My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5

by J. L. Langley

  Patrick chuckled and sobered just as quickly. “It makes sense. And if I were a betting man, I’d say they are building a base. It’s about the right size.”

  “I agree.”

  “Why would they need a base on a planet that isna part of their alliance?” Ram asked.

  “When Marcus broke into their computers, there was something in there about making a base to reproduce, raise, and train soldiers. From what Bannon and Louisa have said, they still have not gotten Regelence’s procreation technology, but I’m sure they are still doing experiments. Perhaps they have finally perfected the process. At any rate, they’d want to keep it secret.”

  It got quiet after that, everyone processing the information. Even the men behind them seemed to drift off into their own thoughts. It was a nice night. Cool but not cold, the air was, as always, fresh and clean. Already the lights of the MacKay keep lit up the night with a soft orange glow. The tops of the towers were silhouetted against that glow.

  Marcus’s mount moved over the rough terrain, and its gait changed momentarily. Pain sliced up his hip and into his back. Stars, but it was too bad they did not have Plantation Walkers on Skye.

  Patrick frowned at him. “You’re hurting. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “What good would it do? We still have a bit to go to get to Lochwood Castle.” Marcus was not in the mood to be coddled and listen to Patrick’s fretting. It wouldn’t do any good, and it always made him feel like a weakling. He did not want to feel less than a man in front of MacKay warriors. A man had his pride, after all.

  Promptly ignoring his fretting consort, Marcus leaned forward to see Ram. “You were plotting revenge on Ciaran for the swim in the moat? That was ages ago.” Marcus grinned at the memory. Several summers past, before Ewan MacKay was murdered and Ciaran and Ram returned to Lochwood, Ciaran had tossed them in the Campbell moat. It had taken them both a dunk in the creek and two baths with Glenna’s special lavender soap to get the stench out. Marcus had burned their kilts and shirts.

  “Exactly. He’ll never see it coming.”

  “In all fairness, you both had that coming for teasing him about his crush on the blacksmith.”

  Ram snorted. “The man was—” He waved his hand around as if trying to find the word. “—honkin’.”

  Chuckling, Marcus shook his head. “Yes, he did… still does smell bad. I think he bathes only once every summer in the creek.” And what a sight that was.

  “Smells more like he bathes in the moat.”

  It really did. Probably all the hours sweating in the blacksmith hut. He was a handsome fellow, though, with his long reddish blond hair and his brawny arms and chest, and he rarely wore a shirt. All that hard work pounding metal showed.

  Marcus’s mare seemed to sense how close they were to a nice stable and some hay, because she hurried her pace. The trot was hell on Marcus’s back and leg, but he’d be damned if he’d show it. Gritting his teeth, he dug his heels in and let his mount have her head. That helped. Her gait evened out as she hit her stride.

  Patrick and Ramsey did likewise, following his lead. The horses were not the only ones ready for some supper and a nice bed. They left the other five clansmen behind, running toward the castle. It hadn’t started as a race, but it turned into one. They were neck and neck the whole way, none of the three of them willing to concede defeat.

  Marcus continued the pace until he crested the top of the hill. Loch Sterling’s surface looked like glass reflecting Lochwood Castle’s powerful visage. Slowly the sights and sounds of clan MacKay gathered around them as the men with him reined in, all of them slowing. The wagon and other men were still a ways behind them. With a grin, Marcus glanced at his opponents, who’d also slowed.

  The exhilaration of winning didn’t last long. The throbbing in his hip and leg radiated pain through his back. It was all Marcus could do to keep his gaze on the gate as it rose up, allowing them entrance.

  Several guardsmen called out hellos.

  Marcus raised a hand in greeting, gritting his teeth against the twinge it caused. There was no two ways about it—he was going to need help getting off his horse. With any luck he could convince Patrick to take them somewhere a little more private. Steering his mare toward the lists, he turned to ask, preparing himself for the scolding, but then a commotion sounded in front of them.

  “What is that? You’d think everyone would be in bed at this time.” Patrick clucked his tongue and changed direction toward the courtyard.

