But he wouldn’t kill another, anyway, he reminded himself.
He needed this to go peacefully.
“Say nae word,” he said to Kate.
He shook the reins and the horse resumed marching towards the man. He was tall and dressed like a knight, in heavy armor, a sword, and a shield.
“Identify yourself,” the man said in Anglo-Saxon.
English.
“Ian Cambel, with my wife.”
Kate looked at him sharply.
“Taking my father’s body home.”
The knight smirked. “Home? Everything from here to North Argyll belongs to King Edward of England.”
Ian gritted his teeth.
Aye, war. People who wanted to kill were everywhere.
“I dinna want trouble, lord,” Ian said, addressing the man more politely than he deserved. Ian hated himself for cajolery. But if he wanted this to go peacefully, he needed the man to let them through.
“Home is Dundail, on Loch Awe. I return there to bury my father.” He looked behind himself at the cart.
“Your home for now,” the knight said.
He walked around the cart and looked into it. There lay Duncan’s body, wrapped in cloth, the sword underneath his father’s side. Ian’s hands clenched into fists, his breath accelerated, and something began buzzing in his ears.
Just touch him with one finger…
But the man nodded and returned to stand by the horse. Thank God he had a decency to respect the dead and not look under the body.
He gave Ian a long look. “Come through, you bloody Scot. But know this. Your true king, Edward—not the spawn who calls himself King of Scots—will come and claim what’s his. Your home. And if you dare to take up arms against him, your father won’t be the only corpse your pretty wife has to bury.”
The man leered at Kate. A low growl was born in Ian’s gut, and he had to physically stop himself from letting it out. Something must have shown in his expression because fear flashed through the man’s face, and his hand shot to the sword at his belt. Black and red filled Ian’s vision, the urge to act gnawing at his bones.
A soft, warm hand covered his and squeezed it.
“Let’s go, Ian,” Kate said firmly.
Almost startled, he glanced at her. Her face looked calm, but in her eyes, he saw worry and even fear. That steadied him, made him take a deep breath that cleaned the fury away and brought him back.
“Aye,” he said without taking his eyes off her.
Then, when he felt sober enough, he turned to the Englishman.
“Yer king will never be my king.”
Then he lashed the reins, and the horse walked.
“What does it all mean?” Kate said when they were some distance away.
“It means, everything from here till pretty much home is infested with the enemy.”
The enemy in a war he didn’t want to fight.
“The English are the enemy?” Kate said.
“Aye.”
“But why?”
“Because King Edward doesna want to acknowledge our rightful king, King Robert the Bruce. I didna ken all of that until I traveled through England. The English Crown pushed John Comyn as the next claimant to the Scottish throne. I was told Bruce opposed it and proclaimed himself king. Many clans supported him, although some, including the MacDougalls, still oppose him. The English king became furious. He sent an army to stop Bruce and succeeded. Bruce had to run with the few supporters that he had, including my uncle Neil. My clan has always been loyal to him and always will be. My uncle organized a galley to take Bruce to hide in the Western Isles. The Bruce came back last year, slowly winning his way through the Highlands and gaining more supporters. Now the course of the war has changed in his favor.”
They were arriving at the village of Rossely now. Low stone houses with thatched roofs stood close to one another. The streets were wet with mud after the rain. Chickens and geese walked around, goats bleated, people carried buckets of water from the well or baskets with food and firewood. Somewhere, a blacksmith hammered at the anvil, tong, tong, tong. The air smelled of woodsmoke and freshly baked bread. Ian promised himself he’d never take the sights, sounds, and smells of home for granted again.
Among the villagers, there were knights in expensive armor bearing the red standard with yellow lions. The English.
Their speech hurt Ian’s ears. He glanced around—everywhere were people who might come for his home.
“I dinna think we should stay here tonight,” he said. “I’m sorry, lass, but we’ll have to sleep outside again.”
“That’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are ye strong enough?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She pressed out a smile.
“All right.”
As they drove through without stopping, Ian felt heavy gazes on him like hot coals. His hand twitched to reach out for his sword. He felt vulnerable and naked without a weapon.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t kill again.
But how could he keep that promise when the enemy was at his doorstep, he didn’t know.
Chapter 7
Two days later…
Kate’s heart squeezed almost to the point of pain when she saw Dundail.
It lay on the coast of the loch in a green valley, secluded and backed by the mountains from the east. The almost still surface of the water reflected the square three-story tower of the mansion with an adjacent stone building. On the shore, a couple of small boats had been pulled up next to the path that led to the main entrance. Gentle grassy hills dotted with white sheep surrounded the grand manor. Smoke rose from the chimney.
It looked like a home. Not hers. But someone’s.
Ian’s.
She glanced at him, sitting by her side, driving the cart. His profile was stern, his eyes fixed on the house in front of them. There was something behind this mask. He looked as though he’d been tortured and was trying to hide the pain.
“’Tis nae where I grew up,” he said. “I was raised in Innis Chonnel before the MacDougalls seized it after they killed my grandfather, Sir
