Hannah ate the morning meal in the Great Hall alone, her husband nowhere to be found. He had promised her that he would share the meal with her. No, she was wrong. He had not promised… he had simply said aye. What had happened to take him away from her?

When Helice told her she had no idea where he was, Hannah had searched the keep. She had even tried the door to the east wing, but it had been locked. She had no recourse but to wait his return.

The Great Hall was much too quiet. With the rainstorm, Imus and his men could not work on the door and she could not venture to the village in the heavy rain. She was trapped here and that would not have been bad if her husband was here with her, but she was alone.

When Helice came to collect the remnants of the meal, the woman shook her head and scolded. “You need to eat more.”

Hannah’s appetite had returned to what it once had been, but worries had a way of making it wane and remaining so until whatever worried her was settled. While numerous worries plagued her, there was one concern she chose to address now.

“I want peace between us, Helice,” she said and raised her hand to still any response. “When I am finished you may speak.” Helice pursed her lips and rested her arms on her ample chest and Hannah continued. “Your home is here and I have no wont, now nor did I before, to change that. What I would like is for us to be friends.”

Helice remained stoic, not speaking or moving.

“Is that possible?” Hannah asked, knowing it would take work, not even sure if she would be here to see it done, but determined to give it a try. For a moment, Hannah thought the woman would remain silent, then she took a step closer to the table.

“You speak to me as one familiar with directing servants and your knowledge is considerable… for a peasant. Your hands show no signs of hard work, yet peasant families work the fields together. You are no crofter’s daughter. When you tell me who you are maybe then we can become friends.” She picked up Hannah’s bowl and tankard and turned.

Hannah words stopped her before she could take another step. “You have your reasons to keep secrets and I have mine.”

“Secrets can destroy.”

“Like they do to this keep?” Hannah asked.

“Aye, secrets crumble this keep. When you discover them will you stay or will you run?” Helice turned and walked out of the Great Hall, as if no answer was necessary, as if she already knew it.

Hannah thought on Helice’s words. Was the woman trying to warn her that she may not be able to live with the secrets harbored here in the keep? Could they be that bad?

She decided to go to her husband’s solar and look around. His drawings had shown promising improvements to the keep and at least one small one had already begun. Would the other drawings show her something else?

She tapped at the door, in case Slain had returned, but got no response. She eased the door open, stepped in, and eased the door closed behind her. The fire had burned down some and she went and added a couple of logs to it.

The wind and rain was lashing against the window and she wondered over her husband’s whereabouts and if he was safe. A burst of thunder had her jumping and made her anxious for his fast and safe return.

She went to the desk, the pile of drawings still there. She sat in the chair and made her way through each drawing. Some were more detailed than others were and the more she saw, the more she was impressed with her husband’s talented hand. The one where the keep appeared fully restored was beautiful. It appeared to welcome with open arms, flowering bushes surrounded the once neglected keep and, surprisingly, the window in the east wing stood open.

The drawings that followed showed the keep from different angles. The kitchen garden was larger and overflowed with plants and two buildings sat off to the left of it. Slain’s plans were substantial, but how could he do all this if his coffers were empty?

The next drawing had her eyes narrowing at first, as if she was not quite sure what she was looking at, then they popped wide. It was her home, drawn on a smaller scale and expanding out to the surrounding area. There were Xs in various spots. She recognized the one spot. It was where one of her father’s sentinels caught her trying to sneak off into the woods alone. She realized then what the Xs signified. It was where her father stationed his sentinels.

She quickly looked at the next drawing and it showed tiny Xs completely devouring the land around the keep. Was this something Slain planned or was this nothing more than what he wished he could do? He had no army, no warriors to fight for him. Or did he?

She stared at what seemed like thousands of Xs. Even if Slain had an army of warriors it would never be this large. There was only one who commanded such a large show of warriors.

Warrick.

