Nearly a fortnight later, Averyl, with her gown billowing about her legs, took in the formidable fortress that was Dunollie. Gloom fell over its towers and walls, drawn gray against the bleak morning sky. ’Twas as if the sun never fell upon its grounds, light and hope never dwelt within its walls.

“Are you certain you want to do this, love?” said Kieran, real concern visible beneath his rogue’s charm.

“Aye. My bairn needs his father.” Even if his father needs me not. Frowning, she rubbed a hand over her rounded belly.

“Let us do this,” said Aric quietly.

But the reluctant respect in his eyes, and that she had seen in Guilford’s before leaving Hartwich, spurred her on.

“Do you recall the plan?” she asked instead, needlessly. Aric would see to the details, while Kieran would risk all to see this rescue complete.

“Aye,” assured Kieran.

Aric nodded, squeezed her shoulder, and released her.

Averyl took a deep breath to quell her quivering innards, then marched toward Dunollie. Determination beat soundly inside her as she prayed to God Almighty that her mission would be successful. Somehow, someway, this danger would pass. That, she must believe or be doomed.

Still, what must Drake feel, locked up in a dank, dark corner of Dunollie’s dungeon for weeks now? Did he await death? Fight it? Or simply expect it?

Pushing grim thoughts aside, Averyl gathered a flowing cloak about her she hoped would hide her advancing pregnancy for a bit and approached Dunollie’s gates with squared shoulders.

From outside, the castle looked devoid of activity, almost ghostly against the morn’s fog. Averyl pushed aside her breath-stealing anxiety and, head bowed, trod toward the drawbridge.

“Who comes?” questioned a disheveled guard.

She swallowed, knowing she could not turn back now. “Averyl Campbell. I’ve returned to wed your lord.”

Wide-eyed in obvious shock, the man nodded and escorted her into the gatehouse.

As they passed through the stirrings of the lower bailey, then through the second gatehouse and the middle bailey, Averyl held her breath. A thousand things could go wrong with this scheme that had once seemed so logical. Today, with her stomach hopping and her heart pounding, naught of this seemed rational.

The snores of some lean gray hounds and the scuffle of a black cat chasing a plump rat broke the silence. Averyl shivered as the guard took her into the keep, up the stairs, into the great hall to await Murdoch’s audience.

“Sit, my lady.” He sent another guard after their lord, then began stroking a dirty hand over his straggling beard.

The great hall, indeed the whole castle, seemed to seep a gloom she had not noticed before her abduction. Forcing herself to sit, Averyl wondered if she felt the keep’s sense of tragedy now because she knew the history of its grievous inhabitants.

Fear roared inside her, adding an extra thrum to her heart. What if Murdoch wanted naught of her but her death? What if his letter was no more than a ruse?

What if ’twas not?

Clenching her hands into nervous fists, Averyl watched the wiry sentry retreat upstairs. Would Murdoch come immediately? She prayed soon to know her fate—and Drake’s.

The air about her thickened as she waited.

Into the firelit great hall entered a man, not Murdoch. His rolling gait and shorter stature told her that right away. Still, she found something familiar about his uneven profile and shaggy brown hair. But her concerned thoughts could not stray from Drake long enough to solve such a mystery.

The man turned to the table and saw her sitting there. Instantly, he gasped, staring as if he had seen some specter.

“Averyl?”

He knew her name? “Aye,” she called, peering closer, until recognition dawned. “Cousin Robert! What do you do here at Dunollie?”

Though Robert was the son of her father’s brother, of late he had not been much welcomed by her father or the rest of the clan. And now she found him upon MacDougall land?

“Your father…he”— Robert shrugged—“well, he wished me to come here and see if Drake Locke had set you free or you had been yet found. And here you are!”

“Drake is a MacDougall,” she corrected almost without thought, then frowned. “Why would my father send you? Why not come himself?”

Shrugging, Robert turned away to call for a mug of ale, then sat, head bent. “Too much to be done at Abbotsford, I am certain. So, you are looking well, even a bit plump for once. Drake Loc— MacDougall fed you well, I take it?”

Self-consciously, Averyl gathered the cloak about her middle and frowned. “Well enough. Have the Campbells and MacDougalls refrained from fighting whilst I’ve been away? Is that why you stay at Dunollie?”

Robert gave her a vigorous nod. “’Tis a good faith gesture, but one that is appreciated, I am sure.”

