Page 73 of In the Highlander's Bed

Gordon could feel the men around them look at him askance. “Go to the devil, Thomas,” he answered, and kicked Tempest into a gallop, using speed and the wind in his face to clear his head of regret.

Immediately, everyone else followed his pace, and it was practically a mad run until horses and riders were exhausted.

Thomas didn’t make any more jibes at Gordon, and they managed to reach camp in some sort of harmony with each other.

Those who had stayed behind were gathered to greet the men as they rode in. Gordon immediately noticed Fiona and Grace standing together. They both searched the party with their eyes, and he knew they were hoping to see Constance.

His sister’s gaze met his. He saw her disappointment. Grace burst into tears when sherealized the truth. When Grace went running off, Fiona went after her.

Not even Tad greeted him, but lay with his head down.

Gordon dismounted. The sword weighed heavy at his side, especially with the added disapproval of his clan. He headed to the stables, the better to let everyone adjust to the idea of Constance’s absence and have their say among each other.

He had no doubt that they would discuss Colster’s offer. He’d just finished turning Tempest out when a group of the older men approached him. Old Rae spoke for them. “We hear Tavis has offered land.”

“Aye, he has,” Gordon said carefully.

“Where is it?”

Gordon shrugged. “I imagine in England. His father sold any Scottish land years ago.” That was a well-known fact about the Maddox holdings. “But best beware. He’s not Tavis any longer. You’d have to call him ‘Your Grace.’”

Rae considered this a moment. “I could. He was a good man.”

“A good blacksmith, too,” another said, referring to the profession Tavis had before he became a duke. Heads nodded agreement.

Rae said, “It’s a good offer?”

Gordon wouldn’t lie. “A parcel of land and a roof over your head. I know no more than that, but certainly it is more than you have now.”

“I’ve never run from a fight in my life,” Old Reivers said, curling his hands into fists. “I’m not a coward.”

“No one says you are,” Gordon answered.

The older man’s eyes were grave as he said, “Then there will be a good number of us leaving. Emma and I will take in Mad Maggie. We’ve become accustomed to her wild ways.”

Gordon struggled with the right answer. He told himself it was all right. It was fighting men he needed.

Robbie came running up to Gordon’s side before he could speak. His step slowed as he saw the older men. “You’d best come to camp,” he said in a low voice to Gordon. “There is a good number of our clan leaving. They want to take Tavis’s offer. Thomas says you need to come talk to them.”

Gordon picked up the Sword of the MacKenna and went marching into camp to see the truth of Robbie’s words.

Everything appeared as it usually did this time of day. Most were gathered around the cook fires, although no one would meet his eye.

For a second Gordon stood transfixed. This was the way the camp had been before Constance. Resentment, selfishness, a lack of confidence and belief in their own dignity as a people. His captive had rallied his clansmen better than any sword ever could.

The realization hit like a blow from the Almighty.

Gordon looked down at the sword in his hand…and wondered what he had done.

The sword had no power. It was their bond as a clan that had kept them going, that made them stand together. Yes, there would be hotheads drawn to his leadership because of the sword, but did he really want an army of Thomases?

“I want you to listen to me,” he shouted, calling his clan together. He hopped up on a chopping block, balancing himself on the log so all could see him. “Come closer,” he ordered.

They came, their faces solemn.

“You’ve heard about the Duke of Colster’s offer. I’ll not lie to you, it’s a good one. He’s in a position to help, and he will.” He held up the sword so the afternoon light caught rubies on the hilt. “This is cold metal. Nothing more. With it, we’ve been successful in battle, but that is becausewehave heart, not this sword. If you wish to leave, you have my blessing. Those ofyou who wish to fight, I’m here.” He spread his arms to show he had no tricks. “I have no choice,” he admitted. “’Tis my head the price is on. Not yours.”

Fiona, with Grace by her side, had come to stand at the edge of the crowd. There had been a time when Fiona would never have lowered herself to associate with the likes of Grace. Nor would Grace, with her resentments, have given a minute of time to Fiona. That, too, Constance had helped.