“After dark? While a battle was being waged?”
“The darkness seemed to come upon us quite suddenly. And, of course, we did not expect to be caught between two sides in a bloody skirmish.”
“Of course.” Lies. He would have to sift through a mountain of lies to find a single word of truth.
Deep in thought, Shaw tasted the gruel. Though it was thin and bland, he emptied his bowl, grateful for the nourishment that would replenish his strength. Breaking off a hunk of dried bread, he washed it down with watery ale.
“Do you return to your home this day?” Edan asked. The others around the table, including the elderly servant, seemed uncommonly interested in Shaw’s reply. Their eagerness to be rid of the intruder was obvious.
“Nay. I will not leave my brother here alone.”
“But he is not alone. He has us,” the boy said with the easy assurance of the young.
“Aye. But when he awakes, he will be alarmed unless he sees a familiar face. I have already decided that I will not leave here until my brother is strong enough to accompany me.”
Seeing the glances exchanged between Sabina and Merritt, Shaw felt a small but satisfying sense of victory, knowing he’d managed to unsettle at least two of the Lamonts.
“So.” Upton’s words shattered the silence. “Though you are unwelcome in my home, you insist upon remaining.”
“I will not leave without my brother.”
The older man’s brows drew together as he studied Shaw for long, silent minutes. The others around the table sat very still, awaiting the explosion of their father’s wrath. Instead he surprised them by saying, “See that a sleeping chamber is prepared for our... guest.”
“Father,” Merritt objected, “he is not our guest. He forced himself upon us—”
“I need no chamber,” Shaw said smoothly, ignoring her outburst. “I will stay with my brother, to see to his needs.”
“That is not possible, since he lies in Sabina’s chambers.” Upton turned to Astra. “Prepare the room next to Merritt’s chambers, since it is the largest one.”
“Father, I think—” Merritt began in further protest, but her father cut her off sharply.
“As for you, Merritt, I would have you take the Campbell to the tower, where he can look down upon the land that borders ours.”
“But—”
“Thank you.” Shaw drained his goblet, feeling completely restored. There was nothing more invigorating than besting an opponent. And of all the Lamonts, Merritt presented the greatest challenge. It would give him a measure of satisfaction to match wits with this one.
“Very well.” Merritt pushed back her chair and sprang to her feet. “You will come with me, Campbell.”
Shaw paused a moment to acknowledge his host. “I thank you for your hospitality, Upton Lamont.” Then he spun on his heel and had to hurry to catch up with the female.
“At one time all of the land that you can see from here was ruled by my father.”
Merritt and Shaw stood in the watchtower, surveying the green, verdant land below. It was a deceptively peaceful scene. Sheep grazed on hillsides. Thatched cottages were strung out beside swollen streams. Yet, Shaw knew, the countryside seethed with treachery. He could still recall in his mind’s eye the scene of the Lamont stable being consumed by flame; the pall of acrid smoke that blotted out the stars.
“How is it that your father no longer lays claim to the land on the other side of the loch?”
“When a man grows old and weak, he needs sons to wield their swords in his name, else those once loyal to him may decide to turn against him and claim his riches for themselves.”
“Are you saying that all your father’s friends are now his enemies?”
“Nay. He still has some who are loyal to him. But most chose to look out for themselves. And when the Campbell offered them gold in return for their loyalty, they were quick to turn away from the one who once offered them protection.”
Shaw was outraged. “My brother Dillon has no need to give a man gold in exchange for his loyalty. He has an army of faithful kinsmen. Furthermore, he has no desire for your father’s land. There is more than enough for all.”
“Liar.” Merritt ground out the word between her teeth. “How else do you explain the raids on our land?”
“Raids?”
“Aye. Nightly. They steal our sheep and cattle and burn our crops and shelters.”
Now he understood the empty larder. And without food, the servants would flee to another master. One who could feed and protect them.
“I know nothing of these raids, but I would venture that they are the same as those against my people. Carried out by the Highland Avengers.” He studied the way the wind caught her hair, flailing it against her cheek. Without thinking he lifted a hand to brush it aside. Instantly he felt the heat and drew back.
As if sensing his attraction she snarled, “This is not the work of the Avengers. ‘Tis the work of the wicked Campbells.”
Clenching his hands behind his back, he turned away, studying the charred remains of the stable. “And how would you know that?”
“As if you do not know. Two years ago, a band of marauders, carrying the Campbell banner, attacked Inverene House while my father was away. They—” she swallowed, then forced herself to go on “—brutalized my mother before killing her.”
He turned around to study her, feeling the sting of righteous anger. Why was it that women must always suffer so at the hands of their enemies? Men and children were mercifully killed. But women, young and old, were first humiliated, before their lives were ended.
“How did you and your sister escape the same fate?”
“Our father’s man-at-arms, Kendall, along with our little brother, Edan, held the soldiers at sword point while my sister and I slipped away to find our father. By the time we returned with our father and drove off the invaders, Edan was the only survivor, though at the time, he seemed more dead than alive.”
“Then he is indeed fortunate to have lived to tell of it.”
Her voice nearly broke. “Aye. Fortunate. But my father has ne’er been the same since.”