  So much for the privacy of the lists. Galaxy help him, Marcus was drained. Sweat had started popping out on his forehead due to the pain. He needed a hot soak in a tub, but it appeared that was going to wait a little longer.

  Ram shrugged and followed Patrick. “It’s probably Ciaran waiting fer a progress report.”

  It was all Marcus could do not to whine “Can’t that wait….” He had things to tell Ciaran and Bannon too, but first… a hot bath and a pint of liniment, maybe a gallon. Or better yet, maybe he could just bathe in the liniment. Glenna had sent four bottles with him yesterday when he’d left the Campbell keep.

  Inside the courtyard, at the foot of the keep, stood two Campbells: Douglas and Ross, Laird Campbell’s oldest son. Ciaran, Bannon, and Angus stood on the steps. “Apparently, it isn’t Ciaran who couldn’t wait for a report. Looks like Patrick’s men.” They’d been waiting for a report from the men Patrick sent to the building site yesterday.

  The men all turned as they approached. Something in the way they held themselves and the blank expressions made a shiver wrack through Marcus. Then he noticed two MacKay women weeping a few yards away.

  Patrick slid off his horse, walked to the two Campbells, and slapped them both on the arm in a show of greeting. “What news do you bring?”

  For several moments no one spoke, and then Ciaran met all their gazes. “The men we both sent tae the building yesterday have nae returned.”

  § § § §

  May 28, 4831: Lochwood Castle

  “Good, you haven’t gone out to the lists yet.”

  Ciaran yawned and looked up from his porridge to find Marcus standing across the table from him. He also noticed that for the most part his men had cleared out. There were only a handful still eating, and the maids were already starting to clear off the trenchers. Apparently, he’d been sitting here longer than he’d thought.

  Marcus’s eyes widened as Ciaran met his gaze.

  After setting his cane on the table, Marcus leaned forward and put his hands flat on the surface, then proceeded to lift one leg over the bench, and then the other. “You look like I feel. Glad I’m not the only one whose arse is dragging this morning.” Which was saying a lot, because Marcus didn’t look all that great. There were bags under his eyes. And a very pronounced grimace as he’d sat.

  “Ye leg is bothering ye?”

  “Don’t start that.” Marcus gave him a pointed look that Ciaran had always thought of as parental. “I’ve heard enough from Patrick, thank you very much. So back to you. I know why I didn’t sleep, but why didn’t you?”

  “Thinking about our men.” Among other things. That kiss had haunted him all night long. He’d waffled between his yearning for Red and his yearning for revenge. “We need tae find them.”

  “Patrick and I have a plan for that.” He glanced around the great hall, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We’re going tonight to have a peek around after everyone is asleep. Patrick has already sent word to have some of the Campbells meet us there.”

  Ciaran didn’t miss the wince as Marcus shifted his weight. He made a mental note to talk to Agatha and see if she had anything for pain for Marcus, and then he veered his thoughts back to their conversation and asked the question that had been bothering him. “Do ye think they are still alive? I keep wondering if I had gotten out there yesterday, if the outcome would be any different?”

  “I doubt it.” The words hung in the air between them for a moment. “Their presence at the site was prob
ably why you were attacked in the first place.”

  Which did not bode well for their men. Ciaran pushed the porridge away.

  A maid came over and took the trencher.

  After she left, Marcus asked, “What have you said to the council about the attack?”

  “Nothing. I dinna tell them where I was going or that I’d sent men out there. But if they ask, I’ll tell them the truth.” Ciaran shrugged.

  Marcus shook his head as though he disagreed, but Ciaran wasn’t going to be cowed by a few old men and an old woman.

  “Where is Patrick?” He glanced around, searching for his mentor. Where were Red and Louisa? He had not seen them this morn either, and he had looked… for Red at least.

  Interlacing his fingers together and placing them on the table in front of him, Marcus grinned, looking pleased with himself.

  Ciaran raised a brow.

  “Outside, training your men to use fraggers.”

  “What? I thought we couldnae use the fraggers?” Something about them not working after a day or so because they ran on electricity, which Skye did not possess.

