The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (34 page)

He nodded grimly. “If I asked you to forget their names, would you?”

“I would try, but I’m afraid I have a very good memory.”

He gave her a wry smile. “I figured as much. But I suspect I will not be able to keep the others’ identities from you for long.”

“I would never betray your friends, Gregor.”

“Aye, well, I don’t intend for you ever to be in a position to have to do that. What would you think about moving to the Western Isles until the war is over?”

She looked at him incredulously. “You are jesting, aren’t you?”

“Partly.” He reached out and swept a lock of dark hair from her cheek, tucking it behind an ear. “The thought of leaving you alone when Bruce sends for me makes my stomach turn.”

Cate didn’t want to think about that either, knowing he would be leaving soon—maybe even days after their wedding. “I won’t be alone,” she said. “I have John and the other warriors of your
meinie
. I will take care to not wander anywhere on my own. And I might not have the superhuman strength and skill of a Phantom, but I am not unable to defend myself if need be.”

He nodded. “I never thought it would be a relief to have a wife who is trained in warfare.”

Her mouth quirked. “And I never thought I would marry a ghost.”

“Phantom,” he corrected dryly. “Well, now you know all my secrets.” She paled, but he didn’t notice as he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “Perhaps we can resume your practice with the dagger?”

She nodded, her shock at his news fading with the realization of what it meant. She might know all his secrets, but Gregor didn’t know all of hers. And with his place in Bruce’s army now revealed—although she still had dozens more questions—it was becoming a foregone conclusion that she was going to have to tell him. She could no longer delude herself that the name of her father wouldn’t matter to him. It would. The question—and what she feared—was his reaction when he learned the truth.

Gregor had his arm around her neck from behind, the sharp blade of his dagger pressed to her throat. He’d showed her two ways of escaping. She’d mastered the first, of pulling down on his arm with both hands, as if she were going down to the ground, before driving him back suddenly against a hard surface—in this case, the wall of the barracks—but she was having a more difficult time with the second.

“Tuck your chin to protect your throat,” he instructed. “And you still need to pull on my arm to lower the blade so it’s more at your shoulder than at your neck. The pivot has to be faster. You can’t give me time to react and get the blade back into position.”

“I’m trying,” she groaned, frustrated. “But I’m having trouble positioning my hands as I turn.”

“You’re thinking too much. Keep your hands in the same place as you are when pulling down on my arm, and just use your elbow and lean your head into my body as you pivot.” She had that fierce, determined, obstinate, pursed-mouth look on her face again that made him want to laugh. God, if she were a man, she could inspire legions with that look. “Ready to try again?”

She nodded.

He’d just gotten the blade into position when he sensed a movement behind him. He turned, but it was too late. His inattention cost him. Cate pulled, pivoted, and twisted the arm holding the blade behind him, forcing him to the ground by pressing against the back of that twisted arm.

He swore. But it wasn’t due to the fact that he was eating dirt, her foot was now on his back, and his torquing arm was in pain; it was due to their witnesses. One whose laugh he’d recognize anywhere.

“Watch that face, laddie,” MacSorley said, the laughter still heavy in his voice. He’d obviously mistaken Cate for a boy, which wasn’t surprising, as Gregor had forced her to wear a mail coif as they practiced with the blade at her throat. “Wouldn’t want those ticket holders to be disappointed.”

Cate frowned and released him, shooting him a questioning look.

Bloody hell
. “I’ll explain later,” Gregor said, getting to his feet. Despite the fact that he was going to have to tell Cate about the ridiculous tickets, he grinned at the big West Highland chieftain, who looked more like a Norse raider than an elite warrior. It was damned good to see him. “Nothing to worry about, Hawk. If something happens to me, we can always have them come see you and charge two for the price of one.”

The two other men with him—Lachlan MacRuairi and Arthur Campbell—snickered. The men had obviously left their horses in the stables and come straight to the practice yard to find him.

“You might have to offer three for one,” MacRuairi said dryly. “My cousin has been married for so long, he’s out of practice at pleasing lasses.”

MacSorley smiled smugly. “There is only one lass I care about pleasing and believe me, cousin, she doesn’t have any complaints.”