“In what way?”
“He... was gravely wounded, as well. But his body, though once strong and invincible, refused to heal. Perhaps it is because of the pain to his heart. He often lives in the past, when he and my mother were young. He refuses to accept that she is dead. And he has... abdicated his rule. He often thinks his old friends are still loyal, and that they are seeing to our needs. At other times, when his mind returns to us, and he questions what has happened to his home and land, we tell him that a fever sweeps the land, confining his old friends to their beds.”
Shaw began to understand. “I have witnessed such things before. A man is dealt a mighty blow. One that prevents him from carrying on with his life. And so he continues in a dreamlike state, pretending that all is well. Your father does not know about the stolen horses and the burned stable?”
“Perhaps.” She shook her head, and tears stung her eyes. “He seems unconcerned about it.”
In that instant Shaw realized that Upton knew little about the desperate situation in which his family found themselves. He was unaware about the empty larder, the loss of servants, the disloyalty of his former friends.
Upton Lamont was laird in name only. He was so sick in mind and body and heart that the day-to-day care of his fortress had been passed to—Shaw’s eyes widened at the thought—a lad of ten and two and these two females.
Having been forced to reveal the truth, Merritt blinked furiously and Shaw could see that she struggled against a display of emotion.
“You have seen enough, Campbell.” Turning abruptly, she led the way down the stairs.
Shaw made his way toward Sabina’s chambers, intent upon seeing his brother. As he walked, he peered into massive, high-ceilinged rooms. All were cold, lifeless. Most were cloaked in darkness, with no fire to chase away the gloom.
“As empty as a to
mb.” The words caused a chill along his spine.
It was difficult to imagine Kinloch House in such a state of disrepair. He was accustomed to the noisy chatter of his family home; servants, laughing, teasing as they worked; his family calling out greetings to the dozens of friends and neighbors who were always present. Even in times of crises, the big manor house teemed with the voices of soldiers loyal to their laird as well as their families, who took refuge within the walls of the fortress. At such times, they even brought their household goods and livestock, so that all would not be lost to the bands of intruders. Always there was activity, and an air of expectancy. But here, there was only silence. Neglect. And an air of quiet desperation.
Deep in thought, he passed an open doorway and saw the glimmer of firelight. Just as he was about to move on, he caught a glimpse of a menacing shadow darting across a wall. The silhouette had his heart pumping. There was no doubt that it was a sword, poised to attack.
Instinctively he reached a hand to the scabbard at his waist and retrieved his own weapon.
“Advance and be recognized,” he called out in imperious tones.
His words were greeted with silence.
“Come forward at once,” he commanded, “or prepare to answer to my sword.”
Again there was only silence.
He strode into the room, then halted. Except for a small bed, and a table beside it, there seemed to be no furniture. No chairs were drawn up beside the fireplace. No settles. No side tables holding the usual mixture of parchment, quills and candles. The only illumination came from the fire. And in the eerie giant shadows cast by the light of the flame, the small figure huddled in the bed seemed all the more frail.
“Edan.” Shaw paused at the foot of the pallet, studying the lad who lay against his pillows, brandishing a sword.
“Why are you abed at this time of the day?”
“It is where I always am, except when Sabina or Merritt carry me below stairs to sup with Father.”
“Carry?” But even as the word slipped from his mouth, Shaw knew, and cursed himself for his ignorance. Chapter Seven It should have been painfully clear from the way the lad sat so still at table, not even rising to acknowledge a guest.
Eden Lamont was a cripple.
As the realization dawned, Shaw returned his sword to the scabbard and strode around the bed until he was standing beside the lad.
“You... stay abed all day?”
“Aye.”
In the strained silence that followed, Shaw cleared his throat. “Your sister told me how you fought the intruders who killed your mother. Is that when this happened to you?”
The boy nodded. “They left me for dead. But I foiled them.” He suddenly brightened. “I can still lift my sword. See?”
By grasping the hilt with both hands, he managed to raise the unwieldy weapon above his head.
Shaw studied the pitifully thin arms and could see the effort such exertion cost the boy. Yet, though his hands trembled, Edan glowed with pride at his accomplishment.
“If the marauders return, I must be prepared to defend myself and my family.”
“Aye. That you must.” Shaw’s heart went out to the lad. “You are very brave.”
“Not so brave,” the boy said softly. He lowered his voice, as if sharing a great secret. “I will forever see the face of the one who left me for dead. His eyes were yellow, like a forest cat’s, and he had a thin, puckered scar that ran from temple to jaw. The others called him Lysander and he laughed as he cut me, again and again, with his sword. Had another not pulled him away, I believe he would have completely severed my legs.”
Shaw felt a deep well of anger at the lad’s words, and wondered what would drive any man to such cruelty.
“I live in fear of the night.” The boy swallowed, then went on. “For he vowed that one night he will return, to finish his vile deeds for the one he serves. That is why, while the rest of the household is asleep, I remain awake and alert, my knife and sword by my side.”
“What could you do, lad?”
