Chapter 18 #2
Ronan didn’t answer. Instead, he whistled to the dogs, sending them on ahead again. “Come on.”
The path wound between ancient oaks whose branches knitted together overhead, turning the evening light green.
Moss carpeted fallen trunks, and ferns brushed against Ronan’s legs as they hurried after the dogs.
Everything about this felt wrong. He loosened the flintlock in his belt and rested one hand on the weapon.
Up ahead, Bran barked suddenly and went racing off, Skye just behind. Ronan froze, put out a hand to halt Elodie, and tightened his grip on the pistol. A chorus of barking broke out somewhere ahead, but it wasn’t the sound of warning. It was the excited yip of greeting.
A second later, he heard a child’s laughter.
Elodie gasped. “Morag!”
She was off and running before he could stop her.
Ronan swore beneath his breath and sprinted after her, vegetation and low-hanging branches whipping his face as he ran.
He stuttered to a halt beside Elodie in a broad, grassy clearing.
He blinked in surprise, unable to quite figure out what he’d stumbled into.
Morag sat cross-legged in the grass, giggling as an elegantly dressed woman with chestnut hair wove tiny white flowers into a chain around the little girl’s wrist. Nearby stood a tall man dressed in riding clothes of exceptional quality, one gloved hand resting lightly on the head of a magnificent gray horse.
The man looked up as Ronan emerged from the trees and smiled. “Ah. Good evening.”
Elodie took a couple of steps forward, breathing hard. “Morag!”
The little girl looked up and grinned. “Elodie! Look! I’ve been making a daisy chain.”
The elegant woman smiled warmly at Morag. “Such a delightful child.”
Ronan’s gaze swept the edges of the clearing. His every instinct was screaming at him of danger despite the apparently harmless scene before him. He stepped between Elodie and the strangers. “Who are ye?”
Bran suddenly growled, a deep, rumbling sound. Skye’s hackles rose. And armed men stepped silently from the trees that surrounded the glade. Ronan turned, drawing his pistol in one fluid movement. He counted three. Five. Eight. Ten in all, including the man and woman.
Most of the men carried muskets. Those who didn’t had swords. They didn’t look like common brigands. Their movements were too disciplined, their weapons too well-maintained for that. Soldiers, then. Or something close to it.
Elodie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Ronan placed his left hand on her shoulder to steady her, but fixed his gaze on the well-dressed couple.
“I asked ye a question,” he growled.
The elegantly dressed woman rose gracefully to her feet. Her skirts were traveling clothes rather than court dress, but the fabric was rich enough to betray noble birth.
Her eyes settled thoughtfully on Ronan. She cocked her head. “I dinna see the resemblance. Still, ye are clearly the one we’ve been looking for.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
The man laughed and gave a small bow. “Ye are forgetting yer manners, my love. We should introduce ourselves. I’m Lord Henry Murdoch. And this is my wife, Lady Alana.”
A shot of something cold went through Ronan as though he’d been stabbed with an icicle.
Lord and Lady Murdoch. These were the people responsible for the attack on Thomas.
Of almost killing David. Anger replaced the cold, hot and stinging, and he struggled to keep it under control.
He couldn’t let his emotions rule him, not when Morag and Elodie’s safety was at stake.
He fixed his gaze on Henry Murdoch. “What do ye want?”
“I would have thought that obvious, Ronan Campbell,” Lord Murdoch replied with a smile. “We want ye. And ye’ve forced us to go to quite the lengths to find ye.”
The use of his name hit him like a slap in the face. How did they know who he was? When they’d sent their people sniffing around the Steading, he’d assumed they were just opportunists looking for easy prey. But had they been looking for him from the start?
“How do ye know my name?” he demanded.
Henry chuckled softly. “Yer name is very well known in certain circles, my friend. The brother of the Earl of Newborough disappears after his family’s unfortunate disagreements.
And after almost killing his brother. Ye were the subject of much gossip at the time.
Everyone thought ye’d fled to the continent, then years later rumors began circulating of a hidden settlement somewhere in the northern hills and of a man leading it who looks remarkably like the lost brother of the Earl of Newborough.
” His eyes twinkled. “Ye can see why we were interested.”
Ronan realized that none of this was chance.
Morag being enticed away. Himself and Elodie following.
Every piece had been arranged, like a snare closing.