Though Averyl was uncertain Robert could be trusted, he was kin. Certainly he was more an ally than Murdoch. “Have you seen Drake since Murdoch captured him? Where is he?”

“In my dungeon, as I said in my letter,” called Murdoch from the top of the stairs.

That low voice chilled Averyl. She gritted her teeth against the fear creeping within her as he descended the stairs.

“Leave us,” he said to Robert without so much as a glance.

To her shock, the ever-unruly Robert rose to do Murdoch’s bidding without a by-your-leave.

“Are you ready to wed me?” asked Murdoch once Robert was gone.

Nay. Never. “Aye.”

He smiled smugly, victoriously. Averyl itched to slap him.

“A priest will be here on the morrow to perform the task.”

The man she had almost been betrothed to possessed a piercing, crafty gaze. No doubt, he was clever and ruthlessly prepared to reap the benefits of his treachery. Why had she noticed none of this before?

Because she had been a child then. Drake had shown her more of life, of her own heart. He had challenged her to see the good—and bad—in others. For that, she would be forever changed.

“I must see Drake first.”

Murdoch shook his head. “Why force yourself to see your tormenter once more, my lady? Do not think about Drake Locke or his ill treatment of you another moment. Think of our future instead.”

“Drake MacDougall is the only reason I have come.”

Dark eyes narrowed, Murdoch tensed.

Before he could say aught, Averyl went on, feeling oddly calm and in control. “I know you have no interest in wedding me, other than to receive the funds and power left to you in your father’s will, the father you shared with Drake. I know also that you duped this entire clan into believing Drake guilty of Lochlan’s murder when, in fact, the crime was yours.”

Averyl sat stiffly, heart pounding, awaiting Murdoch’s reply. Fury she expected. Denials, indignation, false assurances—all were the means he could try to disarm her.

Instead, he laughed grimly. “’Tis a surprise, that Drake would tell you of our dirty family history. I suppose you will ask me next why I swived his bitch of a mother for a year.”

Averyl tried not to flinch at such crudity. “Nay, that I understand perfectly. So does he. And naught you have to say on that subject will interest me. I came here to accept your bargain. Once I speak with Drake and be assured of his good health and his release, I will be your bride.”

Murdoch shook his head. “You will see him after the wedding, not before.”

Suspicion tightened her belly. Certainly Murdoch would take great pleasure in having her see Drake chained. Why did he hesitate, then?

“I fear, my lord, that will not do,” she said with mock sweetness. “For you see, Drake took me as a handfast bride June last. So until he releases me from the union, I am not free to wed you.”

The assured smirk on Murdoch’s face slid off, replaced by a furious horror.

In two huge steps, he closed the remaining distance between them and grabbed her arm. With it, he jerked her to her feet and ripped the cloak from her body.

His burning black gaze fell immediately on her swollen belly.

“You let him fuck you?” he shouted, then cursed. “Most like more than once if he got you with child.”

With his free hand, he struck her violently across one cheek. “You faithless whore! I thought you had merely gotten fat.”

Pain exploded in her head, and Averyl would have fallen to the stone floor if not for Murdoch’s unyielding grip holding her upright.

Dangling, Averyl found her feet beneath her and swallowed a lump of bile in her throat. She must stand strong. She must not fail. Her life and that of her babe’s, as well as Drake’s future, were at stake.

“Did you hate him even as he rutted upon you? Or did you fall in love?”

Sensing the truth would only free the rest of the restraint holding in his anger, Averyl parried. “It hardly matters. I’ve come, as you requested. Let us see this thing done.”

He wound his hand about her throat. “I’ll not have you pining for the wretch after we wed. The clan will talk.”

As Murdoch squeezed her neck, Averyl choked and gasped for air, trying to work up enough saliva to spit in his face.

“Do you hear me?” Murdoch squeezed harder. “Agree, or I will cut this child from your womb and leave you to bleed.”

She believed him.

At Averyl’s nod, Murdoch loosened his grip.

Collapsing to her knees, Averyl drew in huge draughts of air and shivered from the evil tone of his voice. White specks whirled in her vision. Fear clawed in her gut. She shoved it aside.

“Free Drake, and I will wed you. I vow you will never see me pine for him. But if you ever harm my child—or hire someone to harm him—I will tell the rest of your clan what I know of Lochlan’s murder.”

