Chapter Two #2
Constantine Cameron had always returned home to his wife and bairns.
Of the latter, there were three who lived to adulthood: Logan, his sister May, and Logan’s younger brother, Ealar.
Three sisters had died early in their mother’s womb, and two brothers, Ailig and Alistar, had died of illnesses before they turned one.
His mother, Ismay was strong; most at the castle whispered about her.
Now that Logan was a grown man, he realized how delicately crafted his mother was.
Aye, her will was strong to match her fiery hair, but it was the love Logan’s parents shared that strengthened her to continue to carry her husband’s bairns, despite losing so many.
Logan often thought about exchanging his life with Ailig or Alistar.
He would do it if given the chance. One of his brothers would not destroy his life because of the sight of a lass.
Logan had wasted his life and now he almost didn’t care about gaining it back.
He was tired of training, tired of fighting his useless arm and teaching it to obey him again.
“I ask again,” Jamie said, putting down the bowl of porridge he’d scooped from a pot hanging over the hearth fire to pout at him, “ye will have a word with yer father fer Scout’s sake?”
How long ago had he asked the first time, Logan wondered.
He gave Jaime a reassuring smile and nodded. “Aye, after I meet the lad.”
“Why do ye have to meet him?” Jamie whined. “Ye will be too hard on him. Remember when that foolish Gerald of Dundee came to court yer sister? Ye put a snake in his bed!”
“Twasna venomous,” Logan pointed out.
“Do ye think that mattered to him when he ran oot of his bed and his house?”
Logan looked at Steafan and the two exchanged a grin. “How else was I to know if the man who wanted to wed my sister was a coward or no’?”
Jamie pouted harder. “Can ye no’ just take my word fer him? Why do ye have to meet him?”
“Because, if I am goin’ to vouch fer him, I willna do it blindly.”
Jamie sighed but nodded, knowing his cousin well enough to know that arguing further was useless.
They heard horses approaching and believing it was Ewen returning, they hurried outside. Instead of their fearsome cousin, they faced a small band of men armed with every form of weapon, quivers of arrows, dirks, Claymores, and pistols.
“All this fer me?” Logan muttered as he stepped out under the sun.
“We are from the Clan MacInnes.” One of the riders moved his horse forward.
Logan swept his sword free with his right hand and flipped over the hilt, making the sword dance and flash. When it stopped, it was pointed at the bold rider. “What do ye want?”
“Captain Cameron, we are here from the Royal Army to inform ye that a band of thieves are headed this way. We are here to offer our aid, should they attack.”
Logan looked him over with a dark glance and took a step closer, keeping his claymore unsheathed. “Another moment and I would have skewered ye like a fattened calf.”
The rider gave him a repentant bow, “Fergive me fer no’ sendin’ word of my arrival first. There was no time, Captain.”
Finally, Logan sheathed his blade. His two cousins followed. “Ye have my thanks, but there will be nae need fer ye to engage in fightin’ when there are three of us.”
The saddled soldier gave him a stunned look. “Three of ye? But, Captain, there are at least thirteen of them.”
“An unholy number,” Steafan muttered, shifting his sharp, indigo gaze left and then right for the attackers.
“Ye need to stop listenin’ to Alina and her wild superstitions,” Jamie complained, tucking his pistol under his belt.
“She was correct aboot yer sister announcing her desire to wed a foreigner, was she no’?” Steafan countered.
Logan turned his head to look at Jamie while he considered his reply. Had Steafan’s lass predicted—? Nae, Logan didn’t believe in such childish things.
“Enough of this talk!” Logan raised his voice, then brought it back to a lower pitch. He turned his attention back to the rider. “What is yer name?”
“MacInnes, Captain. Hamish MacInnes,” the rider told him.
“MacInnes, take yer men to the mountain and wait there. If my kin and I look aboot to succumb to their number, ye may intervene. Dinna enter the fight. I dinna want to fight worryin’ aboot ye and yer men. Understand?”
He waited for MacInnes to agree, then turned to Jamie and Steafan. “Let us prepare fer some guests.”
His cousins nodded and smiled, then returned to the house for the rest of their weapons.
They didn’t have to wait long for the band of miscreants to arrive. As MacInnes had reported, there were thirteen of them. When they saw Logan, the lead rider slowed his horse.
“Yer the Cameron of Ben Nevis,” the rider called out.
“Aye, I am.” Logan let him know. “Who are ye?”
