So of course, he’d sign right up for marrying his enemy’s daughter if it meant ensuring his clan’s future.
But other than Pudge’s praise, she only knew the rest of the MacBains by sight.
As the day progressed, she got to know them each better.
Auld Gommy was the band’s cook—because he was “auld enough to ken how to make something from practically nothing,” according to Giric—although Gommy assured her he was still “nimble and agile with a sword, lad, and I dinnae mean a blade!” She’d laughed along with the others, despite feeling that mayhap she should be nauseated by such a claim. His legs—where they stuck out from his kilt—were like kindling sticks, and his beard was long enough to wrap around his neck for warmth…but he was quick to offer well-meaning advice.
Even if few of them asked.
Pudge was the grumpy one, who always seemed to have a skin of something strong-smelling at hand. He wasn’t as old as Gommy and his face was more weathered and less wrinkled…where the weathered wasn’t sunshine and rainbows, but rather thunderstorms and lightning bolts. Secretly, she called him Craggy.
Because his expression was just one giant crag.
He and Mook rode point together throughout the day because they both were at peace with their own thoughts, and didn’t need to blather, as Wynda called it. Pudge, because he didn’t seem to want anything to do with other humans, and Mook because….
Well, if Pudge was a crag, then Mook was a mountain: huge, hard, and with a head full of rocks.
But he liked to laugh—even if ‘twas at things like frogs and leaves and Giric’s cock jokes—and Robena couldn’t help but like him.
Giric was likeable as well, although his handsome face made her uncomfortable at the beginning. She could tell he was used to being able to charm others, and she tried extra hard not to give herself away.
But right around the time he complimented her on her mustache and lowered his voice to ask for tips on how she got it so thick and luxurious, Robena realized she had nothing to fear.
Weesil, on the other hand, had a way of watching her suspiciously that made her want to hunch over her saddle and hope he looked away. But by the afternoon of the second day, she realized he looked at everyone and everything that way…and she discovered why he was so interested in her. Or more importantly, her lute.
“Ye’re a bard, aye? Do ye make up songs?” He had black, oily hair, and dark eyes that flashed with interest as he sidled up to her. He was fondling the hilt of one dagger. “Have ye made up songs about battles?”
She thought fast. “Och, aye, of course. Plenty. Dozens. Loads.” Zero, but how hard can it be? “Blood and heads being hacked off and entrails and whatnot.”
“Whatnot,” snorted Auld Gommy on her other side. “Ye stick with us, lad, and we’ll show ye what ye really need to ken to write a good song!”
And that is how Lady Robena Oliphant spent four hours astride a horse listening to detailed accounts of...well, blood and heads being hacked off and entrails and whatnot. The MacBain warriors were intent on ensuring she understood how to properly craft a battle ballad.
Every once in a while, she’d turn in her saddle just far enough to see Kester. Most of the time he was watching her, his expression impassive, and she looked away before so long a time passed that he’d be expected to respond to her.
But she could feel the heat of his gaze on her.
And tried not to feel comforted.
That evening, they purchased food from a crofter and made camp beside a stream. ‘Twas peaceful, but Robena could barely hold her eyes open. Two days in the saddle was more than she ever considered herself capable of, and she had many more days to go.
But ‘twould be worth it, to stand in front of the best pipers in the Highlands and try her skills against them. At least, that’s what she told herself as she wrapped her exhausted body in a borrowed blanket and curled up right outside of the circle of firelight.
And when she felt Kester stretch out beside her, it seemed natural to roll toward his warmth and inhale his scent and imagine things were different.
* * *
The next days were similar,and the fun band of MacBains made their way across the Highlands. Her thighs and lower back were battered into jelly, then slowly grew tough enough that she no longer had to bite back her groans when she dismounted.
Then men accepted her as one of their own, although they teased her mercilessly about always disappearing behind a bush to do her business, when the rest of them saw no harm in lifting their kilts out of the way and pissing right beside the road.
And Kester…. Well, at night, he continued to lay down beside her, offering her his heat and protection, but during the day he held himself apart.
At Oliphant Castle, she didn’t recall him separating himself from his men, and he certainly wasn’t the kind of laird who considered himself better than everyone else, so she had to assume the variable here was her. He was holding himself separate because she was part of his troop now.
That is fine. That’s what ye want.
Aye, ‘twas…and then again, nay.