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“You cannot be sure ’tis Lamont,” Uncle Donald said. “Could have been Campbell men. Alexander threatened retribution. Should never have angered him by breaking his betrothal to your sister Elspeth.”
One of the injured herdsmen limped forward and dipped his head in respect. “May I speak?”
Archibald nodded though his mind had shifted to strategy.
“There was something odd about one of the reivers—a slight lad who rode a fine beast with more skill than any man I have ever seen. A stallion the color of darkest night. And when the lad’s cap slipped, ach, well, his long hair was like that of a lass and of the darkest night as well.”
Archibald shot a glance at Duncan whose eyebrows rose in question. Could it be the same horse and rider they’d seen last year?
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