The rider didn’t answer but leaped from his horse to attack. Logan was ready, striking clean and quick blows with one arm. He kept the barrage coming, forcing the ruffian backwards. The other thieves must have known about his weakness, for they attacked him in twos, and even threes.
Steafan and Jamie held their own, each of the three fighting two or more, while MacInnes and his men watched in admiration.
Every man, not just those belonging to the Royal Army had heard of the skill and courage of the Camerons and MacDonalds of Lochaber.
With Logan leading them, they had found victory in every fight in which they’d been involved.
When Logan lost the use of his arm, and stopped fighting, his kin had stopped, as well. They would only go out with Logan—unless ordered differently by the king.
When the thirteen thieves were broken and battered at their feet, Logan sheathed his sword and went to his cousins to make certain they were not hurt.
“Ye were all…ehm…” MacInnes said, coming up behind them. When Logan turned, remembering him, the soldier smiled then looked away. “Yer skill has caught me unawares, Captain. I have never seen a man fight like ye, even with two arms.”
“All it takes is practice,” Logan told him, turning back to his kin.
Steafan snickered. “Just practice and nothin’ else. Nothin’. Ever.”
“What else is there?” Logan asked him.
“Women. Lips as sweet as honey and warm bodies—”
Logan looked heavenward then called out to MacInnes that the men should refresh their thirst from his well, then be on their way. And take the fallen thieves with them.
Women. Logan thought, returning to the house. He had stopped seeking comfort in the arms of a lass. His comfort came from swinging his sword.
Part of Logan was glad he could no longer fight in battles. The other part wished his kin hadn’t killed the Woodburns so he could cut the throat of the man who had left him useless on this earth.
He was about to enter his house when Jamie shouted Ewen’s name. Logan looked toward the mountain pass, south of them and saw his cousin walking his horse into the great glen with another hooded rider in his saddle.
Jamie waved, and then with a quick glance at Logan, raced off to their returning cousin and his companion.
“Looks like a lass,” Steafan noted, watching them.
“Ye can tell that from here?” Logan asked.
“Cousin, surely ye have been too long withoot a lass that ye canna even recognize the shape of one. Besides, who but a lass would Ewen give up his saddle?
Logan shook his head at him, then shoved him out of the way and took off to greet Ewen—and discover if Steafan was correct.
Steafan gave chase, bringing a rare bout of laughter from Logan’s lips.
“Think I will have pity on ye this time because of yer arm?” his cousin shouted and then nearly ran into him when Logan stopped in front of the horse.
Steafan was correct. The rider was a lass.
As Logan looked up into her sea blue colored eyes, he remembered his fairy bending to speak to a rabbit while butterflies flitted around her, the angel he’d dreamed had freed him from his chains in the bowels of Dunley Keep.
“Miss Elspeth Woodburn,” Ewen introduced, stilling Logan’s heart. “Daughter of the late Baron of Dunley, William Woodburn and the only survivor of Dunley Keep.”
It was her. Logan called upon every ounce of strength he possessed to appear unruffled, unaffected to find her alive.
Whatever dreams he had of her during his recovery, he’d put away. It was her father who had changed his life. It was because he had once allowed her to affect him and his good sense that he could no longer fight for king or country.
“The Protestant’s daughter,” he said without any inflection but disgust tainting his words.
“The Royalist who caused the death of my kin,” she countered with more courage sparking her eyes than he’d seen in some soldiers.
Promising himself not to become bewitched by her again, he turned away from her and looked at Ewen. “I assumed she was dead.”
“I didna know ye knew her, Logan,” Ewen remarked, stepping around his horse to come to him.
“I found her after a few witnesses came to me and informed me that a man had taken her that morning. One lead led to many more until I found her cleaning the kitchen floors of a tyrant, who took pleasure in beatin’ her until I threatened to take away his hands. ”
Against the alarms going off in his head, Logan let his gaze find hers again.
She’d been beaten. What manner of monster would strike her?
He quieted his roiling blood that swooshed in his ears and returned his attention to Ewen.
So, she had beguiled his cousin to fight for her.
“Keep her,” he said under his breath—through his teeth.
“I want nae part of a traitor to the king.”
With nothing more to say, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. Behind him, he heard her threats filling the otherwise pleasant morning air.
For a mad moment, he had regretted turning her over to Ewen. But hearing what a bothersome hellcat she was, he was glad he’d gotten rid of her.
“I will kill ye, Logan Cameron! Mark my words!”
He yanked his hood up over his head to conceal his scowl in the shadows it provided.
Ye are yer father’s daughter fer certain, then, Miss Woodburn.