Page 25 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“The brothers wanted to keep their castle and their heads. There is no point in reading further into—”

This time, it was Sutherland who pulled them both to a stop, pivoting in his clean leather boots and pulling Rob down, so they were nearly nose to nose.

“We are in a war against a family. In yer bed is a member of that very family. During my many conversations with the lass, she asks so many questions about the Queen’s court and her army. Then there are all the times she asks for word of the Gordons. ‘Tis not what I would hope to hear. I keep tight lips, mind ye, but ‘tis all a bit suspicious. She talks of writing home, as well, asking me if I have the means to have a letter sent.”

The accusation could have been damning if heard by the wrong ears. So little substance to it, but just enough to cast a shadow of a doubt.

“Aye, anyway, I simply want ye to be careful. Wife or no, if ye believe she is in league with her family, I expect ye to fulfill yer duty to yer country and inform the Queen, or at least myself. Ensure she is always under the best watch and is only able to communicate with those who are trusted.”

“I shall keep an eye on her, and, as always, my loyalty is to Scotland first.”

“Good lad. Well, I shall be off. Do give yer wife my best, would ye?” Sutherland clapped Rob’s shoulder and made his way back from where they had come from.

Because yer best is truly worth something, Rob thought absently as he watched the portly man waddle back into the camp.

Fuming, Rob muttered every profanity he knew on his way back to the Fraser tents. Kenna’s actions alone kept her in enough trouble, and now one of Queen Mary’s most trusted advisors and lairds was sowing the seeds for deadly rumors to sprout and grow into thick, heavy vines that would wrap about them in slow suffocation.

When Rob finally returned to the tent, Kenna was fast asleep, wrapped up tightly in his plaid—the lass hadn’t bothered to redress, a fact that made Rob’s manhood jump a bit in eagerness. Her dark curls hung over her face, and Rob gently brushed the loose curls back, exposing her rosy cheeks and full pink lips. He brushed his fingers over them, over the territory he had so forcefully claimed.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed in a low whisper.

What he was apologizing for was still a question. Which of his recent crimes needed the swiftest apology? Forcing a kiss or doubting her loyalty to the Crown and himself?

Though the thought of it made his head ache, he could see her motivation to betray the Queen. The Gordons were, as Sutherland pointed out, her family. She had grown up loyal to them and to them alone, and it likely would have stayed that way if it hadn’t been for the storm of politics and rebellion that shook her home. It was a storm that had captured Rob, as well, throwing him up into its winds with an ease that had infuriated him, carrying him far from the comfortable footing he had always known. Kenna had been the one that had grounded him, helping his feet find solid ground once more. This new footing was rocky, full of questions and trepidation and insecurity, but he had grown to like it.

Was she still up in that storm? Had he not been enough to bring her back down? And if he wasn’t enough, would that be all the motivation she needed to put her life on the line just to spite the storm that had swept her away?

It would be reason enough for him.

Bile rose in his throat, and he stood to slowly pace the tent.

Damn ye, Sutherland.

Motivation on Kenna’s part did not equal her guilt. Rob let that thought wash over him again and again like waves continually crashing against the shore. He wanted to believe that she wasn’t scheming up some plan with her brothers, or if she was, he prayed she would be smart enough to keep any treasons already committed well hidden. He would keep her from committing another, one way or another, until the Earl of Huntly’s rebellion was over. It was the only solution.

“Rob?” a hushed whisper said through the walls of the tent.

Quickly emptying his sporran of the remedies and bandages he had painstakingly gathered, Rob did his best to compose himself before he slipped silently from the tent.

Hugh stood there, his posture tense as he leaned against a spear. Though he must have tried to clean himself, there were still bits of mud and dirt staining him from bonnet to boot, complemented by bright green stains on both of his knees and here and there on his shirt.

“Ye look like hell.”

“Aye, I ken. That forest is less forgiving than a lass during her phase of the moon.” Hugh sighed, rubbing the dark circles that had gathered under his green eyes.

Rob wondered if Hugh had fallen into a gully or rolled all the way down the hillside. He certainly looked far worse than the rest of the men now trudging back through the camp. Hugh was not always the best on his feet, but this level of mess was almost a new personal success.

“Find anything?”

“No, and the Queen has given up—pulled all of the men out of there and told them to rest up. They want to break camp in a few hours and run back to Aberdeen. No stops, except those that canna be helped.”

“Probably what they ought to have done at the start,” Rob said, silently adding to himself, “then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Aye, well, I thought ye should ken.”

“Thanks, brother. Get some sleep, ye need it.”

Rob watched as Hugh retreated back to the embers of the campfire, collapsing on a patch of grass while adjusting his plaid so that it covered him like a blanket.