Page 25 of Highland Storm

“Aye, well, if ye dinna drink your own piss oot o’ the burn, mayhap your stomach wadna need any settling, eh?”

“Let’s see what comes out o’ his arsehole this morn, then we’ll ken how much a bite he took. My belly is achin’ too an ye dinna see me stealing food.”

“Wee clipe!”

“It was the damned grouse—Alick, lazy bugger—probably found it dead.”

“Nay! I dinna!”

Brude turned on them now. “How would any o’ ye whoremongers know what I was doing, lest ye were sitting here watching every single move I make like beady-eyed hawks—and why would ye do so lest ye meant to steal a bite for yourselves?”

“It was the faeries,” interjected auld Teasag, his tone distressed. The man reminded Keane quite a lot of auld Fergus, back in the vale. “A penance for poaching upon their lands—so be the aching bellies. Mine isna well either.”

“What penance? This isna Holy Church, eejit. We’re no Sassenachs!”

“Aye, it is like Holy Church,” argued Teasag. “This place—” He waved a hand to indicate the whole of Lilidbrugh— “is no longer in the realms of men.”

Murdock made a face. “Ach, ye dolt! What faerie would want aught to do with a pile of broke stones? Shut up about it already, ere I break your bones!”

“Aye, we’re tired o’ listening to ye, Tea Sack.”

Through all this, Cameron remained silent, occupying himself by folding the small tarp they’d used to shelter the horses from the weather, preparing for their imminent departure.

“Shut your gobs,” Keane commanded them at last—before anyone should happen to brandish a knife. The snow was wet. No need to turn it red, although Keane certainly understood the inclination. At the moment, aside from having blue balls, he was cold and angry that these bunch of dafties would argue like auld biddies.

They’d begun their campaign with rations enough for ten days. After six in the saddle and quite a few supplemented meals, they should have had more than enough remaining for a week or more. With a bit of luck, Keane could have seen their bellies filled for a good sennight or more. But now everything was gone, as though some faerie had indeed waved a hand at their satchels and everything comestible had vanished.

With fourteen men, one woman, and no biscuits, no salted pork, no cheese and no liquids, except for a few flasks of ale, it went without saying that remaining to explore Lilidbrugh was completely out of the question.

By the same token, taking the girl back to whomever she’d fled from was also not on Keane’s list of destinations—even if it so happened that she’d come from allies who would welcome them with a feast and buckets full of ale—not unless he meant to start a war.

“Empty your flasks,” he commanded his men. “Fill them with snow.” It was better than water from the burn, considering everyone’s upset stomachs and considering what he knew about the dangers of drinking contaminated water.

“Ach, Keane! The ale’s the one thing keeping my bollocks from freezing in this bitter weather,” Teasag complained.

“Empty your flasks,” Keane demanded again. And though his tone might appear harsh, he, more than anyone, knew how quickly sickness could take them.

His command was followed by a profusion of curses, though he didn’t linger to see that they obeyed. He simply expected them to do so. He didn’t care if they chugged down the ale in a single gulp. At least then it would keep them warm—for a while—and there was little to no chance of drunkenness in this sobering weather. Most folks drank little water by choice, but the ale would dehydrate them quicker and he wanted everyone to have good, clean water at the ready, no matter how much they protested.

They should all be pleased enough to be on their way, but the change of plans did not suit Keane very much. He’d been counting on a leisurely morning to speak to Cameron, and then to gain his bearings, before helping Lianae find her lost stones, and better determining what to do with her. As it was, everything was in a muddle.

But the one thing he wasn’t confused about was this: He would kill the bastard who’d dared lay a hand on her—not simply because his mood was foul. And not because of what had happened between them this morning. But Keane felt fiercely protective over her. She’d looked at him with such a look of gratitude upon waking—such veneration—if Donal hadn’t distracted him, he might have completely lost himself in her arms. Only now, with his head a bit clearer, he realized what she was trying to do—thank him for coming to her aide.

The very idea made him sick to his gut. He would never have a woman that way.

Despite the number of lassies who’d rubbed their arses against his lap, the last woman he lay with was Meara. He did not partake when his men all went whoring. He much preferred a wank all to himself, far too aware of the consequences he would face, if his seed were to plant itself where he would not wed. To this day, Meara was the only woman he’d ever contemplated wedding, and the gods saw fit to keep that from happening.

Someone sabotaged them.

Who?

No one had been overly pleased over the prospect of making camp at Lilidbrugh, but no one—save Cameron—had opened his mouth to voice a complaint. By the same token, no one had any clue that he’d wished to remain, so hurrying their departure couldn’t possibly be the reason behind the theft. Keane was half tempted to empty all their saddlebags, just to be certain the thief wasn’t one among them, but if he did such a thing, without proof, there was no turning back from such an accusation. It would put their half-militant band of Scots out of their gourds. Already, they were edgy and ready to disband, partly because, until now, there had been no clear leader. This was something Keane intended to change.

His next thought was for Cameron, who seemed to have spent the entire night awake and brooding, if his look of fatigue was any indication. However, he was more than certain Cameron would never do such a thing. Even if they had no friendship between them at all, in a single word, Keane knew precisely what would keep him from sabotage: Cailin.

Which left Keane with three more possibilities, none of which were pleasing.

It could have been another one of his men, hoping to divert them from their destination, though if this was the case, that man would suffer right alongside them before he could fill his belly again. And it would be easy enough to catch someone if he kept sneaking away for a piss and a chew.