Page 12 of Highlander’s Protector

“Just let me pass,” David said. “I don’t want trouble.”

“Tell me what ye want in the castle, and I’ll see if I let ye go.”

David frowned. “What is the castle to you?”

“I want in.”

“So we both want in,” David said thoughtfully, and the two of them stared at each other. “But I’m guessing the English don’t want you in, do they?”

The Highlander’s nostrils flared quickly as he inhaled and pressed the blade deeper into David’s skin.

“I know a way in,” David said quickly. “A secret one.”

The Highlander’s eyes widened in surprise, but swiftly narrowed into a threatening glare. “If ye are trying to fool me—”

“I’m not. I’m telling the truth.”

“He’s a Mackenzie,” came another voice from the right. “Look, Colum, there’s a Mackenzie mountain in flames on the cross guard.”

David slowly turned his head; another Highlander stood with his sword unsheathed. He was younger and leaner. Blond hair was wild around his face, and a short beard covered his chin.

“I am a Mackenzie,” David said. He was already used to identifying himself as belonging to the clan, even if he didn’t quite feel that he had the right to truly belong. “I’m the brother of Rogene Mackenzie, the laird’s wife.”

The sword in Colum’s hand withdrew a bit, and the sharp ping at David’s throat relaxed.

“Ye’re Angus’s brother-in-law?” Colum asked. “Why havena I met ye before?”

Relief eased the tension in David’s chest. “I’ve been traveling for the past two years. You know my sister?”

“Aye, I had the privilege to meet Lady Rogene.”

David’s heart squeezed. “When did you see her?”

“One year past.”

“And my nephew? Was he well?”

“Aye, the wee lad was strong and in a good health.”

David couldn’t stop the grin. “Good. Well, maybe you can lower your sword, then, Colum? And we can talk like friends.”

Colum glanced at his companion.

“Come now, lower the sword,” said the young Highlander. “MacDonalds and Mackenzies are friends.”

So they were MacDonalds. David had seen some of them at the Highland games near Eilean Donan three years ago, but not Colum. He knew Mackenzies sold fleece through the vast trade network of the Lord of Islay. The clan was powerful and rich, their ships and their warriors fear-inducing.

“Dinna ye dare trust him, Colum,” came another voice as a third Highlander stepped from behind a tree. He was older than the first one and bald with a long beard, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested. “Mayhap he killed a Mackenzie and took his claymore. Anyone can say he’s a brother of the laird’s wife. The world is full of oath-breakers.”

At the word “oath-breaker,” Colum’s face became a pale, stony mask. Slowly, Colum lowered his sword, his eyes like burning coals on the older man. “Ye have something to say, Marcas, say it.”

In the three years that David had been living in the Highlands, he’d learned there was little that Highlanders valued more than honor and loyalty. An oath-breaker was a man who broke both. What had Colum done?

“Ye ken I have much to say to ye, pup. Ye ken I dinna trust ye and will never trust ye after ye broke yer oath to yer laird and to yer clan and took the English side.”

The English side? David narrowed his eyes at Colum. He needed to be careful with someone who could switch to the enemy side and then back. Marcas had a point. Who knew what Colum was capable of and what side he really was on?

“Marcas—” the young Highlander said, but Colum took a step closer and raised his sword, pointing it at Marcas.