As a threat, Averyl did not think it would scare Murdoch. After all, she lacked pertinent facts, like the identity of the man he had paid to see Lochlan murdered. She also lacked proof. But Murdoch knew that not.

Murdoch laughed. “This foolishness actually aids my cause, you Campbell slut.” He released her as if he found the contact distasteful. “You see, I do not have Drake in my dungeon. In fact, I have no notion where to find him. I had hoped to bring you back to Dunollie, wed and bed you, then find that miserable scoundrel so I might end his life.”

Averyl gasped. Relief, bitterness, and dread scraped at her like the edge of a blade. She had endangered herself and her bairn for a ruse, for naught. Nay!

“With you, I can lure him here to Dunollie,” Murdoch went on. “He may not care overmuch for saving you, but he will save his babe. Drake got his blighted sense of honor from our father, God rest his miserable soul.”

With that, Murdoch made his way to the far side of the great hall and called down the steps. “Malcolm!”

A moment later, a hulk of a Scot, one who rivaled Aric in size, appeared. “My lord?”

“See our guest to her new accommodations…below stairs.”

The dungeon! “Nay!” she choked, feeling the blood drain from her face.

’Twas dark there. Endless ribbons of black would abound, strangling her with fear. Specters—or Murdoch—could do away with her at any time.

Before she could run, the burly, rough-faced man dragged her out of the great hall and down the stairs. She was no match for his strength. Averyl scarcely remained on her feet before one prodded her through another door, then toward a second steep bank of stairs that led into malodorous darkness.

Dread pounded in her heart. What would happen now? Would she live to see her babe born? To see Drake again? Would he come to rescue his babe, only to die?

The giant all but pushed her down the narrow circular stairs. She scarcely kept her balance with the weight of the babe before her and darkness enveloping her all around.

At the bottom of the stairs, straw crinkled beneath her feet. A vile stench crept up her nose, seeping into her stomach with a nauseating intensity. The villainous guard pushed her into a cold stone corner, then shut the iron bars behind them.

Her stomach clenched in fear. “Nay, please! Do not leave me here without light.”

He said naught, simply left her alone with the darkness, memories of her mother’s violent death, and her terrible fear.

She shivered, wishing for the soothing touch Drake had shown her on a windswept hill all those months ago, when she’d been overpowered by her fear of the black night. Its remembrance calmed her. He had made light from darkness that night. And as tears rolled down her face, Averyl could not ignore the truth: Drake always would make light from darkness—at least in her heart.

 

* * * * *

 

Early February

 

Drake had come to find peace. And if he found it in death, so be it.

Averyl would not turn ten and eight for two weeks yet. But Drake had grown weary of waiting for the end, one way or another, of this cloying hate he and Murdoch shared.

Today, one of them would die. Likely, it would be him. Murdoch had allies everywhere. And though older, Murdoch was a fierce warrior, noted as much for his cruelty as for his skill.

Drake knew if he, by chance, lived, his future held naught. His clan would never accept him again. And his temporary bride surely hated him…

Still, this revenge wearied him now, and he wanted it ended for good.

Confined to shadows and secret tunnels, Drake slid within Dunollie’s walls past midnight. Most of the sentries present upon his abduction of Averyl were pleasingly absent on this night, making his trek through the winding passages beneath the castle nearly without risk or constraint.

Such was good fortune, for he would need to save his strength and wits for this last deadly dance with his enemy, his half brother.

Stealing into the keep, he slid into the hidden opening at the mouth of the solar to await his prey. Drake’s thoughts turned, as they often did, to Averyl. If he died today, would she mourn? He gritted his teeth. Most like, she would celebrate this final departure from her life. And someday, she would take a lover, or perhaps another husband, the kind, he hoped, who would love her as she so yearned.

Drake swallowed, staring blindly into the room’s dim surroundings, lit by a single candle. He wished his wife happiness in her future, but the thought of Averyl in another’s arms made his stomach grind. ’Twas a foolish feeling, for she surely hated him. Such was no less than he had earned for wedding and abandoning her, turning away from her while recovering from a near-fatal wound, refusing to succumb to the sort of foolish feelings of which troubadours sang.

Where was she now? Still with Guilford at Hartwich? And whether he died this day or not, Drake vowed he would steal from Murdoch, if he must, to ensure Averyl received enough funds to keep her well forever. ’Twas the least he could do. Besides, he rather liked the idea of stealing from Murdoch some of what should have been his.

