Page 13 of Highlander’s Hope

But even though his very existence was a reminder of the most horrific time in Marjorie’s life, she loved her boy. Enduring it all had brought her boy into her life, so she couldn’t wish it all away.

“So ye mustn’t go outside, Colin. ‘Tis very dangerous.”

“But ye went outside, Mother,” he said. “Ye didna wait for grandfather and my uncles.”

She inhaled. “I can protect myself. Ye’re a lad.”

“But ye’re a woman, Mother. I can protect ye.”

She hugged him and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, and he giggled. He was still her lad, even if he desperately tried to be a grown man.

“‘Tis me who’ll protect ye, son,” she whispered. “Dinna fash. Just wait a wee bit longer, aye? Yer grandfather and yer uncles will be back soon, and then ye can go hunting with them, shoot yer arrows in the field, and see yer friends in the village. Promise ye’ll be good and wilna run away?”

He sighed and smiled, but devils played in his eyes. “I promise.”

“And what is a Cambel’s word worth?”

“Everything.”

“Good lad.” She tousled his hair. “We’ll train with swords later today, aye?”

Two figures walked from behind the small gathering of trees at the bottom of the cliff. Marjorie strained her eyes to look closer.

Tamhas and Muir.

“Go play, Colin. I need to talk to Tamhas and Muir.”

She hurried to the courtyard. She’d paced the length of the wall three times when the gates were finally opened. The men walked forward, their faces full of worry and their eyebrows knit together.

“Where have ye been, mistress?” Tamhas said.

“I saw a deer trail and followed it.”

“Why didna ye wait for us?”

Marjorie crossed her arms over her chest. “You were already far ahead, and I didna want to spook the deer.”

“’Twas reckless, mistress,” Muir said, scratching his graying beard. “Forgive me for saying so, but ye ken ye’re nae supposed to go around alone.”

Marjorie chewed on her lower lip. He was right, of course, and she knew he worried about her like he would about his own daughter. But if she was in charge of the castle, she had to be braver.

“Did ye see two men?” she asked. “The MacDougalls?”

“Nae, mistress,” Tamhas said. “But Muir’s right. What if they’d seen ye? Yer father and brothers would cut my head off and throw it to the pigs if we lost ye."

Marjorie cocked her head. “Just because we grew up together doesna give ye the right to berate me, Tamhas. I’m the mistress now. Besides, nothing happened to me. And now we ken they plan to attack, so we can prepare. Send a messenger to my father and brothers.”

“That may be just what they want,” Malcolm said.

Marjorie turned her head as Malcolm stepped closer to their circle, his arms folded over the heavily quilted leine croich stretched across his chest. She knew she could always rely on him. He was like a second father to her, like another uncle she wasn’t related to by blood. Malcolm had served her da, Dougal Cambel, ever since she could remember. They shared some sort of oath, though she wasn’t sure of the details. All she knew was that Malcolm would rather die than let any harm come to any of Dougal’s children.

“John MacDougall may want yer clan to leave the Bruce to protect ye and Colin,” he said. “That will weaken the Bruce and may change the course of the war.”

King Robert the Bruce had been winning ever since he’d taken Inverlochy last November, and the English were no doubt looking for ways to take back the advantage. The MacDougalls were among the Scottish clans that had sided with the English. Clan Cambel was an important part of the Bruce’s army, so keeping Glenkeld intact mattered not only for the clan, but also for the whole war. If Marjorie’s father and brothers heard about their home being taken—especially if she was taken into enemy hands again—they’d come to fight to get her back. That would mean about three hundred men leaving the main army, a third of the Bruce’s forces.

The men exchanged heavy glances.

“Let me take over. I wouldna want to put you under that kind of pressure, my lady,” Malcolm said. “Having to coordinate the castle’s defenses isna a task—”