“The Camerons are my kin. I am as good as one.”
She narrowed her eyes on him and smiled slightly. “Ye dinna say.”
“Ye were there in the dungeon that day,” he admitted.
“Aye, and I saw ye murder Gilchrist.”
He frowned, clearly not even remembering the man whose life he had robbed.
“The sleepin’ guard,” he finally said, proving her wrong. “What did ye give them all to sleep, lass?”
He knew! He brought it all back. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she bit her tongue to keep them from falling.
“What was his crime?” she asked instead. “Yer friend, Logan Cameron. What did he do to end up in my father’s dungeon?”
“If I tell ye, will ye regret tryin’ to save him?”
“I already regret it,” she let him know.
He laughed softly. “’Tis why I am here today, lass. I suspected ye survived that night and I set oot to find ye. I owed it to ye fer savin’ him. He didna get an infection thanks to yer cleanin’.”
“Nonsense, the wound had been dirty all day. If he didna get an infection ’tis because he…”
… “Aye, his constitution is strong, lass. ’Tis the strongest I know. He has never given up.”
What did she care? “Are ye going to tell me his crime?”
“I canna tell ye his crime. Fer that, ye would have to ask him. I will say that word reached us that Logan had been captured and was put to death. We searched frantically, even just fer his body, until we found him.”
“And killed—my family.”
There. She had wanted to say it, but she wasn’t sure she could without breaking apart. But she didn’t break. “Ye killed my father and mother. My brothers.”
“We set the keep aflame. They should have woken up and gotten oot.” He stared at her with accusing eyes. Nae, it was too much to consider. Was she directly responsible for killing her family by making them sleep?
“Do ye think I believe ye?” She wanted to cry. To scream! “Ye killed them, MacDonald. I willna let it go.”
He laughed for a moment and then grew serious when he realized that she was.
“Will ye try to kill me?” he asked, reminding Elspeth of a snake hissing at her.
“Nae,” she let him know.
He nodded and turned back to the road.
“I willna try,” she muttered. She would succeed.
Chapter Two
Logan Cameron, eldestson of Constantine and Ismay, adjusted his heavy belt around his waist and stepped outside his stone house at the foot of Ben Nevis. Several dirks clinked together from the belt. A claymore swaying over one hip and a short sword dangling from the other gave away nothing about his condition. His condition that had ended his fighting career. Would that he had died. What good was his life, helpless to fight for king and country?
He squinted up at the sun and unfastened the laces at his collar. Another hot day. Good. He liked practicing under the sun. He liked it under the moon, as well. If he was swinging his blade, he was happy—even if he could only swing with one arm. His left arm was slowly improving. He could feel sensations in his hand, and he was able to lift it almost to his waist. But to be honest, the recovery was incredibly slow. Six years felt as if fifteen years had passed.
There were days, much like this one, when he didn’t think he was needed any longer. He could barely swat a gnat out of his way, let alone a sword.
So, he practiced fighting with his right hand every day until he grew more proficient with it. One day, he would step onto the battlefield again. He would be ready, with or without the use of his left arm.
He heard laughter echoing beyond the glen and recognized the sounds of two of his cousins.