Suddenly, into the shadowed depths of the solar marched Murdoch. Beside him, he dragged a woman with pale curls. Averyl? he wondered. Though he was certain such was not possible, he peered at the woman more closely, gut turning.

Her face was turned away. Her size was undeterminable, for the dimness and the gown that floated about her like a gray storm cloud. But that hair… Could she be another?

Murdoch shoved her to the ground, earning the laughs of three large guards entering the room, clearly willing and able to protect their master at the slightest hint of danger.

Drake returned his attention to the woman, wincing as his half brother grabbed her tangled golden curls and slapped her face. Her back stiffened and her head fell back from the blow.

Stifling a curse, Drake watched as the woman struggled against Murdoch’s hold. Sneering, he held her down. With her hands bound behind her, she was no match for the villain.

Murdoch laughed. “How I love to see someone else humiliated for a change. I wonder if that half-English bastard would want you in his bed if he could see you now?”

Drake’s heart stopped at Murdoch’s words. He peered closer at the woman, praying she was not Averyl, but could recognize naught from tangles down her back and an overlarge gown. Still, who else could she be?

With shaking hands, he tried to rein in the panic bursting through him. What was Averyl doing here at Dunollie?

In the silence, Murdoch slapped the woman again, this time harder. She moaned.

“Have you nothing to say, whore?” Murdoch taunted.

“To such a worthless excuse for a man? Nay.”

Drake’s stomach lurched at the sound of Averyl’s voice. His greedy gaze locked on to her, even as fear burned in his veins. Dear God, how had she fallen prey to Murdoch?

And what was he to do?

Murdoch walked around Averyl in a slow, predatory circle. “Did Drake allow you to defy him like this?” When she said naught, he continued, “I know your father did, the fool.”

“Say nothing bad of my father!”

“Why not? He was foolish enough to grant me use of your dower lands before we wed. Come spring, I intend to use it as a good MacDougall should.”

“To attack the Campbells?” Her voice trembled.

Murdoch smiled. “What else?”

“Drake was right.” Averyl shouted, “Barbarian!”

He scowled and grabbed a handful of her hair. “Be careful, whore, for I could yet decide to kill you for the sport of it.”

Drake trembled with the urge to charge the room and rescue Averyl. But he would only fail now, with those three burly guards by his half brother’s side, and condemn them both to death. Nay, painful as it was, he must wait and plan—and pray for Averyl’s safety.

“Brave words for a mere woman.” Murdoch tossed her a speculative glare. “Perhaps I shall make you my whore as well,” he said with wicked glee.

Drake felt another chill creep over his skin. Murdoch’s idea of pleasure was harsh on any woman, but one with Averyl’s ideals of love would no doubt find it unbearable.

Clenching his fists, Drake knew he must act soon.

“Aye, that might be an idea,” Murdoch continued. “How that would torture Drake!”

“I will kill you upon my first opportunity,” she vowed.

Murdoch grabbed Averyl’s neck in a vicious vice. “Do not think I will be foolish enough to give you that chance.”

“You are nae a man, but a monster!”

With fury heating his eyes, Murdoch warned, “Watch your words well, or I will prove you right in ways you never imagined.”

“I have no doubt you could.”

Drake shuddered at the hate in her tone. For that, Murdoch may well punish her, using terrible means she could scarcely imagine. He wished he could find some way to warn her against such reckless words without revealing himself. But such was not possible. He would simply have to find a way to rescue her before aught happened.

Murdoch sneered. “For your poison tongue, I will teach you the meaning of pain, but I will wait until Drake watches. Such torture to his mind will please me greatly.”

“Rot in hell!” Averyl shot back.

Murdoch grabbed her arm, pulling her to her knees. “The only one who will do that is your husband. When I find him and he learns of your captivity, he will save you.”

“He will not,” she argued.

Murdoch narrowed his dark eyes. “Once he learns I lured you here with a bargain to free him from my dungeon in exchange for wedding me? Nay, Drake will not let you suffer long for your sacrifice. And when he comes, I will be waiting.”

Drake clenched his fists so tightly they trembled. Averyl had come here to exchange her freedom for his? After all he had done to her? Dear God, why?

He felt stunned—and humbled. And now Murdoch intended to use her as bait to lure him to his death.

Wanting to tear Murdoch apart limb from limb, Drake kept to the shadows, vowing vengeance for whatever ills he performed on Averyl. But such would have to be done without risk to her. And that required planning.

