“You don’t look fine,” one of the hulking men says. “More like the pile a cow left on the peat.”
“Your mother liked it fine enough,” Rob says.
Are you kidding me? Your mother jokes? In this time?
The three men laugh, then the two strangers pull Rob into an embrace as they all laugh. Feeling very much the third wheel I stand to the side and look up the rest the path. The glow of cooking fires and the laughter of children come over the ridge. We’ve found another camp of MacGregors.
The men disengage with hearty pats on the back and small talk before Rob points at me.
“Drever, Gair, this is Quinn,” Rob says with a wave of his arm.
I smile and curtsy but the uneven ground and my skirts don’t cooperate. I stumble partway down and Gair catches me before I fall on my face.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Of course, m’lady,” Gair says.
Only a blind fool could miss the interest in his eyes. I glance at Rob, hoping for help, but he is talking to Drever.
“Come, the chief will want to meet you,” Drever says.
We follow the two men up the path and over the ridge. This is a rougher camp than the one we left behind. There are maybe three dozen survivors that I can count. One stone longhouse for all of them sits in the middle but it’s in a terrible state. The thatch of the roof has holes in it, which men are working to repair.
There are six children whom I’d guess are between four and ten years old chasing each other and laughing. The resilience of children is so much more than we give them credit for. The adults around them are sullen and morose, but the children are living in the moment. Happy because, for right now at least, there is nothing to worry about.
We’re led through and the people stop their work to stare. They whisper to each other as we pass. Stopping at the longhouse, Drever knocks on the door. Gair continues to stay close by my side and eye me when he doesn’t think I’m looking.
To think not that long ago I was the girl who couldn’t get a boyfriend to save my life now I’m attracting interest all over the place. Warmth flushes across my skin as I realize I enjoy the admiration. I would never in my life do anything with it, but it is nice to be seen.
“Come,” someone inside the longhouse calls.
We file into the smoky space. Four torches are mounted along the walls on opposite sides and the central fire burns low. The thick smoke swirls around the ceiling and vents out the chimney and the open holes on the far side.
A wide table sits close to the far side of the fire, and behind sits a man with a long, thick red beard. He rises as we enter. Average of build and in most ways an unremarkable Scotsman except for his eyes. His eyes are piercing green, sharp and observant. They dart over the two of us and his jaw tenses.
“Robert,” he says.
Rob bows his head so I give a curtsy, assuming this must be the clan chief for this group.
“Chief Shaw,” Rob says. “This is Quinn.”
Shaw nods. Gair keeps himself close to my side while Drever stands next to Rob.
“Bad times. What brings you?”
“Hope and a plea for help,” Rob says without hesitation.
“Two contradictory ideas,” Shaw says.
“Aye, in these dark times they are,” Rob says.
“What hope do you bring then?”
“Lord Nicholas captured many of our clansmen,” Rob says.
“Lord Nicholas is possessed of the devil. A changed man he is,” Shaw says.
“Changed?” I ask. “When did he change?”