Chapter 29

Morgan scowled and scratched at the back of his neck. Where were the Campbell brothers? The last time he’d seen his four knights, they were patrolling the perimeter of the woods, searching for signs of the missing Colban while keeping an eye out for Rivenloch scouts.

He checked the armory. Twice.

He scanned the great hall, where tables were being assembled for the final meal of the day.

He scoured the stables.

On his second turn through the courtyard, he heard the clash of steel. Following the sound, he found the Campbells sparring on the sward beneath his bedchamber window. They were wielding strange implements. A slender, curved sword. A pair of pointed daggers. A lady’s fan.

Feiyan’s weapons.

Ordinarily, he would have no qualms with his men confiscating the weapons of fallen foes. But the lasses were neither fallen nor foes. Not exactly. He might not be quite ready to return their arms to them yet. But neither would he condone his men stealing them.

He marched toward the Campbells. But before he could demand they turn the scavenged weapons over to him, to his amazement, he heard the lass herself shouting down commands from his window.

“Aye, Davey, that’s it! Sweep the fan beneath your elbow. But take care not to—”

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on?” Morgan bellowed.

His knights froze, looking as guilty as priests in a brothel. No one spoke.

“Ye,” he barked, stabbing a finger at the dark-haired sprite at the window. “What do ye think ye’re doin’, orderin’ my men about?” Before she could answer, he glared at his men, adding, “And ye. Why are ye takin’ orders from a lass?”

The Campbells looked shamefaced.

“M’laird, I can explain,” Davey, the oldest, said.

Before Feiyan could reply, Jenefer appeared at the nursery window to defend her cousin. “’That lass’ happens to know how to wield those weapons, you big oaf.”

Morgan’s blood boiled at the insult.

She added, “They might well have chopped off a hand without her instruction.”

“My men need no instruction,” he ground out. “Men, return these weapons to the armory. And ye two,” he said, skewering the lasses with a hard stare, “get away from the win—”

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.

The X belonged to Ian Clare.

Colban’s sign was…

The pit of Morgan’s heart suddenly went cold. Colban’s claymore still hung on the wall. Which meant he’d gone into the wood unarmed.