Page 17 of Highland Steel

“What are ye lookin’ at?” he asked, smiling, not suspecting anything was wrong.

“Caleb, don’t!” said Rhoswen as Caleb stretched his neck trying to see around his friends who were all taller than him.

“Ye arena goin’ to like it,” warned Ethan, blocking his way.

“Let him see,” said Logan halfheartedly. “He’s goin’ to have to find out sooner or later.”

“Let me see what?” Caleb asked.

Ethan and Hawke stepped aside and Caleb’s eyes fell to the wolf. His smile quickly disappeared.

“S-slink?” he stuttered, dropping to his knees, looking at the remains. Rhoswen thought the grown man was going to cry.

“Caleb, dinna forget yer damned weasel,” shouted Old Callum MacKeefe from the door of the tavern. Rhoswen turned to see Callum holding Caleb’s pine marten up by the scruff of its neck. “If I catch the blasted thing in my larder again, I swear I’m goin’ to skin it alive and add it to my stew.”

“Slink!” shouted Caleb, getting to his feet. “Damn ye three,” he said, glaring at his friends. “That was a nasty trick to pull on me.” He took off at a run for the tavern to collect his pet.

“We really thought it was Slink,” Logan shouted after him, but Caleb didn’t turn around.

“Thank goodness it wasn’t Slink,” said Rhoswen, looking up into Logan’s greenish-gray eyes. Being this close to the man, and him having his arm around her, made her feel an attraction to him. She felt safe and protected. It was where she wanted to be.

Logan stared down into the swirling blue depths of Rhoswen’s eyes, getting pulled into her world. She’d leaned her head against his chest, and depended on him for her safety. He cared for her and wanted to help her. She was a frail English lady whose life had lately turned bad. Rhoswen was alone and with her younger siblings. They were naught more than prey out here, with no one to protect them. If he didn’t help her, she and her brother and sister might fare no better than the poor weasel that ended up as Jack’s supper.

Ethan cleared his throat, and Logan realized he was lost in thought. He quickly released Rhoswen and took a step away. “I suppose we should get goin’,” he said. “Lady Rhoswen, are ye ready?”

“Yes, I am ready to go search for the bandits who stole my father’s sword.”

“She’s goin’ to look for bandits?” asked Ethan in surprise.

“Nay.” Logan shook his head. “My friends and I will do that, but ye arena comin’ with us,” he told her. “It is too dangerous.”

“Of course I am going to be a part of this,” she said. “However, I don’t want my brother and sister along. I think I’d feel better if there was somewhere safe they could wait for us to return.”

“They’ll stay at the MacKeefe camp,” said Logan. “So will ye.”

“Logan, I dinna ken if that is such a guid idea,” mumbled Hawke under his breath.

“Hawke, yer da is chieftain,” said Logan. “Convince him of it.”

“I agree with Hawke,” said Ethan. “They’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”

“Nay,” said Logan. “Hawke’s faither married a Sassenach, so bringin’ three of them home to the clan isna goin’ to matter. Lady Wren will welcome them with open arms just like she does with all our visitors.”

“Lady Wren?” asked Rhoswen. “There is an English noblewoman in the clan?”

“Aye,” said Logan. “She is Hawke’s mathair.”

“Your mother is English?” asked Rhoswen, looking up at Hawke.

“Aye,” he mumbled, looking the other way.

“Ethan’s stepmathair, Lady Lovelle is an English noble as well, but she lives in England,” Logan continued.

“Really?” asked Rhoswen, very curious about this.

“Well, aye,” said Ethan, looking down, kicking at a rock.

Logan smiled, knowing he’d proven his point. “I suggest we take Rhoswen and her siblin’s up to the Highlands before we go on a search for the missin’ sword.”