“How is Ellie?” MacGregor asked innocently. “I’ve been meaning to drop in for a visit next time she visits Campbell’s wife at Dunstaffnage.”

The taunting grin fell from MacSorley’s face. His expression darkened, turning instantly deadly. “You aren’t going anywhere near my wife, MacGregor—not unless I’m there with her.”

Gregor quirked a brow and smirked. “Worried, Hawk? I thought you hung the moon and stars in your wife’s eyes?”

“More like prudent,” Campbell interjected dryly. “Even the smartest lass can be a little blinded and act silly around you. Believe me, MacSorley here isn’t the only one to be relieved to hear you’ve finally been snared.”

“Aye, so where is the lass who finally got her claws in you, Slick?” MacSorley added. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Cate, who’d been standing at his side as he welcomed his brethren, had finally exceeded her patience. She drew off her coif, poked him in the chest with her finger, blew a wisp of hair away from her adorably dirt-smudged face, and glared at him. “Aye, Slick”—she shot a glance to a stunned MacSorley—“a fitting nickname, by the way. Aren’t you forgetting someone when you are discussing all these ‘lasses’?”

“Bloody hell, MacGregor,” MacRuairi said, “it’s a lass!”

“A lass pinned you down?” MacSorley said. He looked up as if the gods were smiling on him (which they usually were). “Thank you!”

No doubt the seafarer was thanking them for the future fodder. But Gregor would cure his friend of that belief soon enough, when he let MacSorley be the first one to practice with his soon-to-be bride. The unsuspecting Viking would be on his back in seconds. He couldn’t wait.

But introductions had to come first. Once made, not even the normally expressionless MacRuairi could hide his
surprise. He could read their minds. This cute, wee lass in a simple tunic, hose, and mail was the woman he’d chosen for his bride? Damned right! He eyed them all challengingly, almost daring one of them to say—or think—anything.

Campbell came forward first and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. You’ll have to excuse our jesting. We meant no offense. It’s just that we don’t often see MacGregor here bested by anyone, let alone a squire—or a lass,” he added with smile.

Cate looked up at his partner warmly. “I am not easily offended, my lord … Campbell?” she added, with a confused look to Gregor.

Gregor smiled wryly, guessing the source of that confusion. The Campbells and MacGregors had been locked in a vicious feud before the war broke out, and probably would be again once it was over. Indeed, it was their enmity in the early days of the Highland Guard that had given Tor MacLeod the idea to make him and Campbell partners.

God knew, it wasn’t the only unlikely pairing. But it had worked. He and Campbell were like brothers now. Too bad all the pairings could not have worked out so well, he mused, thinking of Seton and Boyd. The Guard was still reeling from the defection of “Sir” Alex Seton. The England-born, Scotland-raised knight had been an ill pairing with the fierce patriot Robbie Boyd from the start. But no one had ever imagined he would betray them.

Turning from this troubling thought, Gregor smiled at Cate. “Aye, you heard that right: Campbell. It turns out this one has a few redeeming qualities. He’s a quiet bastard, though, so don’t let him surprise you.”

Cate looked up at him and said in a low voice, “Are they …?”

He quirked his mouth. He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed.

Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded. He’d known it was going to be impossible to keep the others’ identities a secret from her once she knew the truth about him. Although this was certainly faster than he anticipated, as he hadn’t known his brethren were coming.

Discovering why they were here, however, would have to wait. Nothing was going to make him miss the opportunity to see MacSorley on his arse.

Hours later, the four men were gathered around the large table in the solar. Gregor sipped his wine, trying not to grin as the seafarer shifted on the wooden bench.

MacSorley’s sore backside hadn’t been Gregor’s only reward. He was also nursing a nice black eye that he’d earned when Cate’s elbow jabbed harder than she’d intended. Cate had been horrified, MacSorley had been silenced, and Gregor and the others had laughed until they cried.

“Hell, Arrow,” MacSorley said, grabbing a nearby cushion to slide onto the seat. “I can’t believe you taught your wee ward all our secrets. I never imagined a lass could learn to fight like that.”

“It was John mostly.” He grinned. “She’s good, isn’t she? I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it myself.”

