My Highland Laird: Sci-Regency Book 5

by J. L. Langley

  Looking past his scope, Marcus took in the bigger picture and finally found Ramsey. Ram and about ten other MacKays joined Patrick at the side of the door, and Marcus let out a sigh of relief. His little family was safe… for now.

  Glancing around, he made certain there were no incoming attackers.

  Patrick was giving out instructions to the men below, pointing some to go to the other side of the door.

  Marcus held his breath as the warriors hurried across the opening. When no shots came from inside, he relaxed again, or at least as much as he could relax under the circumstances. As he took a deep even breath and looked through the scope once again, rocks crunched behind him.

  With his heart pounding in his ears, Marcus held his breath and listened. His body tensed, ready to roll over and fire at any moment. He had a fragger pistol with him, but transitioning would take too long.

  Someone was coming up behind him very slowly. They were obviously trying to be quiet. Judging from the scrape of rocks, they were about ten yards back. He had no idea if they had a fragger or a sword, so Marcus rolled and aimed and found nothing.

  A gasp sounded, followed by “Marcus, is that you?”

  Bannon.

  Oh, thank galaxy. Marcus lowered his gaze to where the voice had come from.

  Bannon crawled toward him on his hands and knees. He had a fragger pistol in his hand and a rifle slung across his back. Amazingly he’d gotten a lot closer than Marcus had surmised from the sounds.

  “It’s me. Are you alone?” He rolled back over and stared through his scope. Only a few moments had passed, but already Patrick held up three fingers and began counting down.

  “Yes, how is it going?” Bannon finally reached the edge and was pulling his rifle off his back. His voice was strained, as if he were both nervous and sad.

  Marcus’s heart went out to him. He’d gone to find Bannon before they’d left and knew he was hurt by Ciaran’s broken promise, but he suspected Bannon was also scared something would happen to Ciaran. That, Marcus understood all too well. He’d often feared being alone here on this desolate planet if something happened to Patrick. He didn’t even want to think about the possibility. Unfortunately he’d been doing so all evening. Misery loved company, right? “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Down at the base, Ciaran took up the space opposite Patrick, now on the other side of the door.

  When Patrick’s last finger fell, he went high and Ciaran went low. They were the first through the door.

  Nothing happened. No shots. And somehow that was worse. Why were there no shots? Surely they had not sent all the men outside. Marcus counted bodies on the ground. One by one the rest of the warriors followed Patrick and Ciaran in.

  There were only eight IN soldiers on the ground. There had to be more inside. “Bannon, look at the IN on the ground. Do you see any officers?”

  “No. They all look to be lower ranks from what I can see of the uniforms.”

  Which meant there were officers around somewhere. Probably inside holed up somewhere, lying in wait. “Watch the surrounding area.”

  “Got it.”

  Marcus didn’t look away from his scope, but he trusted Bannon to look out for them. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  “I wasn’t, but then I couldn’t stop worrying, and somehow I thought it’d be better if I were here and could see what was happening.” He was quiet for several moments. “It’s not, is it?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  Finally shots echoed out the door of the base, and Marcus marveled at how true his last words were. His stomach was tied into knots.

  “Marcus.” Bannon’s voice wavered.

  The hair on the back of Marcus’s neck stood up. He glanced away from the fragger fire of fireworks coming from the door.

  Bannon reached up and hit the switch on his rifle without looking away from whatever it was he saw.

  Marcus used his own rifle and pointed it in the direction that Bannon was looking.

  Sitting on a horse at the edge of the tree line, the same copse Marcus, Patrick, Bannon, and Ciaran had used to surveil the base a couple of nights ago, was a lone man. He was dressed in a kilt and had long light-colored hair. The man just sat there, as though watching and waiting. Marcus moved his rifle, glancing around the surrounding area, but found no one else. “What is he doing?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve seen him before. He watched when we went to get the cattle back the other night, but he never interfered. He just sat there, like he is doing now. He looks familiar to me.”