  The grin got bigger, and for the first time since they started talking, Marcus gave him a real smile. “Last night while I was not sleeping, I started messing with the spare parts we retrieved from the crashed shuttle. I was able to rig a couple of solar chargers for the fraggers. Some efficiency will be lost due to cloud cover, but they should still work. That way we can use a few of them.” They’d gathered the weapons from all the battles they’d engaged in. There must be almost a hundred by now. “How many is a few?”

  “They charge pretty quickly, but still with only two chargers….” He glanced up at the ceiling as if calculating in his head. “Twenty-five or so.”

  “Can ye make more chargers?”

  “Possibly. I need to save some parts to try and make some sort of satellite, but after you were attacked yesterday and we got the news about the missing men, I started trying to come up with a way to even out our odds some.” He rocked back a little and turned, moving his legs back over the bench. “Come. Let’s go take a look.” He hissed out a breath as his first leg hit the ground on the other side.

  Ciaran hurried around the table. He started to grab Marcus’s arm and help him up but settled for handing him his cane. Marcus hated to be coddled. And Ciaran couldn’t blame him. It must be hard not to be able to do something so simple as ride horseback. Oh, Marcus could ride, but he always paid the price the next day. Ciaran had asked him about it once after seeing a long burn scar on Marcus’s leg, but Marcus had just said it was an old injury. Patrick had similar burns on his back. Ciaran had always suspected it had to do with whatever had brought them here. He now knew it was the IN, but he still had no idea of the details.

  § § § §

  The lists were only slightly less chaotic than normal. Instead of hacking at one another with swords, his men stood around watching and waiting. The excitement was a palpable thing. It was as if they were waiting for a minstrel to perform, only without chatter.

  Patrick stood in front of an archery target very close to Angus, who was pointing a fragger at the target. He nodded at something Patrick was saying, and then he fired the weapon. The shot hit the target near the bottom, far away from the center.

  Angus’s audience cheered as if he’d decapitated an enemy with one blow of his sword, and then immediately they quieted… waiting.

  Ciaran shook his head in wonder. “If we dinna get better than that, I dinna think our odds will be any better.”

  Marcus chuckled beside him. “They will improve. It takes a bit of practice.”

  “I hope so.” If not, they weren’t any better off than when they used swords and bows and arrows.

  The warriors parted a little, the group on the outside moving in to get a better look, and Ciaran’s gaze was drawn past Patrick.

  Louisa, dressed in a lovely gray dress with the MacKay plaid draped over one shoulder, taught one of the warriors in much the same way Patrick was, by standing close enough to grab the weapon if need be.

  The men waiting their turn were just as enraptured as the group watching Angus and didn’t seem to mind in the least that their teacher was a woman. Perhaps that’s why they were enraptured? Louisa was a beautiful woman.

  Ciaran grinned at the thought. It might be a good way to get them to practice. But where was Red?

  He continued his perusal past Louisa and nearly bit his tongue.

  Red stood in a similar stance. His hair hung over his forehead nearly to his eyes, but the concentration on his face was a marvel. He was always handsome, but now, he almost looked… dangerous. The intensity was similar to what he’d displayed in battle. It stirred Ciaran. He’d always liked strong men, men who could take care of themselves and fight beside him, and at this moment, Red was very much that man. He had one hand on the bottom of the long fragger he’d confiscated and the other on the shoulder of….

  Is that Ian holding the rifle?

  “He’s guid with them.” Agatha sidled up next to him.

  Ciaran glanced at his aunt. Where had she come from?

  As if reading his mind, she dipped her head toward the targets. “I’m waiting on my turn.”

  God help them all! “Is that a guid idea?”

  “It’s an excellent idea!” Marcus said. “Fraggers are not heavy and unwieldy like your claymores. Anyone can become adept with them, no matter their strength.”

  Right. Louisa and Red were shooting. But Aunt Agatha? And Ian? Ciaran’s gaze snapped back to his brother and what Agatha said registered. Them. He searched the surrounding area and found Fiona only a yard or so away from Ian and Red. She wore a kilt… again, so he’d missed her at first.

