Chapter 21
Ronan walked towards the bridge and halted a few yards short of it.
The river below surged over dark rocks, swollen by recent rain, white water crashing against the ancient stone piers. It was not especially wide, but it was enough. One side belonged to no one. The other belonged to the Campbells.
On the other side, lay home. Or what had once been home.
His people waited behind him in uneasy silence. Wagons creaked as horses stamped their feet. Children clung to their mothers. Somewhere behind him he heard Bran whine softly while Skye stood rigid, staring towards the waiting riders.
In the center of the disciplined ranks of riders sat a man in dark green riding clothes beneath a heavy plaid.
Bryce.
Even at this distance Ronan knew him instantly. His eldest brother looked older. There was silver beginning to creep into his dark hair, and his shoulders seemed a little more stooped than Ronan remembered. Yet he still sat a horse with effortless authority.
For one impossible heartbeat Ronan was sixteen again, riding beside Bryce through the forests on their estate, competing to see who could bring down a stag first.
Bryce raised one gloved hand and the memory vanished.
A rider dismounted from the Campbell line and began walking slowly across the bridge towards him.
“Everyone stay here,” Ronan called over his shoulder. “I’m going to meet him. Stay alert but dinna come closer unless I tell ye.”
Elodie grabbed his arm. “Wait. I’m coming with ye.”
He shook his head. “No, ye are not. Not this time.”
Her eyes were wide with worry. “But...but what if they hurt you?”
“They willnae. Bryce might be a bastard but he still clings to some notion of honor. He willnae have me shot without listening to what I have to say.”
Elodie scowled. “Is that supposed to reassure me? Well, it bloody-well doesn’t!”
He gave her a soft smile. “Dinna worry. I’ll be back.” He wasn’t entirely certain he believed it.
He walked alone onto the bridge. It had been ancient even when he was a lad and the upkeep of this river crossing was one of the obligations of Clan Campbell.
It provided a vital route to the north. In his father’s time, the bridge had been meticulously maintained but now the stones had weeds growing between them and some of the mortar was crumbling.
It seemed that the Earl of Newborough had more pressing demands on his time than maintaining it.
Ronan walked confidently, chin lifted, shoulders back, eyes fixed on the man coming to meet him.
Halfway across the bridge, he stopped. Bryce’s captain halted in front of him.
He was broad-shouldered, gray-bearded, and perhaps twenty years older than Ronan.
Recognition flickered across his weathered face.
“My lord.”
Ronan almost smiled. “Good day to ye, William. It has been many years since anyone called me that.”
William De Gracy, captain of the earl’s guardsmen, inclined his head. “Some of us havenae forgotten ye.” He glanced briefly towards the waiting people behind Ronan. “Though I confess I never expected to see ye again.”
Ronan shrugged. “Life is full of surprises isnae it?”
William’s lips twitched. “My orders are to tell ye to turn back.”
Ronan looked beyond him. Bryce sat exactly where he had before. Watching. Waiting. “I wish to speak with my brother.”
“I’m afraid that willnae be possible. His lordship doesnae wish to speak to ye.”
“What? He willnae even talk to me?”
“No, my lord. He orders ye and yer army to turn around and leave.”
“My army?” Ronan burst out. “Do they look like an army to ye? Damn it, William, look at them! They are farmers and craftspeople. We’ve been hunted all the way here. We havenae come looking for trouble, we’ve come for sanctuary!”
The captain’s expression tightened a little. “Nevertheless, my orders remain the same.”
Ronan growled deep in his chest then raised his chin to look past William again.
“Bryce!” he bellowed, his voice ringing across the space between them. “Will ye not even speak to me?”
The mounted men around Bryce shifted uneasily but the man himself remained still.
“Bryce!”
This time his brother began to turn his horse and for one brief moment Ronan thought he was coming to meet him. Instead, Bryce wheeled away and rode slowly towards the trees beyond the bridge. He didn’t even look back.
Ronan stared after him.
The captain cleared his throat. “My lord, ye and yer people are to vacate this area. If any of ye attempt to cross the bridge—” He hesitated. “It will be treated as an act of aggression and dealt with as such.”
Ronan’s stomach clenched in fury. An act of aggression? From refugees and dispossessed farmers? Was this some kind of joke? His hands curled into fists, his jaw clenching in furious frustration.