Her stomach roiled so badly she feared she would lose what she had eaten. Slain might be considered a savage warrior, but it was nothing compared to Warrick. He showed not an ounce of mercy and cared not for the pain he inflicted on others. Many believed him one of the devil’s demons, and she knew all too well what pain he could bring.

With the amount of Xs on the drawing, her clan would take a savage beating, countless lives would be lost, homes destroyed, and her father… she closed her eyes, which only made it worse. Images assaulted her of what her father might suffer. He may have showed her little love throughout the years, but he was her father. As for her step-brother, Nial, she cared little of what happened to him.

Her unease grew as she continued to stare at the drawing and the more she stared, the more she saw endless carnage and suffering. What should she do? If she told her husband who she was, would it make a difference? Would he spare her clan or would he cast her aside? And what of her father? Would he see it as a strong union between two strong clans or would he think it an affront and demand the marriage be nullified?

Why did she ever think she could escape who she was and hide amongst her father’s enemy? It always went back to what choice had she? Anyone else would have turned her over to her father for a price? But what of Slain? What would he have done if given a choice?

The day wore on with no sign of her husband. She kept herself as busy as possible, listening for the sound of his steps or his voice. She spent some time going through the garments in the chest by her bed and found a couple she could stitch to fit her since they were slightly large for her. She also placed a few of her items in her husband’s bedchamber.

By evening she went back and forth from concern to annoyance that he had still not returned, nor had he sent word to her. The rain had not helped, having confined her to the keep all day. She finally retired to his bedchamber with the hope that he would return some time during the night.

Her hopes were dashed when morning arrived and she found herself alone. She was pleased the rain had stopped and as soon as she finished the morning meal, she hurried to get her cloak, intent on going to the village.

When she returned to the Great Hall, Imus and his men were working on the door and he acknowledged her with a nod as he stepped aside to let her pass. Blair had been right, her husband was a man of few, if any, words.

She smiled and waved when she spotted Blair walking toward the keep and went to meet her.

“Finally, the sun,” Blair said, casting a smile to the sky, “though who knows how long that will last.”

Hannah nodded. “Spring brings the rain.”

“You mean more rain.” Blair chuckled and raised her arm, a basket draped over it. “Brought some food for my husband, since he rushed out early this morning without eating and he can get grumpy when he does not eat.”

A shout had the two women turning.

“Sweeney, you owe me,” yelled a thin man weaving from side to side and looking as if he would tumble over at any moment, his steps so unsteady.

Blair rolled her eyes and shook her head. “That is Potsman, Wilona’s husband. He drinks more than he does anything else.”

“Sweeney, do you hear me? I want what is due me,” Potsman called out and looked about to fall back but caught himself. “You drank all my ale.”

Sweeney, a short wiry man put his shovel aside and approached Potsman. “You are daft, Potsman. I was not drinking with you last night.”

“Do not think me a fool,” Potsman garbled. “I know who I drink with.”

“It was not me,” Sweeney argued.

“Leave Sweeney be, you drunken fool, you were drinking alone last night and started again this morning as soon as you opened your eyes,” Wilona called out as she approached the pair.

Potsman nearly toppled over when he turned to wave a fist at his wife. “Stay out of this, woman, I know who I drink with.”

“Yourself, that is who you drank with,” Wilona said, waving a raised fist back at him, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Go mind your duties and leave me be,” Potsman ordered.

“Mind my duties?” Wilona said, stopping in front of her husband with her hands on her hips. “I have no time to mind my duties since I am constantly looking after you, the drunken fool that you are.”

“Do not talk to me that way, woman,” Potsman said, though the words were barely understandable.

“Go home with your wife, Potsman,” Sweeney said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

“You owe me and I will not be leaving here until you give me what is owed me,” Potsman said and fisted both hands, raising them as if ready to fight.

“Be gone with you, Potsman, and sleep off your drunk,” Sweeney said and turned away from the man.

Potsman swung, barely tapping Sweeney on the back. “Cheat. Coward.”

“Go home,” Sweeney said, moving further away.

“Coward,” Potsman cried out again.

“Go home,” Sweeney repeated.

