s maids two days ago in Edinburgh. Once I learned who she was, it occurred to me I could get information out of the wench that might aid our cause.”
Her father chuckled. “What a sacrifice ye’ve made, Hugo.”
Now Hugo chuckled. The sound of his mirth at the dastardly thing he had done made Sorcha cringe. “I’ve nae a doubt I can overcome Katherine’s party and kill her,” Hugo said. “They are headed through the Caledonian Forest on the westernmost side, following the trail of the Marching Oaks.”
Sorcha’s stomach roiled at Hugo’s offer. The man never did anything that he did not think would benefit him somehow, and she had a horrible suspicion…
“What would ye wish in return for completing the mission that was assigned to Finn by myself and the others?” Sorcha’s father asked, waving a hand toward the two men who still sat at the dais.
Other rich nobles, she presumed, angry that King David was taking their land and giving it to commoners he thought more loyal. Of course, he was right. Her father and these “others” were not devoted to King David. In truth, they detested him because he would not let them influence the way he ruled.
Hugo turned to face the dais. “I would do anything to aid ye,” he said and glanced to her father before looking back at the dais, “and my lords Stewart and March in your quest.”
It was just like Hugo to avoid a direct question. He had to want something quite important to show such reluctance to reveal what it was until he felt certain of her father’s answer. Sorcha did not miss how Hugo’s gaze flicked to his father, the Earl of Ross, nor how the earl gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval at his son’s words. The churning in her stomach turned so violent that she doubled over a bit, feeling sick.
“Of course ye would, Hugo,” Sorcha’s father said lazily. “We all ken ye want what’s best for Scotland, as each of us certainly does. The king surely does, as well, though he seems to have forgotten that having us, the nobles, work with him to rule is what’s best for Scotland.”
Sorcha barely resisted the urge to grunt her disgust. Now that she knew who the noblemen in attendance in the room were, it was undeniable that each of them—from her father to King David’s own nephew, the Steward—were not gathered here out of concern for Scotland. They were here to ensure they kept their power, just as she had guessed. Apparently, they had decided to strike at King David through his mistress to show the king they could hurt him despite the fact that he was king.
“Still,” her father spoke again, “for risking yer life to help us tell David that without us by his side nae even his beloved mistress is safe, we—” her father waved a hand behind him to the men who sat silently on the dais “—would wish to reward ye for yer aid. Tell me, what sort of reward would ye care for?” It was a command more than a question; he was clearly weary of Hugo’s stalling.
“If it pleases ye, my lord, I’d like to marry yer daughter,” Hugo responded, finally revealing what he had been after.
A gasp escaped Sorcha, and she slapped a trembling hand over her mouth. Her pulse raced when Hugo’s gaze shifted in her direction. For one long moment, she felt his eyes searching the darkness, and she feared greatly that somehow he could see her. She held her breath, but he looked at her father again. She exhaled, placing her palms flat against the walls to either side of her because her legs felt as if they might buckle beneath her.
“That certainly pleases me,” her father replied so easily that tears instantly pricked Sorcha’s eyes. He knew she did not wish to marry Hugo, did not even care for him, but none of that mattered to her father. She did not matter to him. He had bartered her away without so much as blinking.
Her throat tightened as the tears blurred her vision then slid down her cheeks in twin paths of warm, wet betrayal. She swiped angrily at them. She had understood for many years that Father considered her and her sister possessions to be used for gain, but she had never feared greatly what might come to pass because she believed Mother would somehow influence him. Sorcha had foolishly relied upon that knowledge for her future. But Mother was gone. Constance was gone.
Father clapped Hugo on the shoulder. “Once the deed is done, return to me and Sorcha will be yers, along with Blair Castle, which I will give to her as a wedding gift.”
“Father!” Finn burst out.
Sorcha flinched, fearing what was to come, and within a breath, Finn’s head jerked violently to the right when the back of their father’s hand struck his cheek.
“Ye’re nae worthy to command Blair Castle,” Father snarled.
She cringed at the words. Blair Castle had been given to him by King David when he had helped negotiate the king’s release from captivity in England just three years earlier. Father had promised the castle to Finn when he finally proved himself a worthy warrior.
She glanced to her brother and bit her lip, hoping he would not do or say anything that would make the situation worse. Finn turned so that she had a direct view of his face, and much to her relief, he pressed his lips into a thin white line as his cheeks turned a blotchy red. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but he did not speak.
