“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—”
He didn’t need to say it. Marjorie’s hands shook at the thought of being responsible for the worst outcome for her clan, her son, and the war. She had years of training from her father and brothers and was technically the most knowledgeable one left in the castle. But she had absolutely no war or battle experience. She hadn’t even been able to shoot the bloody MacDougall spies, for God’s sake. She was a coward. How could she ever protect the approximately fifty people inside these walls, including her son?
“I wilna let them take Glenkeld,” she said with more firmness than she felt inside. “The castle must stand.”
The look the men exchanged varied from dubious to respectful. Tamhas and Muir nodded.
She clenched her jaw. “We will train more. We ken the castle’s weaknesses. We canna repair all the damage in time, but I will think of something.”
Chapter 5
Konnor stared at the woman who stood in the doorway next to Marjorie with a basket in her hands, She looked at least a hundred years old. She wore a brown dress, her head was covered in a white kerchief, and her face was leathery and wrinkled, but her eyes seemed bright.
Was this the “healer” who was supposed to help him with his leg? Konnor had hoped that even though it seemed the whole colony was playing some sort of medieval game, they’d at least practice some modern medicine. They might not vaccinate and all that, but general healthcare was no joke. Unfortunately, it looked like they relied on herbal remedies and witchcraft.
He locked his gaze on Marjorie. She stood there, determined and sublime, like a queen in disguise. With her dark, shiny hair falling in cascades over her period clothing, and those cat eyes, she was like a badass queen from some sort of movie remake of a classic fairy tale. The more Konnor looked at her, the more dazzled he was. He remembered the feel of her body against his and how she’d smelled when she’d helped him walk here. He wanted her that close again.
“Is that him?” the old woman asked Marjorie. “Is he supposed to be Moire’s cousin?”
“Aye,” Marjorie said.
“Are ye English, lad?” the woman said.
“No,” Konnor said.
“Good. The Sassenachs are nae welcome here.”
She limped towards Konnor and sat on the edge of the bed he lay on. Marjorie followed her and stood nearby with her arms crossed over her chest.
“What ails ye, lad?” the old woman asked.
“Look, ma’am, you don’t need to bother. Can someone perhaps take me to the hospital?”
From there, he could call the farm. The woman narrowed her eyes and looked him over with a different sort of curiosity.
“Havna heard anyone speak like ye in my life. Where do ye come from, lad?”
“From the States. L.A. specifically.”
“Dinna ken what any of that means. Do ye, Marjorie?”
Marjorie shook her head, her gaze boring into him. He felt like he were under an X-ray machine.
Why would she still not admit to knowing something about the modern world? Was isolation so important to them? Wasn’t this taking the roleplaying a little too far? In either case, he would be better off laying low until he got help and could get out of here.
“Right,” Konnor said. “It’s far away.”
“But ye’re Moire’s cousin, I hear?”
Konnor sighed. “Look, ma’am—”
“My name is Isbeil. Nae ma’am.”
“Yes. Of course. Look, I’m not Moire’s cousin. Marjorie, you mistook me for him—” Marjorie’s face went blank, and her arms fell to her sides. “I guess I didn’t correct you because you were the only one who could help me get out of the ravine. Just help me get to the Keir farm or to Dalmally, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Marjorie was livid, her eyebrows two furious arches. She took a step towards Konnor. Telling them the truth had been a mistake, but he just couldn’t take any more of this circus.
“You lied to me?” Marjorie thundered. “Who are you then, if nae Moire’s cousin?”
Christ, she was beautiful when she was angry. “Just a guy.”
Isbeil shook her head. “He speaks strange things I dinna understand. But he’s convinced they’re true.”
“That makes him a madman,” Marjorie said.
“Or someone who’s here by chance,” Isbeil said. “I dinna see any signs of madness.”
“I’m not crazy,” Konnor said.
“Aye. Ye’re nae crazy.” Isbeil clasped her hands and removed the linen that covered the basket. An aromatic mixture of herbs tickled Konnor’s nostrils.
“Let me see yer ankle,” Isbeil said.
Konnor moved his leg to give her better access. His ankle was swollen, and red and blue bruises shone through the skin. He also had a cut that was still bleeding a little.
“The cut is nae deep,” she said, “but there’s dirt in it, and it needs to be washed. I’ll put honey on it to keep rot-wound away. As for yer ankle…”
Isbeil took his foot and rolled it in a circle. Sharp pain shot through his leg, and he clenched his teeth.