Wilona went to her husband’s side and grabbed his arm, ready to drag him home.

Potsman threw himself into his swing as he jumped in the air and brought his fist around with all the strength he could muster, sending him in the wrong direction.

Wilona ducked and her husband’s fist caught Hannah on the jaw near her mouth and sent her stumbling. She landed sprawled out on the ground, in the mud left from yesterday’s rain.

“Good Lord!”

Hannah was not sure who said that, though right afterwards several faces were peering down over her. All stared wide-eyed at her and though her vision was a bit blurry, she saw that it was Blair, Wilona, and Sweeney. Imus suddenly appeared as well and two more men.

“God help, Potsman, when the chief finds out about this.”

Hannah was not sure who said that either, but a couple of hands reached down to help her to her feet.

“Are you all right?” Blair asked, staring at Hannah’s jaw.

“It was an accident.”

Though the voice sounded as if it shivered with fear Hannah recognized it as Wilona’s.

“What difference does that make? Your husband struck the chief’s wife,” Blair said, her own voice trembling with as much fright as Wilona’s.

Hannah’s senses finally cleared and she agreed with Wilona. “It was an accident. There is no need for worry.”

Sweeney shook his head and looked to Wilona. “I would worry plenty. Look at how her jaw is already swelled and bruising.”

Hannah raced her hand to her jaw. She winced and her eyes turned as wide as the others upon feeling the large bump.

“It looks even worse,” Blair said.

“That was some unlucky punch,” Sweeney said.

“You deserved it and what do you mean unlucky. I got you good,” Potsman said as he struggled to get to his feet.

“You stupid fool,” Wilona screamed at her husband. “You did not hit Sweeney. You hit the chief’s wife.”

Her words hit him like a bucket of cold water being thrown in his face. His eyes bulged and he turned whiter than fresh fallen snow.

“You might as well start digging your grave now, Potsman,” Sweeney said, “the chief will kill you for this.”

“No.” Hannah defended her husband. “Slain would not do that.”

Every one of them stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

Their attention was quickly diverted when Potsman began weeping, a heavy, gut-wrenching weeping, and copious tears ran down his face. “I am a dead man,” he said through heavy sighs.

Wilona shook her head. “I will be a widow soon enough.”

“Nonsense,” Hannah said. “I will speak to Slain and explain everything.”

Sweeney turned to Potsman. “Run while you can.”

“No, all will be well,” Hannah encouraged, though no one paid her mind.

Potsman clung to his wife as they walked off together, mumbling over and over. “Dead. I am dead.”

“For once, he is right,” Sweeney said, shaking his head and returning to work on the door.

The other two men followed him and Imus turned a sad shake of his head on his wife, took the basket from her, and walked off.

“Potsman is right. The chief will kill him for laying a hand on you,” Blair said.

Hannah tried reassuring all and herself, since the thought of the man dying because of an unfortunate incident involving her was not something she could live with. “I will not let that happen.”

“You will not be able to stop him… the savage. He will show himself and that will be the end of it and the end of Potsman.” Blair patted Hannah’s arm before turning and heading to the village.

A gray cloud suddenly devoured the sun as if confirming Blair’s prediction and knowing a visit to the village now would only worsen things, she returned to the keep.

Hannah changed garments and kept to herself, not letting Helice see her bruise. By evening her jaw pained her and seeing her reflection in the window she almost cringed. The corner of her mouth down to her jaw was swollen and a dark spot covered a good portion of it.

She kept her hand over the area when Helice brought her the evening meal. She found eating a bit painful, though it was her worry for Potsman that had her appetite waning after only a few mouthfuls.

“You miss your husband so much that you cannot eat.”

Hannah was so happy to hear Slain’s voice that she did not think about her bruise. She jumped up from the table, her hand falling away from her face and a smile spreading across it, though it turned to a wince fast enough.

Hannah watched her husband transform before her eyes. Ferocious anger flared like a fiery flame in his dark eyes, his lips appeared to take on a feral lift, and she thought she heard him give a low animal growl.

