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He couldn’t let his love for Amber interfere with that.

Chapter 26

Owen sat in the courtyard staring at the flames of the campfire, deep in thought. He enjoyed the murmuring voices around him. The whole courtyard was full of campfires and warriors eating and drinking.

Craig was there, and several others, including two Mackenzie brothers, cousins of Kenneth. A worm of guilt turned in Owen’s gut—he was at fault for his death.

“I am sorry for yer cousin’s death,” he said.

“’Tis nae yer fault, Cambel,” said Angus, clearly the older one, with black hair and black eyes. “’Tis war. People die.”

Raghnall, the younger brother, who had the same raven hair but was even taller and leaner, sighed. He had a crooked nose and one eyebrow with a scar. He looked like someone who’d been in his fair share of fights. “Aye. We’re all going to die.” He raised his cup with uisge. “So better savor the joys of life while it lasts.” He downed it and grunted.

“I’m nae surprised to hear you say that, brother,” Angus said. “Nae wife, nae children, and nae land.”

Raghnall threw a dark glance at him. “Nae land? I’m nae Mackenzie nae more, aren’t I?”

Craig frowned. “Aren’t ye two brothers?”

Angus and Raghnall exchanged a heavy look. “Our father disinherited me,” Raghnall said. “He said I shouldna bother coming back to Mackenzie lands or consider myself part of the clan.”

Something cold and heavy turned in Owen’s gut. Would that be his destiny if he failed this mission? What if they made their way to the Pass of Brander tomorrow, but no enemy arrived? What if there was a different trap waiting for them?

“Father died,” Raghnall said. “Our brother is chief of the clan now. And I’ll be on my way home after this battle. He may reconsider and take me back.”

“What did ye do that ye da disinherited ye, man?” Owen asked.

Angus looked pointedly at the fire. The two didn’t even sit next to each other, and Owen wondered if the Mackenzies were as close as the Cambel brothers.

“Many things I regret,” Raghnall said.

Angus raised his eyebrows. “Ye do?” His low voice had a quality similar to thunder.

Raghnall shrugged. “I’ve lived as a homeless rogue for years. A warm bed and a steaming stew every night is what I want. ’Tis time to live like a man again.”

Angus’s face darkened. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, the muscles of his huge shoulders bulging under his tunic. Owen wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of this man. His gray eyes were like the black clouds of a gathering storm. For a moment, Owen saw bottomless pain there, the pain that the saddest songs sing about.

“The warm bed is cold when ye lie there alone, and the steaming stew dinna taste good if ’tis nae the woman ye love who cooked it.” His voice cracked at the word “woman.”

Raghnall chuckled. “I ken ye dinna want to marry, but trust me, brother, any bed and any stew is better than none.”

Silence hung around the fire. Angus picked up a stick and stabbed at the burning logs, sending a frenzy of sparkles flying into the air.

“Ye dinna want to marry?” Craig asked.

“Only if I must to protect my clan,” Angus said.

Raghnall rummaged in his sack and retrieved a lute. He brushed against the strings once, producing a beautiful, sad sound.

“Ye’ve always been doing that, yer whole life,” he said. “Ye’re clearly lonely. Dinna ye wish to find someone ye love?”

Angus glared at him. “Never mind about me. Why dinna ye marry if ye want a warm bed.”

Raghnall laughed and played a cheerful tune. “A man dinna need a wife to keep his bed warm. Aye, Owen?” He winked.

Owen looked away. He actually couldn’t think of anyone in his bed but a certain beautiful woman from the future.

Craig arched one eyebrow. “I reckon he’d have agreed with ye before. Now, I dinna think he will.”