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came of the meeting? Ye did attend, did ye not? Or were you too busy?”
    Colin did laugh at that. “Of course, that’s the reason I was there. No outcome was decided, the lairds of Scotland have not made progress in procuring the baron’s acceptance. Their king is being pressured to war against us. I want to return home and put the political rift behind me. We’re far enough away and won’t have to deal with their problems. Only if the king asks, will we get involved.”
    “Aye, I agree.” Walt nodded.
    Colin finished off his food and chugged the ale Walt had given him. His beloved Highlands beckoned like the sensuous woman he’d met at Steven’s wedding. He missed walking in the mist and swimming in cold lochs—pure exhilaration. That thought reminded him of Julianna. He would have stayed if she’d encouraged him. Hell, he might have even fetched the friar as he had promised, after the seduction of course. It would have made for a nice distraction. But he needed to put the lovely faerie from his mind and get back to his feud.
    He stood with his legs braced, glancing at his brothers. Both lads lay naked on the cold wet ground, clad in war paint, and only covered by their plaids. They weren’t concerned about the dampness that settled around them. He kicked each brother hard, hoping to roust their sorry arses.
    “We must reach home before the day ends,” he muttered. Both brothers grumbled under their breath. He kicked them again, putting more effort into it. “Come on, lassies! Ye have five minutes to get your arses up.” He intended the insult, and hoped being called girls would irk them enough to rise.
    Colin’s attention turned to the men moving about the camp. Someone put the fire out, and dirt from the ground filled the air with soot. Anxiousness came over him, and he hadn’t felt this tense in quite some time, not since his da had died. He remembered being on edge then because his da was going to give them hell for being gone so long.
    That day, they’d been sent to raid their enemy, the McFies. Their longstanding feud had become heated that year, but they accomplished their mission and had stolen the McFies’ crops stored for winter—what they’d set out to do. Colin had been seven and ten at the time, and had been put in charge for that mission, even though his father’s commander-in-arms, Walter Ross, had been the most experienced soldier in the group.
    No guard patrolled the McFie’s stores that day. Something wasn’t right, and Colin hesitated. Quiet as the MacKinnon’s were, they’d been able to enter the storage shacks without notice. They’d loaded the crops into the cart. It hadn’t mattered that they were quiet; none of the McFies had stood guard. He thought it an ambush and mentioned it to Walter, who shrugged off his concern.
    Colin shook the memory away and grew impatient at his brother’s dawdling, sending them a glare to get them moving. Everything ready at last, he and his men forged on, riding hard throughout the day. They reached the keep’s walls by nightfall.
    Burk, his steward and longtime friend, ran forward to greet him. Colin jumped from his steed, threw the reins upon the horse’s back, and returned the greeting. He strode inside, listening to Burk’s report. The castle held disheartening memories for him, but nonetheless, he was happy to be home.
    After hours of listening to the latest news, he was able to finally retire for the night. Colin lay on his bunk, but sleep evaded him. He recalled another time, the day he had returned from that raid on the McFies. The vision of that day, when Burk had told him that his da had been injured, was firmly imprinted in his mind. He’d raced inside the keep to his da’s bedside. He remembered how the chamber had been darkened to provide comfort for the dying laird. Colin had tensed, and his chest held unease at the sight of his weakened da. He could still see his father’s glazed eyes and recount his exact words.
    “Son,