He sprung so fast toward her that Hannah jumped and gasped when his hands took hold of her arms, turning her to face the hearth’s flame for him to see better.

She spoke quickly, hoping to soothe him. “It was an accident.”

Slain could not take his eyes off his wife’s swollen and deeply bruised jaw. She had taken a hard punch, though not as hard as the one he intended to deliver to the person who did this to her, accident or not.

“Who?” Slain demanded.

“It was an accident and best forgotten,” she said and foolishly tried to smile in hopes of softening his anger. She winced instead, which only served to spark his anger even more. She could almost feel the low rumbling growl stir in his chest. “I am unharmed. It is nothing.”

Slain fought to contain the fury that mounted in him. “You are not unharmed and you say it is nothing when your jaw is swollen and bruised so badly that you cannot smile without it paining you.” His growl was stronger this time as he raised his eyes to the rafters for a moment, shook his head, and took a strong breath. “You cannot eat without pain either, can you?”

“It is a bit sore, nothing more.”

“You lie,” he accused though softly and eased her down to sit on the bench, joining her. With a faint touch, he ran his fingers over the bruise. “Tell me the truth. Does it pain you?”

The anger in his eyes had quieted, though remained stirring there and his touch was ever so gentle and caring. She decided the truth would serve her best, as it would be later when she revealed her identity to him. Something she was not looking forward to, but was necessary.

“It pains me to smile and to chew, but it is not an unbearable pain,” she admitted.

“It is an unnecessary pain none-the-less.”

Hannah gently rested her sore jaw against his hand. “It truly was an accident. No one needs to suffer for it.”

“That is for me to decide,” Slain said his heart going out to his wife for her suffering. When he first saw her injury, he could not contain the savage within him. He rose with a fury ready to tear someone from limb to limb, something he was still thinking of doing. Though first, he would tend his wife. “Has Helice seen to your injury or the healer?”

Hannah moved her head away from his hand reluctantly and shook her head. “It is not necessary. It is a bruise and will heal in its own time.”

“What happened?” he asked instead of who did it, intending to find out one way or another.

Hannah hoped to avoid names. “The punch was meant for someone else. I was hit by accident.”

“So there were others present,” Slain said, something he was glad to hear, for if his wife would not give him the name he needed, someone else would.

Hannah realized the same as her husband. “You will find out so I may as tell you it all.”

“You are right. I will find out all of it, though I prefer it come from you.”

“I will tell you, but please give me your word you will not harm the man over a foolish accident.”

“Foolish or not, that is for me to judge.” He leaned forward as soon as Hannah appeared ready to protest and brushed his lips gently over hers. “Tell me, wife.”

What choice had she? He would find out and perhaps the telling of the incident might be better coming from her.

Hannah explained it all, impressing on her husband that it was an unfortunate accident. Her husband showed no reaction as she spoke, but anger remained stirring in his dark eyes. She finished with, “So you see no malice caused it.”

“No, drunken foolishness did,” Slain said and shouted out for Helice.

The woman must have been lurking nearby since she appeared quickly and Hannah was surprised at the concern on her face when she looked upon the bruise.

“See to my wife’s wound and if you feel she needs the healer, fetch her. Also brew a broth for her since it pains her to chew. I will return shortly and share the meal with her.”

Hannah grabbed his arm when he went to stand. “There is no need to harm Potsman.”

“I remind you again… my decision,” Slain stood and left the Great Hall.

“You should have come to me,” Helice said her voice gentler than Hannah had ever heard it.

“You would have told Slain upon his return.”

“Of course, I would have. He is your husband and chief of the clan. He must know,” Helice said as if Hannah’s question made no sense.

“You know him better than me,” Hannah said a bit of envy poking at her. “Slain will not harm Potsman, will he?”

“Slain will do what is necessary. He always does.”

Hannah waited until Helice took her leave and knowing she would return soon hurried out of the keep, not even bothering to stop for her cloak.