  “How can you tell?” The man was in shadows and his features hard to make out.

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, but I don’t know anyone here but the MacKays. Unless the man is a MacLean, but honestly I have no love lost for MacLeans. This feels different, though.”

  Marcus felt rather than saw Bannon look at him.

  “What do we do?”

  Marcus saw no sign of Patrick and the men. Then he glanced back at the man on horseback. “Where is your horse?”

  “Next to yours.”

  “Very well, then, let’s go talk to the man. Would you like to do the honors?”

  Bannon pulled the trigger, then jumped to his feet, letting the rifle fall across his back and hang from the strap.

  The man across the way slithered to the ground. His horse backed up and nuzzled him where he lay.

  Rolling to his feet, Marcus caught up with Bannon just as Bannon swung himself up into the saddle. He joined him as fast as he could with his bad leg, and led the way, letting his own rifle sling around his back and transitioning to his pistol. “This way. It’s faster.” It was also steeper, but worth the risk.

  They went down the ledge on the right side. Not an easy task with only one hand. With the other, he held his pistol and alternated watching the base, the man, and the slope they were going down. Not that he could really do anything if his horse slipped. It seemed like slow going because they were having to practically stand in the saddle and lean back. Marcus was going to pay for all that muscle contraction tomorrow with his hip.

  Bannon was a good rider and kept pace right behind him. When they made it to a level area, Marcus put his heels to his horse, reveling in the feel of the wind in his face and the adrenaline pumping through him. He could still see the base clearly from this angle, so he was not worried about an ambush. And there was still no movement outside—though there also was no longer shouting and flashes of light coming from the open door of the base. And he really didn’t want to think about that.

  They made it to the man just as he was coming to. Bannon slid off his horse, and Marcus turned his rifle on the man. But unlike Bannon, he did not set his to stun. He would take no chances with Bannon’s life.

  The man wobbled a bit but dragged himself to a sitting position. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”

  Motioning with his rifle, Marcus indicated Bannon should stay back. The man had made no moves, but Marcus did not recognize the plaid, therefore he could not judge whether the man was friend or foe. The man was older, though his body was not in the least feeble. He looked as though he had not missed many meals until of late. His skin was a bit saggy, and up close the white of his hair and beard was obvious. More importantly, Bannon was right; there was something vaguely familiar about him.

  Finally the man sat and glanced up at Marcus. He slowly raised his hands. Smart man.

  “Who are—”

  “Lord Bannon?” The man had turned his attention to Bannon, who now also held his fragger pistol at the ready.

  The voice sent a shiver right down Marcus’s spine. It was a voice he’d never thought to hear again, and it belonged to a man he’d just as soon kill than look at. His finger itched to squeeze the trigger. He stared at the man who’d abandoned him here and taken his life and his son from him. The rest of his surroundings disappeared, and all he could see was Admiral Carl Jenkins.

  “Marcus….” Something touched his leg.

&nbs
p; He glanced down into Bannon’s worried eyes.

  “Please don’t kill him. We need to talk to him.” Bannon’s voice was soft and gentle, his poise amazing for one so young, but most of all, he was being logical. Much more logical than Marcus at the moment.

  Marcus nodded but did not lower his weapon.

  Jenkins was staring at him now. “Marcus,” he whispered.

  “Admiral, what are you doing here?” Bannon’s voice was stronger now, full of demand. He would have made Eversleigh proud.

  Jenkins swallowed, looking much older now that Marcus recognized him. The man had not aged well. “I came to find Winstol here.” He bobbed his head at Marcus. “I came to bring him and the lieutenant commander home.”

  Could it be true? Marcus shook his head, not willing to believe it. This man was a traitor. “Do you have any weapons on you, Admiral?”

  Jenkins nodded. “A fragger in my saddlebag along with a mini satellite and a com-con.”

  “Bannon, check it out.”

  Bannon nodded and walked toward the horse.

