“Aye, I might be tempted to admire her, Steafan,” he admitted. Tempted to stare at the delicacy of her smile while she reached her hand out to a rabbit. But all traces of the gentle smile were gone. In their place anger, hatred, and pain molded her features. Aye, she hated him because, if not for his admiring eye, he would not have been captured, and her kin, killed by his.
He would be enjoying full use of his arm.
He looked down at it and then flicked his gaze away. He was too late in stopping the slight sound of a growl rising from his throat.
“But I was a fool once and the cost of it was too high.”
He should feel no pity for her. Her father’s political beliefs dictated the deaths of Catholic Royalists. Had it been what the kirk demanded? And if so, why should any Royalist side with the church over the king?
The violence, both political and religious, had become so horrific that King James had finally issued the Declaration of Indulgence this past spring. The Declaration suspended penallaws, which had previously removed all power from Protestants who did not conform to the Church of England.
It made the times more peaceful, but most Catholics weren’t sure it was best for the king and their religion.
Logan exhaled a long breath. These were some of the concerns of his kin, concerns of his. He didn’t need to consider William Woodburn’s daughter any more than he had already.
“I’m goin’ fer a ride,” he said, turning to leave the Main Hall.
“I’ll come along,” Steafan offered quickly and caught up to him.
“I want to go alone,” Logan told him. He sensed Ewen’s movement behind him, likely to stop Steafan from following. He would thank his cousin later.
He stepped out of his house for the second time that day and looked around before he strolled to the gated enclosure where his and his cousin’s horses grazed on the summer grass.
The Camerons, staunch supporters of the Catholic King James, had many enemies. He had also been given some information about a rebellion rising from William of Orange, the king’s Protestant son-in-law.
He was planning on riding to Tor Castle today to inform his father, the current Lochiel—or chief of the Camerons of Lochaber. He also wanted to tell his father that he would fight—whether or not the Lochiel approved.
But first, he needed to get his arm stronger.
After scanning his land and finding it free of enemies, he mounted his saddleless horse.
Wrapping his fingers around the horse’s mane, he rode out of the pen. He raced across the vast glen and circled it once, twice, three times more. All the while, he held the reins in his right hand—or he released the reins altogether so that he could hold his left arm out against the force of wind that fought him. Twice, he dropped his right arm and his left held firm, parallel with hisshoulder, a feat that had taken him over a year to master. Now the goal was to keep it up longer.
He practiced using his arm for the next three hours, lifting it against the wind, holding his dirk—of which the strength of will it took to achieve brought moisture to his eyes.
After practicing with his left arm, he practiced for another two hours with his right.
Without slowing his horse’s gait, he twirled the hilt of his sword around in the air and then brought it down with bone-crushing power. He removed the heads of his enemies, sliced their bellies down the middle as they came upon him on their imaginary horses. He ‘fought’ with six years of learning grace in lethal movement, speed, and brute force.
His cousins had followed him because he brought them home from every fight.
If he was to be the Lochiel of Lochaber after his father, he would practice every day of his life to be worthy of taking his father’s place.
But how could he protect his people if he couldn’t fight? So, his days became devoted to getting stronger, and to one day soon be drafted in again to the king’s army.
He sure as hell would not allow a lass to disrupt his life…or his practice.
Miss Woodburn put her spell—or her curse on him, since he lost six years of his life.
He would gain it all back and protect the king againstherkind.
And then he would never think of her again.
*
Elspeth sat downon her bed to test the plumpness of the feathermattress. It was heavenly. Was Logan Cameron truly giving her this bed to sleep in? This bedroom with a small table and two carved chairs before a cold hearth? It was temporary, she reminded herself. He wanted her to leave. And that’s what she wanted too.
But the bed was nice.