With one last cracking slap to Averyl’s cheek, Murdoch slammed from the room, leaving a battered Averyl to be dragged away by Murdoch’s mercenaries.

And leaving Drake more ready than ever to put his plan in motion, have his revenge, and reclaim his wife.

 

* * * * *

 

Drake watched the eastern edge of the predawn sky turn from black to a midnight blue tinged with gray as he stood silently before his mother’s grave.

Uncertainty swirling within him, he stared at the stone marker for long moments before kneeling, knowing not what to say.

Slowly, he whispered, “Why did you never tell me the truth? Why did I never see your hurt?” He shook his head, his chest aching. “You let me believe the worst.”

Drake was faintly aware of healing tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes, making hot paths down his face.

His very life had changed in knowing that perhaps his father had been as much to blame for the marriage’s demise as his mother. His perception of the past, of the selfishness and deceit of women—all of that was in question now.

If Averyl’s actions to save him reflected the true nature of love, they cast a shadow over the marriage his parents had shared. Neither had given the other a moment of happiness, had never really given of themselves, to their own detriment. Had they loved at all, or merely struggled for power in a relationship borne of lust?

He sighed, longing for Averyl. Had he pushed her away foolishly, without cause? Had he endured wretched months of icy loneliness when he could have basked in the warmth of her love?

Either way, he must rid his soul of Averyl, before the pain he felt at her absence killed him.

“’Tis sorry I am, Mother. I knew not the truth.”

Suddenly, wind whisked across his face, seeming to carry Diera’s hauntingly familiar scent.

He whirled about, swearing he would find her there, so strong was her presence. Yet he saw nothing but a barren February winterland, white snow clinging to leafless trees.

“Mother?” he called, feeling her with him still, despite the fact his eyes told him differently.

As quickly as the wind had come, it left, replaced by the bite of the cold dawn. Drake tingled with a certainty that Diera had both listened to his words and forgiven him.

From the nearby gardens, he retrieved a few flowers that had survived the winter chill, and laid the snow-capped blossoms across her grave.

He knelt before the simple wooden cross and prayed to God to look favorably upon his mother and allow her past the gates into His Kingdom. He asked forgiveness for his own wayward actions, including those to come. Most of all, he prayed for Averyl’s future happiness and safety.

But now ’twas time to kill his brother—or be killed.

 

* * * * *

 

Minutes later, Drake shook Firtha awake.

“What— Who…”

“Shh,” Drake whispered. “I’ve no time to talk. Murdoch has Averyl.”

The maid sat up. “Aye, he is using her to trap ye.”

“I know. Where does he keep her?”

She hesitated. “The gatehouse.”

Drake’s mouth fell agape. “In the dungeon? Upon my word, I will kill him! She is far too delicate—”

“Praise be ye ken that!”

“I do, which is why we must not waste time. If you can, see her. Tell her I will not leave her again, not to Murdoch.”

Firtha nodded. “I will find a way. Now, ye hiv to worry how to free her. Do ye hiv a plan?”

“Beyond luring Murdoch to his death, nay. But I will. Know you how Averyl fares so far?”

“Our Lord Dunollie haes more desire to find ye than bed her. She eats and sleeps alone.”

“Thank God,” he muttered. “But still, I must tread carefully.” Drake rose to pace. “Christ’s oath, I want to free her, regardless of the danger. I want to cause Murdoch pain for the hurt he has done her.”

Firtha took his hand. “Ye are in love, Drake.” When he would have protested, she held up her hand. “Ye ken that, I hiv no doubt. Admit it now, whilst ye can.”

He wrenched away. “All I feel now is regret for Averyl’s pain and hate for Murdoch.”

“Ye love ’er,” Firtha insisted, “e’en if ye don’t like it.”

He tried to ignore the burning in his chest as the acknowledgement of Firtha’s words loomed. Aye, fool that he was, he loved Averyl. Six months away from her had changed naught in his heart…except that the pain of their separation forced him to admit the truth.

Still, he could never tell Averyl he needed her like food, like water. He could give no one, least of all her, the key to his soul. She could destroy him with it. She had cause now.

After bidding Firtha farewell, Drake wound through the underground tunnels and emerged from Dunollie, mind racing. He scarce paid attention to the moonlit path.