  “Other side of the horse,” Jenkins said.

  Changing directions, Bannon walked way around Jenkins, keeping his distance. Just as he got to the other side and reached for the saddlebag, shouts came from the base.

  All the warriors flooded out of the door, some of them carrying other men. It sounded as if they were victorious.

  Marcus jerked his gaze back to Jenkins. He flipped the switch on his fragger to stun. “Bannon, what’s going on?”

  Bannon abandoned his course toward the saddlebag and headed out into the clearing.

  Bloody hell! Marcus’s heart stopped. He couldn’t look, he had to keep watch on Jenkins. The hell with it! He shot Jenkins with the stun bolt, then looked out of the tree line as Jenkins blacked out again. His gaze landed on Patrick, walking toward them, and the breath he’d been holding escaped his lungs. Oh, thank galaxy. It was as if he could move again, as if he could breathe.

  Behind Patrick, Ciaran strode their way looking like a thundercloud. His gaze was riveted on Bannon, and his jaw clenched tight. He looked like a man who’d not only gone to war—with blood staining his plaid—but like a man still engaged in said war. Perhaps Marcus should have added relationship advice to his teachings when he had Ciaran for fostering, because this was not going to go well.

  Ciaran stopped about a yard from Bannon, who was still walking toward him in a happy-go-lucky sort of gait. “What in the hell are ye doing here?” Ciaran all but shouted.

  Bannon stopped abruptly. His back was to Marcus, but Marcus read the droop in his shoulders, then the immediate stiffening of his spine and the lift of his chin. Without a word, Bannon turned back to him and walked off, dismissing Ciaran without so much as a by-your-leave.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Perhaps I should look to women for a relationship? Galaxy knows, there aren’t any good men left.”

  —Timothy on relationships.

  “You should talk to him.”

  Bannon snorted and picked another rock out of the battlements and tossed it toward the lake, which he actually hit this time. The rock disappeared into the inky black water on the edge of the shore with a ripple that marred the glassy surface. He did not want to talk to Ciaran. He was so angry he was afraid he might plant him a facer. At the moment, planting anyone a facer would feel rather good, he suspected. Funny, he’d never understood men who had to hit things to feel better. He remembered his sire once punching a hole in the wall because Father had taken up cigars again. The anger finally made sense.

  He’d gone to the base to help, worried about Ciaran’s safety, worried for his new friends….

  “Bannon?” Marcus finally came forward and stopped next to him, staring out at the lake.

  “Shouldn’t you be downstairs making sure Patrick doesn’t kill Admiral Jenkins?” Bannon winced at his own tone. Dust, he’d sounded like a complete arsehead. But he didn’t take it back. He needed to be alone.

  Marcus chuckled. “You are your father’s son. I’ve never met anyone who could do pompous like your father when he wants. I think that is what makes him such a good politician. He’s very good at putting people in their place.”

  A pang hit Bannon in the gut. He missed his father, even if he was still mad at him. “I’m sorry. I have no right to talk to you that way. Not only are you my better, you are my friend. Forgive me?”

  The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “I’m not your better. No one is. And there is nothing to apologize for. I understand why you are upset. I would be too. Galaxy knows, Patrick and I have had our rows over the years. Relationships aren’t easy in this environment.” He gestured out at the landscape with his other arm. “This place makes everything more intense. It’s all about life or death here.”

  Exactly! And that was what he could not deal with. “That’s just it. Ciaran and I don’t have a relationship.” You couldn’t have a relationship without trust and mutual respect.

  “Are you sure?”

  Nodding, Bannon glanced off into the distance and the rugged beauty he’d come to appreciate. “I can’t deal with the constant threat of death. It’s no way to live, and it’s no way to love.”

  “Ah, but that’s just it. Real love is always that intense. It’s always life or death. Why do you think they include the vows until death do us part? It certainly isn’t because the marriage ends after death. Galaxy knows, Patrick will be a pain in my side even after death. He’d probably haunt me. I know I’d haunt him if he outlives me and tries to find another consort.”

