"Cameron."
"Enough of your looks, lad. They do not work with me." He chuckled. "I taught them to you. Remember? It is no mystery, really. Look around. When did you last see the tapestries so bright, the floors so clean?" He motioned toward the wall that ran the length of the room, framed by stairs on either end. "When have you seen the weapons so polished?"
Marcus scanned the nearly two hundred gleaming weapons mounted across the wall. He rose and walked the wall's length, perusing the weapons. Each one glistened, some nearly as bright as newly forged steel. He glanced at the floor. The stone looked as if it had just been laid.
He looked at his father. "What happened?"
"The women came one day—or rather, one month—and swept out the cobwebs, cleaned the floors, the tapestries, weapons."
Marcus rose and crossed the room to the kitchen door where the women worked. The housekeeper sat at the kitchen table. Ancient blue eyes, still shining with the bloom of youth, smiled back at him. Winnie had been present at his birth. Marcus knew she loved him like the son she'd never had. He, in turn, regarded her with as much affection as he had his own mother.
She turned her attention to the raw chicken she carved. "So, you've returned at last."
"Aye, milady."
A corner of her mouth twitched with amusement.
"I am looking forward to the company of some fine lasses tonight," he said. "'Tis a long and lonely trip I've had. Perhaps next time I shall take you with me." He gave her a roguish wink before striding back to his seat in the hall.
Marcus lowered himself into the chair he had occupied earlier. "Must have taken an army just to shine the weapons alone. Not to mention the walls and floors."
"It did. You will see the same throughout the castle. Not a room went untouched."
"Whatever possessed them to do it?"
"It was the hand of a sweet lass," Cameron replied.
"Which one? Not Winnie—"
"Nay. The lass Shannon and Josh found washed ashore on the coast. They brought her when they returned from the south."
"Washed ashore?"
"An American woman. Her ship perished in a fire."
"American?"
Cameron scowled. "Are you deaf? Shannon is the one who discovered her at Solway Firth."
"What in God's name was she doing there?"
Cameron gave his chin a speculative scratch. "Damned if I know. They were headed for London."
"London? Sailing through Solway Firth requires sailing around the north of Ireland. That would add a week or more to the journey."
His father's mouth twisted into a wry grin. "You know the English, probably got lost."
"I thought you said she was American."
"English, American, 'tis all the same." Cameron's expression sobered. "But dinna' mistake me, she is a fine lass. She came to us just after you left for Ashlund four months ago. You should have seen her when they brought her here. Proud little thing."
"Proud, indeed," Marcus repeated.
"'Tis what I said." Cameron eyed him. "Are you sure something isn't ailing you?"
Marcus shook his head.
"At first, she didn't say much," Cameron went on. "But I could see a storm brewed in her head. Then one day, she informed me Brahan Seer was in dire need of something." He sighed deeply. "She was more right than she knew."
Marcus understood his father's meaning. His mother's death five years ago had affected Cameron dramatically. Only last year had his father finally sought female comfort. The gaping hole created by her absence left them both thirsting for a firm, feminine hand.
"It's a miracle she survived the fire," Cameron said. "'Course, if you knew her, you would not be surprised."
"I believe I do," Marcus remarked.
"What? You only just arrived."
"I picked up passengers on the way home—Tavis, little Bonnie, and an American woman." Marcus related the tale. "I recognized her accent," he ended. "Got accustomed to it while on campaign in America."
Cameron smiled. "Elise is forever chasing after those children."
"Why?"
His father's expression darkened. "Shamus was murdered."
Marcus straightened. "Murdered?"
"Aye."
"By God, how—Lauren, what of her?"
Sadness softened the hard lines around his father's mouth. "She is fine, in body, but… her mind has no' been the same since Shamus died. We tried consoling her, but she will have none of it."
A tingling sensation crept up Marcus's back. "What happened?"
"We found him just over the border in Montal Cove with his skull bashed in."
"Any idea who did it?"
"Aye," Cameron said. "Campbells."
Marcus surged to his feet. He strode to the wall, where hung the claymore belonging to his ancestor Ryan MacGregor, the man who saved their clan from annihilation. Marcus ran a finger along the blade, the cold, hard steel heating his blood as nothing else could. Except… Campbells.