Myles stretched his back and tried

Myles stretched his back and tried to rub the tension from his neck. ’Twas near dusk when his father reined in his own mount and instructed the men to make camp. With military precision, each Campbell dismounted and went to his duties, assembling a tent, building fires, or tending to the horses. They were a troop of twenty brawny lads, each hearty and hale. Men he’d taken into both battle and brothel. Men he trusted with his life. Someday he’d be their laird, and they would serve him well, as they had the earl. He swung a leg around and climbed down from his destrier, stiff but glad to be away from Sinclair holdings. A great, gaping yawn escaped as his feet landed on the soft forest floor. His uncle Tavish cuffed him on the shoulder and laughed, the sound muffled in the depths of a thick red beard. “Not much sleep last night, aye, lad? ’Tis one disadvantage of marriage. But there are advantages aplenty.”
Myles grimaced with the memory of Fiona’s bitterness. “Advantages or disadvantages, I’ve yet to see which carries greater weight.”
Tavish laughed again, scratching his head as he nodded in Fiona’s direction. She and her maid were still perched on their ponies, looking exhausted and bewildered. “Eh, don’t worry about that one. She’ll come around, once she sees we’re not the butchers she’s been led to believe.”
Myles tilted his head to crack his neck. “Any ally of King James is an enemy of hers. I am guilty simply by association. I fear there will be no swaying her.”
His uncle spit on the ground. “That’s women’s logic for you. I suppose if I fart, she’d blame you for the stink?”
Shallow laughter came from Myles. “’Tis apparent she blames me for a great many things I had no part in.”
Tavish leaned against a tree trunk, scratching his back against the bark like a playful bear. “Aye, this business about her mother is an unholy mess. I’ll flay from beard to bollocks any cur who says your father had a hand in her death. I’d bet my eyesight the bastard who started that wicked lie just got put in the ground.”
“You mean Fiona’s father?” Myles cracked his neck in the other direction.
“Aye, Hugh Sinclair. Bad blood between the two of them ever since their days at court.”
Myles had heard those stories often enough. When James was but a boy, Scotland was ruled by a board of regents, with the queen’s husband, Archibald Douglas, at the helm. ’Twas a time when Hugh Sinclair and the earl had shared friendship and an equal measure of power. In a show of solidarity between their clans, Myles had even been betrothed to Fiona.
But as greed and politics are often wont to do, allies became foes. Sinclair sided with Douglas in holding the boy king captive, but the Campbells sought to free him, and succeeded.
“Sinclair chose the wrong side,” Tavish said. “If he’d joined your father in helping the young king escape to claim his throne, things would now be different.”
“Not so very different,” Myles said. “I’d still be married to Fiona.” It seemed fate had cast his lot, and the ploys of men swayed little. “And if Aislinn was still murdered, we might be in this spot once more.”
Tavish plucked at his ample waistband and pulled out a flagon of wine. He took a long draw from it and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Aislinn’s murder set much askew, but as sure as I’m standing here, it wasn’t a Campbell who struck the life from her. She was a lovely thing at court. I cannot fathom who might wish her harm.”
“Father never speaks of court. Or his thoughts on Aislinn’s death. What more do you know of it?”
Tavish looked to the ground, kicking at a thick, knobby root embedded in the ground. “If you’ve questions on it, ask the man himself.” He nodded over Myles’s shoulder.
Cedric approached, his gait stiff. The ride had been arduous enough for Myles, so surely his father’s bones must be set to rattling, though anyone saying so risked finding his blade to their throat.
“Father, are you well?”
Cedric nodded and took the wine from his brother. “I will be if Tavish shares his bounty.” He drank and then passed it to Myles, nodding at him with a wink. “Your bride held up well today. Once she stopped crying.”
Her tears had been an embarrassment. She’d kept them silent, but for a mile or more, they’d streamed down her face and left her nose bright red in the sunlight. He’d not abused her in any way, yet she acted as if he’d dragged her behind the pony instead of letting her ride on one. Tomorrow, he’d put her and that scarecrow maid in the back of a cart. Let them bounce about in one of those for a day and she’d have something to cry about.
“Thank you for letting her bring the maid, Father. I’ll make sure they don’t slow down our travels.”
The earl nodded again. “’Tis slow enough on rocky roads with these carts, but with a few good hours in the morning, we should reach Inverness and the boats. Help young Darby with your women now. They look ready to keel over. Oh, and you and your bride may have the tent.”
Myles looked toward Fiona, who had at last dismounted with the aid of his squire. Smudges of exhaustion were dark against her pale face. She was dusty and disheveled, but ever defiant as she shook away Darby’s offer of further assistance. Myles had avoided her much of the day, preferring the pleasant company of his uncle and father to her forlorn sighs and red-rimmed eyes. But he’d face her now. Exhausted or no, she was his wife and his responsibility.