“We are from the Clan MacInnes.” One of the riders moved his horse forward.
Logan swept his sword free with his right hand and flipped over the hilt, making the sword dance and flash. When it stopped, it was pointed at the bold rider. “What do ye want?”
“Captain Cameron, we are here from the Royal Army to inform ye that a band of thieves are headed this way. We are here to offer our aid, should they attack.”
Logan looked him over with a dark glance and took a step closer, keeping his claymore unsheathed. “Another moment and I would have skewered ye like a fattened calf.”
The rider gave him a repentant bow, “Fergive me fer no’ sendin’ word of my arrival first. There was no time, Captain.”
Finally, Logan sheathed his blade. His two cousins followed. “Ye have my thanks, but there will be nae need fer ye to engage in fightin’ when there are three of us.”
The saddled soldier gave him a stunned look. “Three of ye? But, Captain, there are at least thirteen of them.”
“An unholy number,” Steafan muttered, shifting his sharp, indigo gaze left and then right for the attackers.
“Ye need to stop listenin’ to Alina and her wild superstitions,” Jamie complained, tucking his pistol under his belt.
“She was correct aboot yer sister announcing her desire to wed a foreigner, was she no’?” Steafan countered.
Logan turned his head to look at Jamie while he considered his reply. Had Steafan’s lass predicted—? Nae, Logan didn’t believe in such childish things.
“Enough of this talk!” Logan raised his voice, then brought it back to a lower pitch. He turned his attention back to the rider. “What is yer name?”
“MacInnes, Captain. Hamish MacInnes,” the rider told him.
“MacInnes, take yer men to the mountain and wait there. If my kin and I look aboot to succumb to their number, ye may intervene. Dinna enter the fight. I dinna want to fight worryin’ aboot ye and yer men. Understand?”
He waited for MacInnes to agree, then turned to Jamie and Steafan. “Let us prepare fer some guests.”
His cousins nodded and smiled, then returned to the house for the rest of their weapons.
They didn’t have to wait long for the band of miscreants to arrive. As MacInnes had reported, there were thirteen of them. When they saw Logan, the lead rider slowed his horse.
“Yer the Cameron of Ben Nevis,” the rider called out.
“Aye, I am.” Logan let him know. “Who are ye?”
The rider didn’t answer but leaped from his horse to attack. Logan was ready, striking clean and quick blows with one arm. He kept the barrage coming, forcing the ruffian backwards. The other thieves must have known about his weakness, for they attacked him in twos, and even threes.
Steafan and Jamie held their own, each of the three fighting two or more, while MacInnes and his men watched in admiration. Every man, not just those belonging to the Royal Army had heard of the skill and courage of the Camerons and MacDonalds of Lochaber. With Logan leading them, they had found victory in every fight in which they’d been involved.
When Logan lost the use of his arm, and stopped fighting, his kin had stopped, as well. They would only go out with Logan—unless ordered differently by the king.
When the thirteen thieves were broken and battered at their feet, Logan sheathed his sword and went to his cousins to make certain they were not hurt.
“Ye were all…ehm…” MacInnes said, coming up behind them. When Logan turned, remembering him, the soldier smiled then looked away. “Yer skill has caught me unawares, Captain. I have never seen a man fight like ye, even with two arms.”
“All it takes is practice,” Logan told him, turning back to his kin.
Steafan snickered. “Just practice and nothin’ else. Nothin’. Ever.”
“What else is there?” Logan asked him.
“Women. Lips as sweet as honey and warm bodies—”
Logan looked heavenward then called out to MacInnes that the men should refresh their thirst from his well, then be on their way. And take the fallen thieves with them.
Women. Logan thought, returning to the house. He had stopped seeking comfort in the arms of a lass. His comfort came from swinging his sword.