  Ian shot, hitting the target just right of center.

  Fiona actually clapped and bounced on her toes a little.

  Ian smiled so big, it made him look like the kid he was. He turned to Red, and they slapped hands together over their heads. Red smiled as wide as Ian. Then miracle of miracles, Ian turned to Fiona, and she gave him a thumbs-up. He handed her the fragger, and he slapped her on the back.

  Ciaran stared in awe. They were not only not trying to vex each other—they seemed to be getting along and encouraging each other.

  “Impressive, isna it?” Agatha said.

  “Aye.”

  “Ye should keep him.”

  Perhaps I should…. Ciaran looked at Red, and the memory of their kiss came back to him in a rush. Och! Ciaran excused himself and walked behind the shooters to get closer, then stopped a few feet away.

  Red took the same stance with Fiona he’d had with Ian. He leaned closer and said, “Deep breath. Let it out, then squeeze the trigger.”

  Fiona nodded, then did as instructed. She hit the target an inch away from Ian’s, touching the line of the center circle.

  Ciaran held his breath.

  “Aye! That was amazing!” Ian ran forward and did the weird hand slap thing with Fiona that he’d done with Red.

  Amazing was right. Ciaran had fully expected Fiona to turn around and gloat.

  Red took the rifle from her, then met Ciaran’s gaze. A blush stained his cheeks, and he gave Ciaran a shy smile. “Hi.”

  “Did ye see that? Ciaran? Did ye see it?” Fiona ran up to him, and Ian wasn’t far behind.

  “Aye. I saw it. Ye did better than Angus.”

  Fiona crowed, and there was more backslapping from Ian. It was the most bizarre thing Ciaran had seen in ages. They were supposed to be shoving each other and trying to one-up each other.

  Ian asked, “Did ye see my shot?”

  “I did. Ye did well.”

  With that, they both started chattering to each other.

  Ciaran shook his head and smiled at Red. “How’d ye do it?”

  “They are naturals.”

  “Nae that. I mean they arenae fighting.”

  Chuckling, Red nodded. “That too. I told them if there was any squabbling, then neither of them could le
arn to shoot.”

  “I thought ye hated hunting?”

  “I do, but I love to shoot. I’m the best shot in my family.” Red shrugged. “Actually, I’m the best shot among my friends as well, though Louie and Wi—er, Trouble, do come close.”

  Louie growled at him and mumbled, “Would you like to test that theory and see who is the better shot?”

  Ciaran wasn’t sure who Trouble was, but he was certain he didn’t want Louisa and Red trying to outshoot each other. Something told him it would get ugly. They were both too much like Ian and Fiona. “How about we just call it a draw?”

  Red practically preened. “Fine with me, but it really isn’t a draw. I’m by far the superior marksman. I could even shoot an apple off of someone’s head.”

  Louisa glared at him and pointed one delicate finger at him. “Well, I can shoot a grape off—”

  Oh brother. With a grin, Ciaran stepped between them before they started trying to prove their points. “Why dinna ye teach me?” he asked Red.

  Louisa leaned around him, punched Red in the shoulder, and mouthed the word “Later.”

  Giving Louisa one last triumphant smirk, Red turned his attention back to Ciaran. His smirk morphed into a genuine smile, and Ciaran swore his heart stuttered. Damn, but he’d been thinking about that kiss and much more all night long, which was part of the reason he was so tired today.

  “Sure.” Red held out the rifle to him.

  Ciaran stared at it for a few moments, then glanced at his men standing around waiting for their turns. Louisa had taken over for Red and was now instructing Ian with a pistol, and Patrick was teaching Greer. “Let us go farther down the lists. There are more targets set up for bow and arrow practice.” Ciaran told himself it was so his men didn’t see his bumbling first attempts, but that wasn’t the only reason. He wanted to be alone with Red. He needed to tell him of tonight’s plan, because something told him they might need Red’s superior marksmanship.

  Red shrugged and slung the rifle strap over his shoulder, wearing it over his back, much like Ciaran did his sword. “Okay.”