He closed his eyes briefly. Then nodded once. “I understand.” They were the hardest words he’d ever had to say.
He turned without another word and walked back across the bridge. Nobody spoke but they all watched him expectantly. Waiting. Hoping. They wouldn’t have heard what transpired on the bridge but all of them would have heard him shouting at Bryce and Bryce simply turning away.
“They willnae let us cross,” he announced.
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
“But we’re being followed by the Murdochs,” Faye said. “They’ll be here soon!”
Elodie swallowed. “What do we do?”
He glanced towards the lowering sun then towards the hills behind them. “We make camp.”
Eamon blinked. “Here?”
“Aye.”
“But the Murdochs—”
“I know.” He took a slow breath. “Post watches. Dig what defences we can. His gaze swept over the gathered people. “We prepare.”
Elodie took a breath and then nodded. “Right,” she said. “You heard him. Let’s get busy people.”
With the ease of somebody who’d been doing such things all her life, Elodie took charge.
She assigned tasks and got everyone moving.
Ronan could have kissed her. He knew she was keeping them busy to keep them from panicking and he was grateful for that.
He wasn’t sure he could have handled any more questions, any more expectant stares.
Oh, God in Heaven, what had he done? He’d led his people here, told them they would be safe. But instead here they were, trapped between two hostile forces. Black despair washed through him and for a second he couldn’t even think. He pushed it away with an effort. No. There had to be a way.
But he would be damned if he could think of it.
Everyone got to work making camp and setting up defences as best they could. Nobody laughed. Nobody sang. The camp became a place of whispered voices and nervous glances towards the northern road. Ronan slipped away and went to check on Angus.
“I’ve made a right mess of it, havenae I?” he said to the horse.
Angus snorted as if in agreement. Bran rested his great head on Ronan’s knee. Skye lay beside him, watching the road. Ronan stroked Bran’s ears absently.
There had to be another way. He simply couldn’t see it. Then, slowly an idea formed. It was dangerous. Desperate. But perhaps...
Ye are a long way from home and traveling further every moment. Yet the balance needs ye, Ronan Campbell, more than ye could know. If ye travel too far from where ye are meant to be it will tip even further out of kilter.
Perhaps it was always leading to this. Perhaps that’s what Irene MacAskill had meant when she’d spoken those words to him. Perhaps every step he’d taken had always been leading him back here. Full circle. To where it all began.
And where it would end.
Perhaps this was the way in which he redressed the balance.
Without making a sound, he removed his dagger from his belt.
Then his pistol. He laid them beside Angus’s saddle then turned and looked at his people.
They were all busy, working together as though they’d done so for years.
Elodie stood in the midst of it all directing everyone and answering the questions fired at her.
Ah, Elodie. His heart swelled as he watched her.
She’d changed his life. She’d changed him.
Loving her had made him a better man and if he had his way, he’d spend his whole life showing her just how much that meant to him.
He ached to speak to her, to hear her voice. But he knew she would only stop him.
So, ordering the dogs to stay then walking as swiftly and quietly as he could, he slipped away from the camp and onto the bridge.
This time he moved quickly, furtively, keeping low so none of his own people would spot him.
But when he’d moved past the mid-point, he rose to full height and spread his hands wide to show he was unarmed.
Bryce’s sentries intercepted him at the end of the bridge, barring his way and holding drawn pistols in one hand.
“That’s far enough.”
“I wish to see the earl,” he said.
The nearest soldier frowned. “He doesnae wish to see ye. Leave now.”
Ronan sighed. He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. With a speed that belied his size, he launched himself at the man who’d spoken. He landed a punch to the man’s stomach that doubled him over, then rammed his elbow into his chin, sending him crashing onto his back.
The other men swore and then suddenly punches and kicks were raining down on him. A blow caught him on the chin and sent him staggering. Two men grabbed his arms from behind, pinning him. He didn’t fight them.
The man he’d hit staggered to his feet and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “Ye bastard,” he hissed. “If ye weren’t the earl’s brother I’d kill ye right now.”
“But I am the earl’s brother,” Ronan replied. “And I attacked one of his men. So take me to him so I can answer for it.”
The man glared then snapped at the others. “Bring him.”