She started to exhale a relieved breath when Father spoke. “Ye are nae worthy of the Stewart name, Finn. So help me, I will make a warrior out of ye if it kills me. Ye will ride with Hugo to hunt Katherine’s party, ye will watch how a real warrior completes a mission, and then ye will return and serve as guard to yer sister as she makes her way to Blair Castle to rule it by Hugo’s side.” He paused. “And when Hugo deems ye to finally be a true warrior, ye may return to me and command my men, and someday, when I die, you may rule this castle. But if ye’re never deemed worthy, as God is my witness, I’ll give this castle and all others to the children Sorcha bears Hugo.”
She cut her gaze to Hugo, who was struggling not to smirk. Panic swept through her at what was unfolding. If Hugo was successful and she did nothing to stop him, she would be a party to murder, not to mention she would become the man’s wife. She could not live with herself if she did not try to prevent an innocent woman from being murdered, and she certainly did not want to be chained to Hugo forever. Yet, if he wasn’t successful and he was captured, or worse, Finn was captured, they may well all hang by the king’s command once he traced the order back to the lords in this room.
She ground her teeth. She knew where the trail of the Marching Oaks was, and if she fled now, she had a very good chance of reaching Katherine before Hugo, Finn, and the others. She thanked heaven that her uncle Brom had secretly taught her how to ride a horse. She was an excellent rider, but if she did this, there might very well be no returning home if her betrayal was discovered by Hugo or his men. They’d tell her father and he’d brand her a traitor, and she shivered to think how Father might punish her. Marriage to Hugo surely would seem a blessing.
She pushed the fear out of her mind. She had to save the king’s mistress, not to mention herself from Hugo and her brother from doing something so dreadful as to be party to the murder of the king’s mistress.
Taking a deep breath, she crept out of the shadowy alcove and raced out of the castle. She had intended to take the most direct path to the stables, but to her horror, Hugo’s men were already gathered in the courtyard, dressed battle-ready like Hugo and mounted on their destriers, as if waiting to depart as quickly as possible when the order came. She ducked back into the castle and made her way quickly to the rear door that led to the gardens.
Running now, she raced through the gardens toward the stables. She burst through the door, not at all surprised to see her uncle sitting on a stump talking to the horses. Brom was more comfortable around animals than he was around most people, so he was in the stables much of the time. He turned toward her, a childlike smile pulling at his lips. His eyes had always reminded her of Father’s, but Brom’s were kind, unlike his brother’s. His gaze darted all around her, yet never settled on her. Her throat tightened with emotion. She could flee to her aunt Blanche’s home if her betrayal was discovered, but Brom and Finn were the two reasons she had not done so after her mother had died and Constance had been married off so callously by Father.
Brom had the big, burly body of a strong warrior but the mind of a child, and Finn had the mind of a man but not the will of a fighter, nor the spine to stand against Father. She feared what would become of both of them if she left. Sorcha was the only one other than Mother who had ever been able to calm Brom when he was agitated and could get him to talk at all. Her fears for Finn were entirely different but just as real. There was a desperation in him that had grown more and more each year, fed by Father’s criticism and the pressure to become a coldhearted warrior—and man. She feared he was becoming just that, and she could not idly watch it happen.
She walked slowly toward Brom, though the urge to hurry swirled inside her. She had no idea how long she had before her brother, Hugo, and his men departed, but approaching Brom quickly had always been a sure way to agitate him. She paused close enough that she could get him to look at her but not so close that he would strike her if he became fearful and swung out. Brom would never intentionally hurt her, but when he was fearful, he became crazed.
“Brom,” she said firmly, clapping her hands to get his attention.
His gaze flittered over her, then came back to her and settled. The small smile on Brom’s face grew huge. “Sissy,” he crooned.
She’d told Brom more times than she could remember that she was his niece, but in his mind, he always thought of her as his sister. “Brom, I need to ride out quickly. Will you help me ready Summerset?”
He glanced to the door behind her, and a crease appeared between his brows, causing his smile to disappear. “Dark now,” he said, his sparse words heralding his brewing agitation. Brom loved routine and hated anything that disrupted it.
“Brom,” she said, making her voice stern. “I must ride out now. Someone needs my help. Ready Summerset.”
Her uncle shook his head violently, his shaggy hair whipping from side to side. “Dark now,” he repeated. “Dangerous and dark.”
