Highlander Redeemed (Guardians of the Targe Book 3) by Laurin Wittig

with the Guardians.
    “Your pacing will not make the news come any faster,” Nicholas said when Duncan drew near him. “’Twould be better to save your energy in case we need it when our visitors get here.”
    “I would cease if I could, Nicholas,” he said, turning on his heel and making his way back to the path. A tiny selfish part of him hoped Scotia would not become another Guardian. If she did, their long days together would be done, and Jeanette and Rowan would take over with a completely different sort of training. ’Twould be a shame, in a way. Scotia showed promise with a sword, with strategy. She was lighter on her feet than any other warrior he’d ever met, and her mind was fast, sharp. Of course she’d only had him for an opponent so far, so perhaps she had just become very good at assessing Duncan. ’Twas something he had to address in her training, and he knew, if she were to progressin her fighting skills, they would soon need to reveal her secret—their secret.
    But for all he knew, their days of training might be behind them already, and that opened up an unfamiliar melancholy in his chest. Frustrated, he paced toward the path the visitors would come by, friends by the single blast of the horn. He stopped. Listened. Nothing yet. Were they crawling down the ben?
    He paced back to the other path and stopped. Listened. If anything was happening with Scotia he could not hear it.
    “You are going to make a rut from one end of this clearing to the other, Duncan.” Peigi’s wavering voice came from behind him. He turned and found her settling herself on a stump near the cookfire. She beckoned him over and nodded to the log laid out next to her stump. “If you will not sit with the men, sit with me.”
    He sighed. Unable to naysay the old woman, he joined her, sitting beside her though his feet itched to keep moving.
    “You ken you cannot change Scotia’s fate, aye?” she asked him quietly.
    “I ken that.”
    “But?”
    “But I do not ken what will be better for her or for the clan—to become another Guardian, or to continue as she has with—” He stopped himself, realizing he was about to reveal Scotia’s secret. “As she has.”
    “With you, you meant to say.” Peigi patted his knee as if he were a wee fussy bairn. “You are enjoying your time with her. You did not expect to, but she has surprised you, delighted you even.”
    “I . . . She . . .” He shook his head a little too adamantly. “Nay.”
    “Dinna deny it, laddie. ’Tis clear you and Scotia both enjoy whatever it is ye get up to of a day.” She winked at him, and he wondered what she really knew. “She is glowing when you return to camp, though that mood disappears fast enough, and you”—Peigi patted his knee again—“you sometimes look proud, often bemused, and your familiar scowl is seldom seen of late.”
    Duncan did not know how to respond, for that was exactly how he felt at the end of their days together, though he thought he had hidden his feelings better than that.
    “Whatever happens,” Peigi said, “you must be strong for her. She depends upon you. She trusts you as she does not anyone else, not even her da since he killed that spy in the bailey.”
    “She wanted to do that herself,” he said.
    “Aye. She is a bloodthirsty lassie,” Peigi said with a quiet laugh. Duncan could not help but smile at the description.
    “Do you think—” At that moment a shout came from the far end of the cave site.
    Duncan leapt to his feet and went to stand next to Uilliam, just behind Nicholas, Malcolm, and Kenneth. They watched as a group of thirteen men, escorted by Brodie MacAlpin and surrounded by several other MacAlpin warriors and two of Malcolm’s kin, entered the clearing. Kenneth started to step forward, but checked himself.
    “Allies,” Uilliam said, his voice tinged with awe. “Just like Scotia kent.”
    Duncan tried not to smile, but he had to admit he felt a bit of awe at Scotia’s gift