“Just don’t let my wife see it,” MacRuairi said dryly. “I have a hard enough time keeping her away from the battlefield. God knows what she’d do if she got it in her mind that women could fight.”

He shuddered reflexively, and Gregor tried not to smile. Talk about unlikely pairings. MacRuairi, the mercenary without loyalties, had wed one of Scotland’s fiercest patriots, Bella MacDuff, the former Countess of Buchan.

“Your betrothed is small, but surprisingly quick and agile,” Campbell said. “She moves like …”

His voice dropped off. They all guessed what he had been about to say, and sobered.
Like Seton
.

“Has there been any word?” Gregor asked quietly.

Campbell shook his head. “So far he’s kept his vow.”

“Kept
one
vow, you mean,” MacRuairi interjected darkly. “He may not have shared our names with the English, but he betrayed us in every other way that matters. ‘Sir’ Alex had better stay in London and pray he never finds himself face-to-face with one of us on the battlefield. I would enjoy sticking my blade in his back to repay the favor.”

No one responded, but MacRuairi was only echoing—albeit in harsher, MacRuairi-like terms—what they’d all thought at one time or another. The man who’d been one of their brethren was now an enemy—and a threat to them all.

Except maybe to Gregor. “Is there any news?” he asked.

“The rumors are spreading,” Campbell said. “It’s only a matter of time before your name is being bandied about like MacRuairi’s and Gordon’s. You will need to take precautions.” He looked at him. “Has the lass been told?”

Gregor nodded. “Just today, before you arrived.” He filled them in on the men who’d been in the forest.

MacSorley nodded. “Maybe Hunter will be able to find something when he arrives.”

“I thought he and Striker were in the south with Edward Bruce?”

“They are, but you don’t think they’d miss your wedding? Hell, Arrow, there is no man in Scotland any of us are more eager to see wed,” MacSorley added with a grin. “They and Raider are bringing your dispensation from the good bishop on their way north.” The Bishop of St. Andrews, William Lamberton, was well known to them all. His support had been a huge factor in Bruce’s success thus far.

“I’m surprised Raider can tear himself away from the babe.”

Boyd’s wife—his new
English
wife—had just given birth to their son a couple of months ago.

“He’s been in the south with Striker and Hunter, but I suspect he’s been making the journey to Kilmarnock often,” Campbell said with a wry smile. “Ice and Saint will arrive with Chief in a few days.”

“And Angel?” Gregor asked. Helen MacKay née Sutherland—Magnus “Saint” MacKay’s wife and Kenneth “Ice” Sutherland’s sister—was a gifted healer and had become the personal physician of the Guard. Unconsciously, he fingered the scar at his neck where he’d been shot with an arrow that should have killed him. It
would
have killed him had it not been for Helen. He owed her his life, and it had created a special bond between them—much to her husband’s continued annoyance.

Cate would love her. They were actually quite a bit alike. They were both pursuing interests that had been the preserve of men—Cate with her training in warfare, and Helen as a physician.

“Saint left to fetch her as soon as the king received your message. He knew she’d have his bollocks if he let you wed without her being there to see it. The king, Douglas, and Randolph would be here as well, but they are readying the army to Perth to begin the siege.”

Gregor nodded. It was what he’d expected. “When?”

“A week,” Campbell answered with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m afraid you will only have one night with your bride before we must leave to join him.”

Gregor cursed under his breath. He’d hoped to have at least a few days. Cate would be disappointed. Hell,
he
was disappointed.

But at least he’d be ready. It wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to clear his head, but being with Cate had worked. The past week had relaxed him and reinvigorated him for the battle ahead. It wasn’t just Bruce now; there was Cate as well. He wanted her to be proud of him—to be the kind of man she could count on—and he wouldn’t let either of them down. He hadn’t lost his edge. If anything, the time
with Cate had sharpened it. He was eager to pick up his bow and prove it.

“I don’t know,” MacRuairi drawled, giving him a long, knowing look over his tankard of ale. “If the way Arrow was looking at his wee bride tonight was any indication, I’d say he’s already had quite a few wedding nights.”

The black-hearted mercenary who was meaner than a snake and gave true meaning to his bastardy had obviously been around his needling cousin for too long. He was beginning to sound like him.