Sorcha looked toward the castle. Her time to gain a lead was quickly disappearing. “A woman’s life is in danger. I must save her.”
“Dark and dangerous. Dark and dangerous,” Brom sang, his deep voice rising in volume and reverberating through the stables, causing the horse in front of him to neigh and dance.
Sorcha blew out a frustrated breath. She had not anticipated Brom’s response to her request, and she knew that if she tried to charge past him, he would likely swoop her up and march her straight to the castle. She saw no other way to get to Summerset than to trick him, as much as she hated it.
“Aye, I suppose ye’re correct,” she lied. “’Tis too dark to ride now. I’d like to sit with ye a spell though. Will ye fetch my stump from under the oak?”
Brom’s eyebrows dipped together, and she knew he was trying to decide if her sitting here at this hour was too much of a change from what usually occurred, so she hurriedly added, “Please, Brom. Father is in a mood.”
A fearful look swept across Brom’s face. Her uncle may have the mind of a child, but even children could remember what happened when a parent was angry. “The switch hurts.”
Her throat tightened. Brom well knew the switch hurt, as Father had used it on him many times. On Finn, as well, but never on her, Constance, or Mother. Still, she nodded so he’d do as she’d asked. “Aye.” The word caught in her throat with anger and sadness. “The switch does hurt. Will ye get the stump so I may sit with ye until Father’s mood passes?”
He nodded, rose to his towering height of nearly six and a half feet, and started toward the door as he chanted, “Get stump. Get stump. Brom get stump for Sissy.” She hated to leave Brom to deal with Father’s wrath, but there was no choice. He was too unpredictable to take with her.
The second he rounded out of sight, she raced to Summerset’s stall, threw open the door, saddled and bridled the beast, and then led the horse outside. Immediately, voices assaulted her ears. Pinpricks raced across her skin as the flickering of torches lit up the night.
“We ride fast and hard and on my command,” Hugo said to his men, alerting her to the fact that he had come outside fast on her own flight from the castle.
Sorcha didn’t wait to hear more. She swung onto Summerset’s back and turned her away from the oncoming party and toward the woods that would lead them to the trail of the Marching Oaks. The sound of her breath and her thundering heart filled her ears, but as she entered the woods, a high, keening pitch broke through her fear.
“Sissy! Sissy!” Brom called.
Her heart ached at having to leave her uncle, but she would come back for him, no matter what. She stole one glance over her shoulder and met Hugo’s shocked stare before righting herself, nudging Summerset into a gallop, and racing into the forest. She was fast on a horse but so was Hugo. And unlike her, he was accustomed to riding in the dark. She could only pray she would reach the king’s mistress before Hugo did.
Cameron’s senses were on alert as he guided his horse, Winthrop, slowly through the black woods that would take them back home. He rode at the front of the party tasked with guarding King David’s mistress, Katherine Mortimer, as they traveled to Dunvegan to be reunited with the king. Being in the lead meant that he was the first to see signs of danger and warn the others, and he was the first to take any arrows that may be shot at them if he failed to recognize a threat. He welcomed the challenge. For five years, he had worked tirelessly to prove he was worthy of such responsibility and equal to his legendary brothers. This was his chance to attain all he had long desired. That knowledge had been with him since a fortnight ago when they had first left Dunvegan, and it was with him now on the last leg of the journey home.
The darkness penetrated almost everything now that they had entered the thickest part of the forest, yet it did not cause him fear. After years of hunting and tracking through this area, he could travel the land in his sleep. He could not see the roots growing up from the mossy forest floor, yet he knew they were there, so he took care to keep his pace slow. He knew just ahead was the trail of the Marching Oaks because they had traversed four hills, rounded six corners, and crossed two streams. With the Marching Oaks would come such blackness it would feel to those who were not used to it that it swallowed their very soul. The gnarled tree branches would rise on either side of them, the thick leaves blocking all light. But to him, the darkness meant greater protection from ambush, which is why he had chosen this route.
Just before the start of the trail lay a stream, and its trickling water whispered against his ear. He stopped and reached out to his right, brushing his fingertips along the rough branch of the first oak, and then he turned his attention to listening for any sound that was not natural to the forest. The wind whistled, and behind him, leaves crunched and twigs snapped as the men in his party brought their horses to a stop, obeying his silent command. The majority of the men were MacLeod-born, and of those who were not, two of them served King David and the other two served Alex MacLean. It meant that on this mission they served him, the leader, without question.
