wouldn’t take much. Her lips were a mere breath away. He had stopped, but his cousins hadn’t. In a few moments, he’d have the privacy needed to kiss her. To ease just a fraction of his want, to demand she give him just an ounce of the attention she gave his cousins. To take his revenge in the only way left. Pain and want spiked. Adjusting himself in the seat, he sped his horse on.
He didn’t glance at Hamilton or at Camron, although he could feel his cousins’ questioning gaze. He could also feel Mairead’s hesitant shrug as she again engaged in conversation.
He didn’t get his kiss, but he did get the satisfaction of her gaze. Her annoyance turning to understanding, turning to awareness. He had made his point. She knew why he’d slowed.
His lips curled. If he burned for a Buchanan, he wouldn’t be alone in the fire.
‘She sleeps?’
Caird moved his horse to allow Malcolm to ride beside him on the narrow trail.
‘Aye, for some time.’ Caird adjusted Mairead in his arms. ‘But she is too restless. She talks...angrily.’
‘I am not getting the impression she goes willingly and our cousins are too observant.’
Caird looked behind him. ‘Are they still hunting?’
‘Nae, they are skinning by the stream we found over there.’ Malcolm pointed off to his right. ‘It will be dark in a few hours.’
Caird looked through the trees and saw no one. They would have no better privacy than now.
‘We need to talk.’ He slowed his horse even more. Malcolm followed suit.
‘About the woman?’
Caird glanced at Mairead. She curled into his chest and her head rested on his outstretched arm. There were dark circles under her eyes and her weight against him was heavy. She still slept.
As much as he wanted to, they couldn’t talk of Mairead. They were in too much danger.
‘Nae, it is the gem,’ he answered.
‘You do not actually believe it’s hers?’
Caird shook his head. Not hers, never hers. ‘It’s not about Mairead. Or the dagger. It’s the gem...the jewel. Doesn’t it look familiar to you?’
Malcolm’s smile was wolfish. ‘Is it ours?’
‘Nae. It belongs to everyone. It’s legendary, Malcolm.’
‘Legendary?’ Malcolm looked behind him, his movement exaggerated. ‘My brother makes colourful descriptions? You often doona speak at all.’
The trees and path showed no sign of his cousins; Mairead’s weight did not shift, and her breath remained even. This conversation must not be overheard.
‘The gem is not usual. Half-polished, half not. The size so large it barely fits in a man’s hands. Think, Brother. There’s only one jewel fitting the description.’
Malcolm started. ‘It cannot...be,’ he whispered.
Caird remained silent while Malcolm gathered his thoughts. It had taken him hours to accept the jewel’s existence. As long as the conversation remained with the jewel, he would give this time to his brother.
When his brother realised they travelled with a Buchanan, his judgement would cloud.
‘Do you believe this?’ Malcolm continued after a while. ‘It’s a legend, a myth. It doesn’t exist.’
‘I doona believe in legends and this one was always too exact.’
‘If it is that jewel—’
‘Then kingdoms are at risk,’ Caird interrupted.
‘I cannot believe it.’
Caird lifted his hand to silence his brother. Mairead’s legs and arms were moving, subtly, but he felt their insistent quiver. Whether she was experiencing dreams or nightmares, he didn’t know, but her breath quickened, and her brows drew down.
They had long passed the spot Malcolm indicated where Camron and Hamilton would be skinning, but Caird kept his horse moving.
Malcolm looked questioningly at Caird, but kept his silence.
Caird hoped Mairead kept sleeping. There was still much to discuss with Malcolm. Even so, he fought the urge to wake her. Her restlessness...disturbed him somehow.
Eyes narrowing, Malcolm gazed at Mairead. Caird lowered his hand. It would not be long before his brother asked more questions about her, and he would have to tell the truth. Until then, he must use the jewel as a distraction.
‘I believe we have the Jewel of Kings in our hands.’ Caird turned his horse around on the path.
‘It was a tale told to us as children. Something we used to play.’ Malcolm adjusted his horse to follow his. ‘I cannot count the fights there were over the pretend jewel.’
‘Imagine the wars if the jewel was real.’
‘If the legend is true, it can make kings,’ Malcolm said. ‘Real kings. It is too much power. Too much responsibility. Too—’
‘Unbelievable it surfaces now,’ Caird said, feeling the restlessness of this conversation. ‘’Tis nae accident.’
‘What are you saying?’
If he was restless, his clan and so many others were shaking and cracking with unrest.
King Balliol rebelled against King Edward’s rule and the English king’s retaliation had been swift and vicious. The defeat at Dunbar in April had crushed any hope of freedom and only left unrest in its wake.
‘Someone was moving it,’ Caird said.
‘Someone? Mairead?’
Caird held Mairead closer and brought her arms and legs into the warmth of his cloak. ‘Nae, not her; not the thief either.’
‘A clan?’
‘Too many people. Our clans fight. It would have been put to use.’
‘To create kings,’ Malcolm said.
‘More like to declare one true king.’
Malcolm’s horse suddenly stopped and Caird steadied his own.
Caird could not doubt Malcolm’s shock. Scotland no longer had the ability to make kings. The Stone of Scone now supported the rears of English kings.
He was surprised it had not cracked with grief.
Was it truly so much of a surprise
