Page 58 of Bride of Fire
The two lasses simultaneously slammed their respective shutters before he could finish.
The men began gathering Feiyan’s weapons.
“Our apologies, m’laird,” Davey mumbled.
Morgan blew out a vexed breath. To be honest, he wasn’t all that upset that his men were learning a new skill. He wasn’t even that bothered that they were taking direction from a lass, who probably did know a great deal about the curious weapons.
What worried him was that the Campbells had neglected to report back to him after their search.
“What news do ye bring o’ Colban?” he asked them.
“Naught, m’laird,” Davey said. “We scoured the forest for hours. We can see where Colban entered the wood. But there’s no visible trail.”
He rubbed his jaw. With leaves littering the autumn ground and hours since he’d left, that was to be expected. “Ye encountered no Rivenloch scouts?”
“Not a soul in the wood but us.”
He nodded and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
It was late enough that Morgan could be fairly certain Rivenloch was not planning to attack today. But they might have sent spies ahead to do surveillance.
As he wheeled to return to the armory, from the nursery above, he heard his bairn’s sorrowful cry.
The sound reminded him of his own grief over the loss of his wife. Thin. Hollow. Relentless. He wondered if the torment of Alicia’s death would ever end.
And then, not long after, the whimpers softened into cooing.
There could be only one reason for that. Jenefer. Despite her angry outburst, she’d been willing to attend to the bairn. Morgan was glad, for everyone’s sake, he’d relented and given the guard orders to allow her to care for his son as long as Bethac was there.
What kind of magical sway the lass held over the child, he couldn’t fathom. Even Bethac was mystified.
But what troubled him was wondering what he was going to do when she left.
He made his way back to the armory. There, he calmed his disquiet over Colban by inspecting the weapons hanging on the wall.
Though the Campbells could sometimes be wild-mannered, all of his knights were well disciplined. The soldiers kept their gear in good repair. The lances were sharp, and the axes had a keen edge.
As for Colban, he was a clever tracker. He’d find the lass.
Morgan took each longbow down, flexing the wood between his hands to test its strength.
From what he’d seen of Hallidis, she was a sensible woman. The most levelheaded of the three cousins, she seemed the least likely to make trouble.
Morgan made a cursory inspection of the quivers. The arrows were straight and neatly fletched.
If Colban had intercepted Hallie, Morgan reasoned, he’d assure her that her cousins were safe. He’d tell her that the king’s messenger was on his way to settle the matter of the ownership of Creagor. He’d let her know there was no need for war.
And because peaceable Hallie hadn’t wanted a siege in the first place, she’d agree to wait for the messenger’s arrival.
Unless she didn’t trust Colban.
Still, Colban had the upper hand. He was a seasoned warrior. She was a vulnerable lass. Colban no doubt had everything under control.
His mind eased, Morgan examined the claymores, one by one. Freshly polished, they gleamed like the surface of a still loch. Into each hilt was carved the mark of its owner.
Davey Campbell’s hilt bore a cross.
John mac Dougal’s symbol was a circle.
