Page 56

Owen’s throat vibrated with a silent growl. How could his father be so stubborn? Despite all Owen’s mistakes, his father should have faith in his son.

But he didn’t. Trying to convince Dougal Cambel of anything after he’d made up his mind was useless.

Owen didn’t know what to do now. Should he do as his da wanted and keep the information to himself? Or should he send a messenger to the Bruce and risk the king’s favor again?

If he chose the latter, there could be no distractions.

There could be no Amber in his life. No matter how hard it would be, he’d need to distance himself from her. His family would not take him seriously if they thought she was distracting him. He couldn’t afford his judgment being clouded. If he let a woman distract him again, he could lose everything. Worse. His clan could.

Scotland could.

He sipped his uisge and considered his options. He knew as surely as the sun would rise tomorrow that he wanted responsibility. He wanted to be a leader like his brothers and his father.

He wanted to see the respect and the admiration in his da’s hard malachite eyes. Even if the price for that was letting Amber go, stepping back and being as far away from her as possible.

“Aye, Father.” Owen raised his cup of uisge. “Ye’re right. Let’s drink to that.”

Chapter 19

Owen hadn’t let Amber far from his side since they’d entered Glenkeld Castle. After embracing his father, he’d turned to her and held her hand. The touch had sent a lightning bolt right into her core and set her blood ablaze. It was as though their connected hands sent sunshine through her.

They sat at a long table with the rest of the Cambels. Owen had let go of her hand, but their hips still touched, making Amber’s head spin like she’d had a glass of wine on an empty stomach.

The ceiling inside the great hall was high, and the windows were small and let very little light in. Long tables and benches stood in two rows. At the other end of the hall was a great chair with a slightly smaller one by its side. The room reminded Amber of a church hall, but it smelled like beer and food.

Owen was talking to his father quietly when something changed in him. He shifted away from her. His thigh became as hard as a rock. He avoided looking at her, and something icy coiled in the pit of her stomach.

No, it was just her imagination, surely. She just needed to talk to him.

Amber glanced at the great empty chair. “Is your dad like the chief or something?”

Owen followed her gaze. “Nae. The chief of our clan is Uncle Neil, my da’s older brother. My uncle and his sons are with the Bruce. He’s the king’s right hand, so my da needs to run things here.”

Amber eyed Dougal as he pulled a piece of meat off the leg of a fowl. He was talking to Owen’s brother Domhnall, who sat across the table from him. His white beard moved as he chewed, his shortly cropped white hair was in a military style. She saw where Owen got his green eyes, straight jawline, and perfect nose. Strangely, he reminded her of her own father. They both had a similar military strictness about them. His face showed little emotion, and his back was as straight as a pole. He had the wary look of someone who was used to dealing with enemies.

Would her own father have believed in her innocence if he’d been alive? Would she have gone to him for help? Probably not. He’d been part of the military system that had let her down. Would he have set that aside and trusted his daughter? Her whole life, all she’d wanted was for him to be proud of her. For her brothers to love and respect her.

She should’ve stood up for herself. Maybe then they’d have respected her more. But she dismissed the thought. It wouldn’t have made them like her more, she argued. It would’ve only made the conflict worse.

Her body was already buzzing from sitting so close to Owen, so she ignored the cup in front of her and focused on Owen’s tanned hand lying on the table. She could see thin blond hair on his wrist. She craved the touch of his hand, to have that jolt of electricity run through her again.

Owen’s gaze trapped her, and suddenly, there was not enough air in the whole giant room. God, she hoped he couldn’t see how he affected her. His thigh muscles stiffened and hardened. She shifted away from him, breaking the warm contact. But Craig sat on her right side, and she had to shift back to Owen so she didn’t press herself tightly against his brother.

“So, caliphate…” Craig said.

His green eyes were similar to Owen’s. Both brothers were equally tall and strong, but Craig had dark hair. Where Owen was light and carefree, Craig took her in his piercing gaze and held her like in vise. He had the face of a detective.

She was overcome by the feeling he’d already caught her in a lie. She flashed a nervous smile.

“Yep.” She cleared her throat. “Caliphate.”

Craig scanned the people at the table around them and leaned closer to Amber. “Do ye by any chance mean the United States of America?”

What did he just say? “How the hell do you know?”

Craig chuckled and looked somewhere in the direction of the entrance. A beautiful red-haired woman came in, her hand on her swollen belly. She wore typical clothing of a medieval woman. Her long dress had long sleeves and was decorated with embroidered Celtic patterns along the neckline. Her hair was done up in two ear-coiled buns tied with white ribbons. She spotted Craig, beamed, and made her way to their table.

“My wife, Amy, will tell ye how,” Craig said.