Page 60 of Highlander’s Haunted Past

“Oh, Ellen! How did ye do that?” Florence asked.

Ellen’s lips set in an angry grimace. “Not everyone was blessed enough to grow up in a castle with cooks. Now, Kenna, can ye manage to chop the vegetables? Aye, I’ll tell ye what to do. Florence, ye go get someone to fill our pot with some water and set it over the fire.”

Kenna and Florence sprang into their tasks with liveliness, taking Ellen’s direction as she gave it and doing their best to protect their fingers from cuts and burns. The result was a fairly thin, watery, and tasteless “stew”—nothing half as good as what the innkeeper had made in Aberdeen. Kenna felt a few stabs of embarrassment as she spooned it into bowls and passed them around. Florence, on the other hand, looked as proud as could be. She stood over the men, ladle in hand, watching them as they took their first gulps.

They were all smart enough to swallow quickly and come up with some ambiguous compliment.

Eventually, with coaxing and goading, the last of the stew was eaten up, and the party settled around the fire, pulling plaids over their shoulders and stretching out their legs, so the bottoms of their feet grew warm from the fire. Flasks were pulled out and passed around, the heat of the alcohol staving off the cold of the late autumn night.

Rob wrapped his plaid around him and Kenna, and she let her head slip so that it came to rest against his shoulder. Rob’s arm snaked around her waist in return, holding her close to him.

When everyone seemed to be comfortable, Florence begged to finally hear the story of the battle. All day, the men had been half-asleep on their horses, all continuing to push back the tale to that evening when they could give it their full attention. The time, it would seem, had come. They went round and round the circle, each one of them contributing a bit to the tale while adding their own inimitable style of embellishments or contradicting the claims of someone who had spoken before.

Murtagh, for example, claimed that he had taken on a Gordon scout and won with nothing more than his fists. Jacob had laughed at that, saying that Murtagh hadn’t even been close to the Gordon scout, that it was actually he who had killed the man by throwing a blade from more than twenty paces away. Hugh told them that they were both ridiculous because Rob had been the one to kill the scout with a quick slash of his sword. Rob just shrugged and smiled, neither confirming nor denying his role.

Kenna listened intently, laughing at the way the men tried to top each other, but felt a slow wave of nausea wash over her when the story reached its end. The men said that the Queen’s forces had surrounded the small Gordon army, cutting off any opportunity they had to escape. Then they had shrunk their circle, pushing into the Gordons with swords and spears, impaling any who tried to break through the line and change their fate.

In the chaos of the men’s return and their swift departure from Aberdeen, Kenna had not taken the time to think about the cost of her freedom. Now, against her will, the images of her friends, cousins, and brothers were flashing across her mind. There were men she had only met a time or two and men whom she had known since she was a babe. There were faces that she could not put a name to and faces that were as familiar to her as her own.

How many of these men are now gone from this world? And were any of them Thomas or John?

Every time that she found herself worrying about her brothers, she had pulled herself back. She had reminded herself that she hated them for what they had done to her, both purposely and accidentally. All of the pain of the past few weeks had sprung from their own twisted sense of Gordon loyalty, and she was not sure she could forgive them for putting clan above family.

She hated them even more for making her worry. Like it or not, she still loved her brothers. They had done their best to rip themselves from her heart, but they still hung on with a single stitch that just wouldn’t break.

Rob seemed to sense her distress, and his arm around her waist tightened. It was a small comfort, the only comfort that he could give her at this moment. It would not be proper for a lady of Clan Fraser to so openly mourn the losses of her enemies.

Murtagh began a loud and boisterous account of the end of the battle, leading to more shouting and laughing than ever. Kenna thought about laughing, as well, even if it would have been hollow. At least she would have fit in.

But Rob intervened, leaning over her and whispering, “Yer brothers weren’t there.”

Kenna stiffened, only her eyes daring to dart over to try and get a good look at Rob’s face. Though his face was close to hers, he was staring straight ahead at the fire, a faint and forced smile on his lips.

The laughing around the fire continued, masking Rob’s next whisper, “Huntly ordered them to stay in Inverness.”

“Ye’re sure?” Kenna whispered back.

“Aye. A prisoner told me. One of Huntly’s advisors. Canna remember his name.”

Kenna dropped her head down, concealing her face behind the plaid, allowing herself a single wet tear as she swelled with relief and joy and release. And, she found, she was smiling once more.

Before anyone else around the fire could notice, she sat up again, having wiped away any trace of her emotions.

“Thank ye fer telling me.”

“‘Course, lass,” he replied softly, tightening his grip around her even more.

Kenna nuzzled into him, accepting his touch with a bit of pleasure. Rob had barely been with the group all day; he and Hugh had left the party almost as soon as it had departed to scout ahead and to hunt, only galloping back to the party a couple of times to let them all know that the road ahead was still clear. Some things would never change.

“At the pace we are traveling, we will be passing by Inverness in two days,” Rob said, whispering in her ear again so as not to interrupt the story being told around them, which was now detailing the arguments over spoils of war. “If ye’d like, we could break off fer the afternoon and ride into town.”

“Really?” Kenna asked, carefully checking herself as her voice rose above a whisper with eagerness.

Rob grinned. “Aye. The rebellion is over. Clan Gordon no longer is considered an enemy of the Crown. So long as we rejoin the group by nightfall, it should not be a problem. We’ll get permission in the morn.”

Kenna could have kissed him; she was so happy. She would be smiling for weeks at this rate. Rob seemed to sense the change in her because he gave her hand a quick squeeze and then suddenly stood.

“Best get some sleep. It will be another early morn tomorrow. Come on, Kenna.” Rob held out his hand to her.