These people had been unable to find the Steading and so they’d waited, lying in ambush until he came out into the open.
Thinking they were just opportunistic land-grabbers, he’d underestimated them.
That, he realized, had been a grave mistake.
Bran gave another low growl, and Lady Alana watched the dogs with interest. “They’re beautiful animals,” she observed.
Ronan cocked his head. “They’re also excellent judges of character.”
Her smile became thinner, brittle.
For several long moments, no one spoke, and Ronan felt the tension go up a notch. Elodie looked around warily, the armed men shifted uneasily, and Morag’s eyes had gone wide, sensing at last that something was wrong.
Henry Mudoch though, stood at ease, as though armed men were not standing amongst the trees with muskets within arm’s reach. Lady Alana folded her hands in her lap, every inch the gracious noblewoman, though the watchfulness in her eyes betrayed her.
“What do ye want with me?” Ronan asked.
Henry Murdoch spread his arms wide. “To talk. That’s all.”
“To talk? Is that why yer men attacked two of mine and left one of them for dead?” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice.
The lord winced. “Those incidents were...regrettable. And not done at my order, I can assure ye. Those responsible were punished. We only ever wanted to talk. The little settlement ye’ve built is...remarkably difficult to locate. But today fortune smiled upon us.”
Ronan’s gaze remained steady. “Fortune is it? I thought it was because ye’ve been tracking us.”
Henry laughed softly. “Aye, that too.” His face grew more serious. “Ye are no doubt wondering why we’ve gone to such trouble.”
Ronan said nothing. He glanced at Elodie and took a step closer to her. Bran and Skye were poised and alert, hackles raised. The men around the clearing might have been carved from stone for the little they moved.
As if he had all the time in the world, Henry removed one glove and clasped his hands behind his back, almost like a tutor beginning a lesson. “My family once held the lands north of here, if ye remember.”
Ronan said nothing, merely watched Murdoch.
Henry’s smile contained no warmth now. “We were prosperous. Loyal to Scotland. When the Articles of Union were proposed, many believed Scotland had sold herself.” His voice remained calm, but anger simmered beneath every word. His eyes met Ronan’s. “We were some of them.”
Ronan shifted his weight. He could guess where this was heading. “So ye are rebels?”
“We are patriots!” Henry hissed. “We willnae stomach seeing Scotland become naught more than a plaything of the English crown!”
Lady Alana spoke. “And for that, we paid the price. Our lands were confiscated. Our tenants scattered.”
Henry spread his hands. “We escaped. Barely.”
Ronan glanced around. “What has this got to do with me or the Steading? What do ye want from me?”
Henry and Alana shared a look. Then Alana spoke. “Do ye know who it was who rooted out our rebellion? Do ye know who it was who took everything from us? A name ye know all too well. Bryce Campbell, the Earl of Newborough.”
Ronan fought to keep his face expressionless, but he could feel a nerve twitching in his cheek.
Bryce? He’d become embroiled in politics?
It had always been his youngest brother, Niall, who had been the one with the social conscience, the reformer who wanted to make things better.
Bryce had only ever been interested in his own power and influence.
This didn’t fit with what he knew of his eldest brother at all.
“We have gathered those still willing to fight,” Alana went on. “Former soldiers. Men and women who refuse to kneel.”
Henry smiled again. “Ye might call us...persistent.”
Ronan hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Ye still havenae told me what this has got to do with me and my people.”
“We know ye hate yer brother,” Henry said.
“We know yer brother hates ye. We know that ye are desperately trying to find a place where yer people will be safe and ye think that Campbell lands will be that place. But it willnae. Bryce Campbell willnae give ye what ye want. Not without a fight. But we can help ye with that.”
His gaze sharpened. “We propose an alliance, Ronan Campbell. Ye give us the Steading—the base of operations we need—and in return we will give ye the fighters to retake yer lands.”
“Picture it,” Alana added. “Ye will be laird of yer own lands again. Yer people will be safe. They will have a place to call home.”
“And all I have to do to get it is betray my own brother, is that right?” Ronan growled.
Henry laughed sharply. “Ye betrayed him years ago when ye almost killed him! Ye think Bryce Campbell still sees ye as his brother? He views ye as a rabid dog and he will put ye down the moment he sets eyes on ye. There is no middle ground, Ronan. It’s either ye or him. Ye know this.”