“I thank ye for nae shooting us, Malcolm,” Owen said. “Do ye nae recognize me?”
A man with white hair down to his shoulders and a white beard appeared from behind the rampart.
“Owen?” he said.
“Aye.”
The man sighed and shook his head. “Only ye can come in bright daylight dressed like a Sassenach bastart. Let them in!”
Owen threw an amused glance at Amber. The gates opened, and they rode in.
Malcolm descended the stairs from the top of the wall.
“I was this close to giving the command to shoot ye,” he said, pinching his thumb and index fingers together. “Come here, ye rascal.”
He took Owen in a bear hug, and the men clapped each other on the back.
“What’s going on?” someone said.
Dougal Cambel’s angry voice made Owen’s gut tighten. He released Malcolm and turned to face his father. Da marched towards them together with Craig, Domhnall, and several other men. Behind them, the northern wall with the crumbled part had short, sharp spikes installed into it. Owen’s stomach churned as he imagined Marjorie having to fight off the MacDougalls. Craig had told Owen in confidence that the spikes had been suggested by a warrior from the future who’d helped Marjorie protect Colin and the castle. The gates were made of new wood—were they part of the defenses? His brave, strong, sister… He wished he could’ve been here to protect their home. He’d miss her. With a bittersweet ache in his heart, Owen wondered how Marjorie’s and Colin’s lives were in the twenty-first century, and he hoped that man made his half sister very happy.
“Owen, son,” Dougal said, “ye’re alive.”
Owen’s father gripped his shoulder and squeezed it. The affection was unexpected, and Owen hugged him back but was ready for the questions he knew would come.
“What happened?” Craig asked. “Why are ye in Sassenach clothing? And who’s the”—he frowned, eyeing Amber—“lass?”
“Yes, I’m a lass,” Amber said, and Craig cocked his eyebrow. “Thank you very much.”
Craig exchanged a look with Owen. No doubt, his half brother had recognized the accent. Everyone turned to study Amber.
Owen cleared his throat. “’Tis Amber. We were kidnapped together by Sir de Bourgh during the siege of Inverlochy. He took us to Stirling. We managed to escape but had to disguise ourselves as the English.”
“We feared ye were dead,” Craig said. “When we took back the castle, ye were unaccounted for. No one saw ye fall, and there was nae body. ’Twas like ye’d disappeared…”
It occurred to Owen that his brother might have suspected he’d gone through time. The thought seemed funny at first, but he realized it was a real possibility.
“I kenned ye were nae dead,” Da said. “Ye’re too cunning to let death take ye so soon.”
“Didna feel that way at times,” Owen said.
His father paled, and Owen’s Adam’s apple jumped as he struggled to swallow. This situation was too similar to what had happened to Ian. Many years ago, in a battle with the MacDougalls, everyone had thought Ian was killed and the MacDougalls had taken his body. The Cambels had assumed he was dead, but he’d been sold into slavery and had only returned home from the caliphate this year.
Owen knew very well that his family didn’t want to relive the horror of that.
“And who are ye, lass?” Craig asked.
Amber exchanged a glance with Owen, and he nodded, encouraging her to share the story they’d both agreed on.
“I’m from the caliphate. I was hired by Kenneth Mackenzie.”
Craig frowned as he studied Amber. His da and the rest eyed her dubiously.
“And how exactly did ye end up being kidnapped together?” the older Cambel asked as he looked between them.
“Owen helped me,” Amber said, her voice ringing with gratitude. “He saved my life from the English.”
Owen clenched his teeth. He’d rather they didn’t know that.
“Ye helped a woman,” his father said. “And ye lost the castle to de Bourgh. And got yerself kidnapped.”
His upper lip rose in the same kind of disgust Owen had seen countless times. It had only resulted in a younger Owen wanting to rebel even more against him, to show his father that he didn’t need his approval, that he couldn’t care less.
But he couldn’t afford to indulge in such behavior now. He had an important mission, a message he needed to deliver.
“No, you don’t understand,” Amber said. “He saved us. He was tortured and didn’t say a word about the Bruce. He—”
Owen cared about the lass and was grateful she was defending him, but she was only making matters worse. The appalled expression on his father’s face deepened. No doubt, he thought Owen was hiding behind a woman, letting her fight his battles.
“Amber.” Owen interrupted her. “Let me explain, aye?”
She closed her mouth, nodded, and stepped back.
Owen fixed his gaze on his father. “Aye. I did get myself kidnapped. And I didna succeed in keeping Inverlochy when Kenneth Mackenzie fell. But I saw John MacDougall in Stirling.”
Dougal crossed his arms on his chest. “Aye? And what did the man say?”
“They plan to ambush the Bruce when he moves to Lorne to attack them.”
Dougal sighed. “Did he say that?”
“Aye.”
Dougal threw a heavy gaze at Amber. “Did ye hear that, too, lass?”
“No. I wasn’t there. But—”
Dougal shook his head once, interrupting her. “Do ye have any other proof, son?”
Helplessness weighed at Owen’s shoulders as well as the sinking feeling of loneliness, of being a stranger in his own clan. Craig wore a deep frown, and doubt was written all over his face. Owen had let him down at Inverlochy last year, so he couldn’t blame Craig for doubting him. Domhnall eyed him like every word out of his mouth were made of shite.
“I dinna have any proof other than my word, Da,” Owen said.
“Aye. Well, yer word isna the most reliable source. And knowing how ye like to impress lasses… Ye having this information now seems too convenient.”
“Ye think I’m lying?”
“Nae. I dinna ken if ye’re lying. But I ken that where John MacDougall is concerned, one needs to be verra careful of trickery. Ye and John have that in common.”
“Dinna put me on the same category as that bastart.”
Dougal sighed. “Aye. That was too much. Let us forget the matter. Come, let us eat and drink to yer return and hear stories from the caliphate and from Stirling. Now that yer back, there’ll be entertainment enough.”
He hugged Owen’s shoulder and led him towards the great hall. Owen gave Amber an I-told-you-so glance, and she eyed him with a worried look on her face.
No matter how much he tried to help his clan, they all had this image of him in their minds. He knew they wouldn’t trust him. But even if they didn’t believe him, he needed to get word to the Bruce. That was his mission, and he wouldn’t fail this time.
Chapter 18