  Bannon grinned, as was Marcus’s intention, but his heart wasn’t in it. He just didn’t see any way for him and Ciaran to continue. He couldn’t deal with not being respected, with being ignored and having his ideas seen as insignificant. And he couldn’t cope with always wondering if Ciaran was going to come home. Because what did he have here if he didn’t have Ciaran? At least at home he had his art and his friends. And his family—they had to love him, which was why when he went home, he was going to lay down the law, so to speak. He was not going to allow them to overlook him anymore. Maybe he’d even take up politics. Speaking of…. “What is going on with Jenkins? Did you use the satellite? Did you call home?”

  A soft breeze ruffled Bannon’s hair. He turned and glanced at Marcus, who was staring off into the distance, toward the pass. Bannon followed his gaze to where smoke rose high up into the air. It was visible even from here. Patrick had torched the inside of the base before they’d left. Bannon imagined he could even smell minute traces of the fire.

  “I did not. Not yet. But Patrick found the position of the Lady Anna on the computers at the base. That is why I came to find you.”

  A trickle of unease slithered through Bannon, making him jerk his attention back to Marcus.

  Marcus met his gaze and gave him a soft smile. “It seems you were right. Your Captain Kindros is on her way back here. In fact… if my calculations are correct, she should be here before dawn.”

  Elation and devastation filled Bannon in a rush. He didn’t know which emotion to trust, but he knew he was going home.

  § § § §

  June 1, 4831: Lochwood Castle

  Ciaran left his bedroom the next morning, with a headache the size of Blae Mountain and feeling bone-tired. He had not gotten much sleep last night. After helping Patrick interrogate the prisoner, he’d gone to bed and stayed awake half the night, waiting for Red to come in. He never did. Apparently he was more upset than Ciaran had thought.

  Pausing at the end of the hall next to Red’s room, he raised his hand to knock, then decided against it. Red was probably as tired as he was, and truthfully he didn’t know what to say to Red yet. The man had acted foolhardy last night. He’d had no idea of the plan to attack the base, yet he’d shown up after the siege had been well underway. He could have run into fragger fire or the tip of a sword. The thought of it made Ciaran’s stomach clench with nausea.

  Och, but Ciaran had been totally j
ustified in yelling. Why then did he feel like such an arse? It sat like a rock in his abdomen. He couldn’t get over the flash of hurt on Red’s face before he’d turned on his heel and completely dismissed Ciaran. Then he’d spent the rest of last night avoiding Ciaran, so Ciaran couldn’t even talk to him and point out how idiotic he’d acted. He raised his hand again, then let it drop.

  Shaking his head, Ciaran continued on his way down the hall and down the stairs. He’d talk to Red in due time. Once Red saw his error, he’d apologize and everything would be fine.

  Ciaran stepped into the great hall and everything got quiet. Everyone looked up at him. He glanced down to make sure he’d indeed put his kilt on. Yes, he had.

  Eventually the talking resumed, and he made his way to the laird’s table. Red was not there, but Ram, Angus, Fiona, and Maggie were.

  Maggie took one look at him, gathered up her trencher, and headed to the kitchen.

  Ciaran sighed and watched her go. He’d thought they were getting along. “What is wrong with her?”

  “Ye mean other than ye throwing old men in the dungeon and chasing Red away?” Fiona asked with more than a little bit of venom in her voice.

  He had not chased….

  Angus shoved his food away and stood up so abruptly he made the bench, and Ram who was on it, wobble. Without a word, he turned and stomped down the dais steps and toward the door.

  In amazement, Ciaran watched him all the way to the door of the great hall. What was that all about? When he looked back at the table, Fiona was getting to her feet and gathering her own trencher. “Fiona, where are ye going?”

  Completely ignoring him, she stormed off toward another table, sat down, and continued her meal.

  What the hell? He turned back and noticed Ram staring up at him. “What?”