Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
The ceramic jug flew from Laird Niven Cameron's hand at speed, smashing into the wall in time with his furious yell. The manservant by the door flinched, and the maid let out a little cry before quickly covering her mouth, but the only other person in the room stood still and did not react at all.
Iain Cameron, the heir to the lairdship, was used to his father's rages, though even he had to admit that this time was particularly disconcerting. Though, given the circumstances, he couldn't say he was surprised.
"How?" Laird Cameron snarled. "How could we have lost her? This is a disaster!"
Iain knew better than to suspect his father's concern was for Briana's safety.
He quashed the part of himself that was still worried about things like that, but he was curious as to what his sister was doing now.
Was she alive? Was she injured? It had been a long time since he'd shown her any love or care, but he could not help but wonder.
"The driver never returned either. They never found either of their bodies or the horses. Just the carriage and a dead man beside it. That's what the reports say, and naebody in the village claims tae ken anythin'."
"Out!" Niven bellowed at the servants. The maid and manservant quickly hurried out of the room, leaving the Laird and the heir alone. He slammed his hand down on the table, sending a plate clattering to the floor.
"Where is she?" he demanded. "Who'd want that useless whelp of a woman enough tae steal her?
The MacFarlanes will take this as an insult, mark my words.
Never mind the fact that Laird MacFarlane's own nephew's corpse was found rottin' where his daughter-in-law should have been!
Yer whore of a sister could destroy this alliance! "
Before he could stop himself, Iain said, "It was reckless tae send an unescorted unwed lass through the McDonell lands. There's nae kennin' what happened. I doubt that she—"
"Are ye questionin' me, lad?" Niven demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously as he stood up. "Do ye think ye ken more than yer father?"
Iain straightened up, chiding himself. Of course it was Briana's fault. She was a fool to allow herself to get captured, or killed, or whatever happened. The only thing that mattered was the strength of the Cameron Clan, no matter what the cost.
"I'd never question ye. Forgive me," he said hastily. "But what will we do now? The MacFarlanes are already furious because of Neil MacFarlane's death. I think—"
"I never asked ye tae think," Niven hissed. "Go. Get yer men. Find her. Bring her back. Kill anyone who stands in yer way, understood?"
Iain stiffened. "I understand, Father," he said solemnly.
He would do it. No matter where she was—no matter who had her, friend or foe, they would fall by Iain's blade.
He would bring her home, then their father would see her wed.
Blood would likely spill, but it would never be Cameron blood, not while Iain still lived and breathed. He paused as a thought occurred to him.
"They say the Broken Blades have been seen around that area. They say that the ghost—"
"There are nae ghosts!" Niven interrupted with a snarl.
"But if there is a chance—if there's even the smallest possibility that any of those MacKenzie traitors have somethin' that belongs tae me, then ye'll find them, too, and we'll have their heads on spikes.
Do ye understand me? We'll wave their heads as flags tae show the world what the Cameron name means! "
Iain swallowed. He had to clear his mind of all doubt.
There was only one path to take. He had to prove himself as the heir that his father deserved.
His mother had been too soft on him and Briana, too gentle, and Niven had punished her for it.
Iain had learned in the many years that had passed since then that it had only been for his benefit.
He was his father's heir, and he would do his duty.
And if he didn't prove himself, his father could always find someone else who would.
Theon crouched low in the thicket, Noah on one side of him and Graeme on the other.
The rider would pass soon, and they had to be ready.
Many years ago, when he'd first been on one of these hunts, he'd felt a mix of fear and guilt, but none of that remained now.
There was only determination—only the certainty that what he was here to do was the difference between life and death for himself and his brothers.
"We shouldnae have left her with Keir. We'll return tae her corpse," Noah said darkly.
Theon scowled. "Keir isnae an idiot. Hush. Ye'll give us away."
Graeme was examining an arrow as he spoke, pressing his finger lightly against the sharp point and wincing. "Will we let him flee, like we did the driver? I suppose we cannae."
"He'll be a Cameron soldier, nae a servant," Theon replied. "Ye ken as well as I do that the Laird sends his muscle tae do his work."