As if Alex could sense that Cameron had thought of him, the MacLean laird brought his horse up beside Cameron’s. The slow, steady breath of the beasts filled the silence, but there was something else in the air—a low hum that reminded him of the vibrating sound of many galloping horses. “Do ye hear the hum?” Cameron asked Alex in a low voice.
Alex’s brow furrowed as he cocked his head to listen. “I kinnae say for certain. What does it sound like to ye?”
“Horses galloping,” Cameron replied, scrubbing a hand across his chin. The softness gave him pause, until he recalled he had shaved his beard before they left for home.
They sat in silence listening, but he could no longer hear the sound. Maybe he’d imagined it, or maybe the whistling wind merely now disguised it… His gut tightened as he strained to hear, and his muscles twitched in anticipation of what might be coming. An uneasy feeling swirled inside him. In the past several years of strife among the Scottish clans, he’d learned to trust his instincts. And after Graham had almost died defending Iain’s and Lachlan’s wives two years prior, Cameron also learned that in order to be the best warrior he could be, he had to rid himself of the fear that he would never match the skill of his brothers. He still wanted to be as skilled as they were, but he no longer worried that he would not be. Instead, he worked tirelessly so that he would.
“I hear only the normal night sounds of the forest now,” he said in a low voice, “but I feel unsettled.”
“I trust yer instincts,” Alex replied, wiping rain from his face as the light mist had suddenly become heavier. “What do ye wish to do?”
Behind them, Katherine Mortimer’s whiny tone filtered through the dark and grated against Cameron’s ears. He found himself clenching his teeth. He could not wait to be rid of the lady. She had no care for her own safety or the directives he’d given her. He’d explained carefully that they must travel stealthily and in silence, and yet she complained continuously, seemingly oblivious to the noise she made.
The rain began to fall more heavily, making him keenly aware that if someone was to approach, the attackers would now be even more difficult to hear. He drew his sword, and without having to command it, he heard the swish of all weapons behind him being drawn.
“Let us make haste down the trail of the Marching Oaks,” he said. To go around would waste too much time.
“Lord MacLeod!” Katherine Mortimer bellowed. Cameron winced as birds flew out from branches in fright of the woman’s screeching. “Lord MacLeod, why have we stopped? I’m eager to get back to the king.”
He hissed between his teeth at her folly. If an enemy was waiting for them, her yelling certainly announced their presence. He turned and whistled softly to Rory Mac, a council member of the MacLeod clan and loyal friend, who was one horse behind him and Alex.
Rory Mac quickly answered the call, bringing his horse near. “Aye, my lord?”
The emphasis on the words my lord was not lost on Cameron. Rory Mac was not used to answering to him. The man was much like an older brother to Cameron. Rory Mac had seen him at his most foolish and angry, and when he spent entirely too much time wooing countless lasses to fill the loneliness that keeping his brothers at a distance had caused. Cameron had learned slowly to allow them closer and not to always expect that they would belittle him as their father had done. The need to still prove himself worthy burned inside him, but differently now. He wanted to be trusted to help protect the clan, not for glory or praise. This was his chance to show his brothers that he was capable of a commanding role so they would rely on him as fully as they did one another.
He would not fail.
Cameron glanced in Rory Mac’s direction but could not see his face in the darkness. The awkward feeling of the reversal of positions could not be allowed to inhibit his command. He’d asked the king for this assignment, and he could ill afford to have any mishaps. The king had been leery about acquiescing to Cameron’s request, but he’d done so after Iain had spoken up and said he believed Cameron was ready for the position. The support had shocked Cameron. Knowing that his brother may actually finally believe in him had moved something within. It was a foreign feeling, but one he was glad to experience. He prayed his brother’s faith was not ill bestowed.
“Go explain to Lady Mortimer that her yelling in the forest when we are trying to travel in stealth could be the verra thing that gets her killed,” Cameron clipped out.
“Aye, my lord,” Rory Mac said once more. “Being a commander seems to come naturally to ye,” he added with gruffness before doing as he had been ordered.
The words made Cameron smile, despite his tension. They were as close to a compliment as the Scot had ever given him.
He stared in the direction of the trail of the Marching Oaks. Darkness was both his enemy and friend right now, as was the rain. He would need to be ready for anything. Taking a deep breath, he let out an owl call, alerting his men to advance.