Edan surprised Shaw by flinging aside the covers and rolling from his pallet. Once on the floor he turned and scooted backward toward the balcony, using his hands to propel himself. At the balcony he pulled himself to the railing, where he could peer into the courtyard below.
“And you remain like that all night?” Shaw asked in amazement.
“Aye. ‘Tis little enough that I can do for my family.”
Shaw felt a sudden shock of remembrance. “’Twas at night that your stable was burned and the horses stolen. Something woke me. I dismissed it as the cry of a night bird.” He studied the lad, leaning heavily on his elbows on the ledge of the balcony. “It was you.”
“Aye.” Edan’s eyes clouded with sadness. “But to no avail. By the time I managed to rouse you and the others, the damage had been done.” He slid down the stone column supporting the balcony and began to scoot backward to his pallet. With surprising agility, he struggled under the covers. “If I had my legs, those villains would have tasted my vengeance.”
He turned his face away to hide the tears that sprang to his eyes. “So you see, I take the coward’s road. I am so afraid to close my eyes while night covers the land that I am forced to cower in my balcony. And even when I see invaders, my sword and knife are useless, as am I.”
“I once thought of myself as you do,” Shaw admitted.
“You?” The boy seemed stunned by such an admission. He turned to study the giant who stood taller even than his own father. Surely a man such as this would fear nothing.
“I also come from a family of proud warriors,” Shaw said. “But early in my life I rejected the lure of battle and embraced a world of books and letters.”
“Such a life would be scorned by my father. When I grow older, I must be a great warrior,” Edan pronounced solemnly, “or face my father’s wrath.”
“Does he not know of your infirmity?”
“Aye.” The boy nodded his head sadly. “But in his befuddled mind, he thinks it a minor inconvenience that will soon disappear. My sisters believe it was too great a shock for him, after the loss of our beloved mother. And so we all pretend that I am growing stronger. And since Father rarely leaves his chambers except to eat, there is little chance that he will ever see my... condition. So you see, he still expects me to take up his sword.”
“There are other things, lad.”
“Not to a Lamont.” The boy’s tone was so serious Shaw could not help but be moved. “My father has but one son. Therefore, I must be a warrior.”
“I see you have given this much thought.”
“Aye.” Edan smiled, all guileless and innocent, and Shaw thought such a look must rival that of heaven’s angels.
“Can you read?” Shaw asked suddenly.
The lad shrugged. “A little. Sabina was teaching me. But since the servants fled, she has been much too busy to spend any time on such unimportant things.”
“Unimportant?” Shaw put his hands on his hips and studied the boy. “If a man is to be a leader of his people, he must be skilled in all ways. And that includes being able to read missives from his underlings, and send orders in his own hand.” He paused a moment, deep in thought. The lad could not spend the rest of his life confined to this room, without benefit of challenge. “Since I am forced to remain here until my brother mends, I will undertake your tutoring.”
“You can read? And write?” The boy’s eyes widened.
“Aye. And so shall you.”
Seeing the way the boy beamed with pleasure, Shaw gave him a measured look. “You may not be so pleased about this after we have begun. You will find me a tough taskmaster.”
As he started across the room, Edan called, “My father has said a Lamont must be prepared for any task, no matter how impossible. When will the lessons begin?”
“On the morrow,” Shaw said, pausing in the doorway. “After we have broken our fast.”
He turned away, completely missing the
rapturous smile that seemed to touch all the boy’s features with radiance.
As he walked, Shaw’s thoughts were troubled. Each hour that he was under this roof, he discovered more about these Lamonts than he cared to know. Their situation was truly desperate. And yet, though he hated to admit it about a sworn enemy, he had to admire their courage in the face of adversity.
“How does my brother fare?” Shaw stood in the doorway, watching as Sabina attempted to force liquid between Sutton’s lips.
She looked up and Shaw could see that her cheeks were flushed, her hair and clothes in disarray. It was obvious that Sutton, in his fevered state, had fought against her ministrations.
She frowned. “He resists, and the fever is consuming him.”
Shaw crossed the room and knelt beside her. “Forgive my brother. He is very strong, and he does not know what he is doing.”
Gently lifting his brother’s head, he took the goblet from her hands, muttering, “Let me try.”
With extreme patience he managed to get several drops of the potion down his brother’s throat. He could feel the heat of Sutton’s body clear through his own clothes. Touching a hand to the fevered brow, he shuddered with alarm at the fire that raged.
“Bring me water,” he commanded.
At once Sabina sent her old servant to see to his needs. A short time later, while Sabina and Merritt stoked the fire with the last of the broken furniture, Shaw sponged his brother’s burning flesh.
“Treats ‘im as tenderly as though he were a wee bairn,” muttered Astra, watching the two men with considerable interest.
“Aye,” Sabina whispered. “And can match him strength for strength.”
“But of course, they are not like other mortals,” the old woman added.
“And why is that?” Merritt looked up at her in surprise.
“Because they share the same face.” Astra lowered her voice. “They no doubt share the same soul. Mayhap they even share the same thoughts, as well.”
“What foolishness,” Merritt retorted. “I do not believe you.”
“Then how do you explain the arrival of this one, just as his brother lay near death?”