Noah plucked the arrow from Graeme's hands. He spoke with a coldness that did not suit his usually gentle character. "Those who hold weapons and stay loyal tae those monsters deserve every drop of blood spilled and more."
Theon nodded in grim agreement. "Ye're sure he'll come by here?" he asked.
With a nod, Noah said, "He'll need tae control the damage however he can, and his first priority will be tae smooth things over with the MacFarlanes.
They've lost a cousin and a bride in one fell swoop.
Nae doubt he'll be underplayin' things, blamin' Briana for bein' a nervous bride.
" His expression twisted in disgust. "Better tae insult his own daughter than one of his allies. "
"Where was that attitude ten years ago?" Graeme joked darkly.
Just then, exactly as Noah had predicted, the thundering sound of hooves approached.
Theon's blood ran cold as he realized that there was no way there was just one rider, and a second later he was proven right.
Not just one Cameron rider but six sped around the corner, racing toward the MacFarlane lands.
The three Blades didn't need to speak. They didn't even need to look at each other to adjust to the sudden change in scale to what they expected. They simply moved.
Noah fired the arrow he'd taken from Graeme with smooth precision, sending it sailing through the air and directly into the foremost rider's neck.
The man fell from the saddle, blood spraying everywhere, and his horse screamed as it reared in terror.
The animal fled, and the rest of the horses panicked.
Chaos descended as the living riders reacted to the sudden attack, desperately trying to control their horses while searching for the source of the arrow. Theon and Graeme did not give them a chance to regain control, both darting out with weapons drawn.
Graeme barreled into them from the front, his longsword glinting in the morning sun, while Theon moved like a shadow, his daggers flashing as he worked.
He cut down two men before they even had a chance to scream or cry out a warning, and Graeme sliced clean through another two with a manic glint in his expression.
Another of Noah's arrows flew, taking out the final man.
Panting heavily, the three men gathered on the path and stood over the corpses.
The horses fled, and Theon let them go. They were clever animals; they would find their way home or else they would find somewhere better to take care of them.
They were not complicit in the crimes of Cameron, not like these men had been.
Graeme gathered some dropped weapons from a few of the corpses. "We're in nae position tae say nay tae good steel," he said answering Theon's look. Theon grunted and nodded once. He couldn't deny it.
Noah crouched down at the head of the first man who had fallen, the leader of the group.
His expression was grim, his face pale. "His name was Georgie.
His mammy used tae sneak us biscuits from the kitchens," he said quietly.
Then his eyes darkened. "He was there that night.
Carryin' out orders. Gleefully followin' Cameron intae the darkness. "
Theon didn't speak. He glanced at Graeme, who looked somber but, for once, also stayed respectfully quiet.
With a disgusted sound, Noah wrenched his eyes away from the dead man's face and reached into the corpse's cloak. A few seconds later, he withdrew a letter emblazoned with the Cameron seal. Without a word, he handed it to Theon, who tore it in half with grim satisfaction.
None of them looked back at the corpses as they turned to walk away. These men were gone. And so, too, was Cameron's message.
By the will of the Broken Blades, they had all died there.
The sun had finally risen fully, but Keir was no further along with the morning porridge.
Briana sat back and watched him, hiding her amusement as he cursed at the cookpot and kicked the logs in the fire.
For the third time, he threw out a burnt, inedible pile of mush and muttered to himself that at least the others weren't around to watch him wasting their oats.
As he threw it out and reached for another bucket of water, she finally stood from the log she'd been perched on and approached.
"It's just gonnae turn out the same way if ye keep doin' the same thing," she said. "I ken ye've got some goat milk stored, and some hazelnuts and berries too. We can make this delicious if ye let me help."
Keir snorted. "I learned a long time ago the true worth of yer family's help."
Ignoring him, Briana located what she needed and returned to the cookpot.
To her surprise, he hadn't yet added the water.
"Here. Boil the oats in the milk instead.
It'll make it creamier and more fillin'.
" She poured in the milk and oats without waiting for his answer, then handed him the bag of hazelnuts. "Here. Crush these."
"Ye dinnae give me orders," he replied.
She rolled her eyes. "I'll do it meself, then."