Page 32 of Highland Storm

But if Cameron was angered over the destination and turn of events, he didn’t say so, nor did he give any appearance of undermining Keane’s authority. He remained steadfast, quieter than usual, but otherwise not much changed. Considering that Keane was battling the weather, he was grateful not to have to wage war with his friend, or his men.

By late afternoon, the mesnie was weary and ready to make camp. Keane recognized the signs of their exhaustion in the slumping of their shoulders. And although like Cameron, no one spoke a word in complaint, they were forced to make quite a few unforeseen stops along the way. But this fact was ever telling: whatever proclivity these men once had toward whining, it was thoroughly quashed. Keane wasn’t sure that was entirely a good sign, though at least they no longer had the propensity to test the leadership. And yet it would behoove him to see to their needs, because if there was one thing he’d learned: unhappy men were all too eager to leave. While stopping early for the day was hardly optimal, no good would come of pressing on.

Like the men, Lianae too endured without complaint. She rode behind him companionably, her mood far less contentious than yestereve.

They found a spot near a grove of whitebeam trees. With the mild winter, they’d had a late bloom and the boughs still held their clusters of bright red fruit. Like rowan berries, whitebeam was generally harvested after the first frost, once they’d had a chance to properly blet. He suspected they would be good and soft by now, and perhaps even sweet. The bletted berries would make a soothing tea to soothe their aching bellies. But he was perplexed as to why they were all ill, when Keane was not. If the supplies had not been stolen he might not be so quick to cry foul play, though as it was, it gave him reason to suspect. Could someone have meant to poison them? Or mayhap it was simply the grouse, which he’d had none of because he’d given his share to Lianae. Now his belly was grumbling louder than Taranis. A red blur raced across the snow, darting into a nearby thicket. A red fox was after a meal, and so too was Keane. If he waited much longer, he was liable to consume his own limbs. He gave a sign to the men, and found a good spot to tether the horses. And then he helped Lianae dismount before taking Cameron aside. “I’ve a taste for something more than grouse,” he said.

Automatically, Cameron’s gaze slid to Lianae and then back, clearly mistaking his meaning.

“Food,” Keane snapped, and Cameron smirked. Little amused by the direction of his friend’s thoughts, he commanded, “Take Murdoch and Brude, see what ye can find to eat.”

Cameron peered over his shoulder at Brude. “Why them?”

“Because they are better archers than you, and because we’re better off not letting them out of our sight,” Keane explained, and then he challenged his old friend with a winning smile. “I’ll take the lass. Let’s see who comes back with the better feast.”

Cameron lifted both brows. “Three men to your one? Di’ your minny e’er teach ye modesty, my friend?”

Even as long as they’d known each other, Cameron probably didn’t realize that Keane’s mother was dead by the time he was two, his father before he was one. Aside from his brother, who’d had his hands full with the rule of the clan, and Una, who’d spoken mostly with the butt of her staff, no one ever told him aught. Keane fished his bow and his arrow out of its fittings and slid the quiver onto his back, ignoring the barb, returning yet another. “Think you can bring back something other than grouse? Judging by the number of times we stopped today, the last one nearly killed us.”

“Save for ye?”

“Aye, well, I gave mine to the lass.” He flicked a glance toward Lianae to find her petting Beithir, and he felt a warm glow in his breast.

“She looks well enough to me?”

“I dinna give her much.” Yet it made Keane wonder... He cast another glance at Murdoch, who now seemed perfectly hale. And unlike the others, he was the only one, aside from Keane and Lianae, who’d not needed to stop and seek his privacy along the way, despite the fact that he’d complained about a bellyache. Lianae, he understood, for she’d barely had enough to eat, but Murdoch was the one who’d hunted for their supper last eve. He and Alick had jointly prepared the food. Murdoch would have had first dibs at his share of the meat. And he was the one who’d been caught rifling through supplies this morning—as though he were still hungry. But if he’d stolen their provisions, he would also have known that none remained. Perhaps the two events were not connected?

“What’s the winning prize?”

Keane grinned. It wasn’t going to be the command of the men. That particular prize was already won, and now there was far too much at stake. “The loser will give up half rations to the winners. I vow I would eat a cow this night,” he said.

Cameron lifted a brow. “Does that include the girl’s share?”

“Nay,” Keane replied and his tone brooked no argument. Remembering the way Lianae had devoured her meal last eve, he was certain she needed all the sustenance she could get. If it came down to it, he’d give her his share yet again, though he had little doubt over the outcome of his wager, even with the odds stacked against him. Not a one of these men—not even Cameron—had his skill with the bow. For the most part, they were all more adept with their swords.

Cameron assessed him, his look discerning, though Keane didn’t much care what conclusions he came to. He intended to look after Lianae, come what may, for she was the entire reason he’d risen to this task in the first place.

“Vera well,” Cameron relented. “We have a bargain.” And he smiled as he turned away, marching over to Brude and then to Murdoch, rallying both men to his cause. Keane watched all three disappear into the woods, laughing as they went, and then made his way over to Teasag.

“See to the horses and start a fire. Send Wee Alick to gather firewood, then tell Donal I said to boil a bit of water.” Whitebeam could be bitter, but they would thank him profusely once the tea was brewed. At the moment, he was more than grateful for his brother’s wife’s knowledge of simples. Lìli had taught him much these ten years past.

Once he was finished ordering the men, he found Lianae seated upon a rock, her legs crossed and her feet up out of the wet snow. He could scarce blame her. Glenna’s wool was weather tight, but it was not leather, and hardly meant to be used for shoes.

“How are your feet?” he asked.

Her golden eyes were wide, her pupils dark. “Better,” she said softly.

“Well enough to walk?”

She nodded, and Keane took her by the hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To hunt for supper.”

She was lovely in this winter light. Her golden-red curls were beautifully mussed and her pale blue gown gave her face an ethereal pallor, like a milk-skinned faerie. “What shall we hunt?” she asked, hobbling along beside him.

“Hare, if we’re lucky,” he said.