The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)(45)

He had all of five minutes to recover before MacKay proved his point. Kenneth didn’t need to glance up—the large, looming presence had become instantly recognizable. A bit like the shadow of the grim reaper.

“Rest time is over, Recruit. You’re on watch tonight,” MacKay said. “Unless you’re too tired?”

Admitting that would give the whoreson too much bloody satisfaction. Kenneth clenched his jaw and used what little strength he had left to drag himself to his feet. “Not to do my duty.”

Kenneth couldn’t bring himself to use MacKay’s war name of “Saint.” The appellation couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Satan’s spawn” suited him much better. Kenneth’s longtime nemesis might have been forced by Bruce and Helen to let Kenneth join the men who would battle for a position on the team, but that didn’t mean he had to like it—or that he would make Kenneth’s path an easy one.

But as much as Kenneth would like to claim otherwise, MacKay didn’t single him out for extra torture. Nay, the torture was spread around evenly and thickly. Even when he was a squire he hadn’t been forced to do so many menial tasks. He’d never dug so many cesspits, fetched so much wood or peat for a fire, cleaned armor until his fingers were raw, and even washed soiled linens. Yet ironically, the tasks that he looked down upon as beneath him a few months ago had become his moments of peace and relative relaxation.

“Good,” MacKay replied. “You, too, Recruit,” he addressed the only other man unfortunate enough to still be around to answer to that name. Kenneth had come not to mind it. It was a hell of a lot better than some of the other names they called him.

The first time Hawk had seen him taking a piss, he’d taken to calling him The Steed. Kenneth was used to the jests about the size of his manhood, and normally he would have shrugged it off, if Steed hadn’t transformed into Stud thanks to MacKay. Though his brother by marriage hadn’t shared the origin of the name, the private jest was enough to set his teeth on edge every time he heard it. It was also a constant reminder of exactly who was to blame for his current predicament.

He was sure that was why he thought of her so often. Even more than four months later, Lady Mary’s easy dismissal of him as a potential husband stung. His own reaction to her, he tried not to think about. He was sure it hadn’t been nearly as incredible as he remembered. Surely he’d had better, even if he couldn’t remember a specific instance. He would prove it, just as soon as he finished his training. Profligate? More like monk, of late.

But just because he chose to accept a few of the offers thrown his way didn’t make him a profligate. He was glad she’d refused him. The last thing he needed was a wife who didn’t understand a man’s needs. But why had it seemed to bother her so much?

“You need to see to the evening meal,” MacKay was saying to the other recruit, “starting with a fire. Then you can find us something to eat. I think we could all do with some fresh meat tonight.”

Although he knew everything about him as a warrior, Kenneth knew little personal information about his fellow recruit other than that he spoke and dressed as if he were from the Isles. He was certainly large and fair enough to have some Viking blood in him. His brother-in-hell was unable to stifle a groan. Kenneth didn’t blame him; finding something to eat in these stark, frozen mountaintops was going to be a Herculean—if not Promethean—task.

Watch suddenly seemed like a pleasure jaunt by comparison. Kenneth pulled a few things from his pack, and as he started away to take his position on the outskirt of camp, he wondered at MacKay’s unusual generosity.

But the voice that was anything but saintlike stopped him. “Where do you think you’re going, Recruit?” Kenneth turned around slowly, dread seeping through every inch of his aching limbs. “You’ll watch from up there.”

Kenneth followed the direction of his hand to the peak of the mountain above them, still a good two hundred feet up. Straight up. It wasn’t the distance as much as the steep, sheer facade that made dread settle in his gut like a stone. To reach the place MacKay indicated, Kenneth was going to have to scale the rocky peak with his hands and feet, a task that would be difficult even were he well rested and able to feel his fingertips. Pulling his body up with his already weary limbs was going to be next to impossible.

For the past few weeks, he’d swum until he thought his lungs would give out, been pushed over varying terrains at a pace that would kill most men, fought with every kind of weapon imaginable, and had even been buried to his waist and had to defend himself with just a shield as spears were tossed at his head by a circle of warriors. He hadn’t balked at any of it, no matter how impossible it seemed. But this was too much.

The two men faced off in the near darkness. Though it was only a few hours past noon, daylight was already slipping away. Kenneth could feel the scrutiny of the ten other men as they waited in silence for his response, but none of them would intervene. This contest was between MacKay and him alone.

Every instinct in Kenneth’s body urged him to tell McKay to bugger off. To refuse.

To quit.

Going up there right now would be a suicide mission. One slip on the icy rocks and Kenneth would fall to his death. MacKay knew it as well as he did. Kenneth could see the challenge in the other man’s gaze, not daring him to refuse as much as daring him to accept.