Though he could not tell her of his love, Drake worried about Averyl in Murdoch’s dungeon. The fiend plotted to rape her, while forcing the man she had professed to love to watch.

When he had imagined revenge, Drake had never expected to destroy anyone but Murdoch and, perhaps, himself. Seeking this renegade justice had cost Averyl her freedom. And Drake had no illusions; before this mad state of affairs played itself to the end, his revenge could well cost Averyl her life.

He cursed. Wondering about her while he laid this death trap for Murdoch, knowing Murdoch had struck and threatened her, all of it stabbed pain in his gut, his heart.

Aye, no doubt anymore. He did love her. Mayhap he had from the start of her captivity, for she’d always drawn him.

And ’twas clear Averyl believed that she loved him. No woman he knew, even Firtha, would be forgiving enough to set aside her pain and fury over a man’s abandonment at her greatest hour of need and still return to Dunollie to wed a monster in exchange for her lover’s freedom.

Had he ever been loved that selflessly? Nay, even his father had conditioned his love to ensure obedience. He had been a good man, but one who demanded his wishes be met. Had that been the reason his parents had known no harmony? Had his father commanded a submission his mother refused to yield?

Had he mistaken their darker emotions and their consequences as love all along?

Not certain how to answer that question, Drake felt the minutes tick by like centuries. He marched his way through the tunnel, praying he could find some way to extricate Averyl from Dunollie without harm. He could not bear the thought of repaying Averyl’s loving deed with Murdoch’s cruelty.

The small, dank space of the tunnel finally gave way to the moonlit night. Drake inched up to ground and edged along the outer curtain wall to avoid detection by Dunollie’s guards.

Instead, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

An alert determination, along with fear, coiled in the pit of his belly as he whirled to his attacker.

Instead, he saw Kieran. Aric stood just behind him.

“What in damnation—” he began.

“We thought you were in Dunollie’s dungeon,” Kieran said. “Did you escape?”

Drake frowned. “Nay, Murdoch did not have me.”

Kieran and Aric exchanged glances. “He lied.”

Drake nodded. “He has Averyl in his dungeon now and plots to use her to lure me to my death.”

“’Tis as we feared,” said Aric, his voice a low rumble, “We must save her and return to England.”

“After I give Murdoch the slow death he deserves.”

Aric grabbed his arms. “Averyl must come first, you dimwitted dolt.”

Drake might have pointed out that Aric began to sound like Gwenyth if the situation were less serious. “And she shall.”

“With haste,” Aric added with force.

Kieran nodded. “Unless you want your babe born in Dunollie’s dungeon.”

Drake’s gaze whipped back to Kieran, who stood with wide arms crossed over his chest, looking unyielding and angry. Had he just said…

“Babe?”

“Aye, in April.”

“But…Averyl? I knew naught—”

“Because you abandoned her, swiving swine. And I am furious enough with you to push a battering ram through your miserable gut. You punish her for Diera’s cruelty—”

“Kieran,” Aric warned.

It fell upon deaf ears.

“Think you Averyl would take one of your family to her bed to spite you? Can you imagine such a deed from her?” Kieran hissed. “If you say you can, I will punch you.”

Stunned, Drake said naught. But his spinning mind considered the question over and over. Nay, he could not imagine such a thing. But when his father had first fancied his mother, he doubtless never imagined such an event, either.

“Let us consider Averyl’s safety now, hmm?” suggested Aric.

Drake was all too willing to turn his mind to her rescue. “You and Kieran free her from the dungeon and meet me by the tunnel entrance in the upper bailey. I will show you its location when we get inside.”

“And what will you do?” Kieran scowled.

“What I came here to do—kill Murdoch.”

“Hellfire! Can you forget this revenge for once? It will be the death of you!”

“If I forget it, what will happen?” Drake whispered as furiously as discretion allowed. “Murdoch will hunt me, hunt her. We will know no peace, no life, no future as long as he wants to see her as his wife and me in my grave. Even after Averyl turns eight and ten, he may lose his fortune but not his power with the clan. He and everyone I have known all my years will stalk me until I hang from a rope by the battlements.”

Aric, ever calm, separated him and Kieran. “If this is your wish, we will follow it. What is your plan?”

For the next hour, they debated the possibilities, drawing sketches in the dirt, arguing over the best strategy. As dawn broke, they formed a solid plan.

Drake only hoped Averyl did not lose her life, nor he lose his friends, in the process.