It took Hannah a few moments to recognize the lanky, bloody body in Imus’ arms. It was Potsman and he had been beaten badly.

“Take him to his cottage and someone fetch Neata,” Slain ordered and stretched his hand out to Hannah.

She hurried over to him, his hand wrapping solidly around hers and she walked with him as they followed behind Imus.

Wilona and Blair turned from where they stood by the cottage garden talking and when Wilona saw that it was her husband Imus carried, her eyes turned wide with shock, then she let out a screeching wail.

“He is not dead,” Imus said as he reached the two women, “but he has been beaten badly.”

Hannah left her husband’s side and followed Wilona and Blair into the cottage, wanting to help.

Wilona turned once at the door and screamed at Hannah. “This is your fault. You let the one who set the fire go and look what he did to my husband. You are not welcome here.”

Hannah drew back, feeling her words like a slap in the face.

Slain stepped forward. “Watch that sharp tongue, Wilona. The young lad who got away could not have done this to your husband.”

“The lad was a ruse and is still to blame for everything,” Wilona said angry tears falling from her eyes. She pointed at Hannah. “And she let the lad go. Is she a ruse too? Has she—”

“Silence!” Slain shouted. “Disparage my wife with one more word and you will suffer the consequences.”

Wilona lowered her head. “Forgive me, I speak—”

“Foolishly,” Slain finished. “Go see to your husband and do not let me hear you speak badly of my wife again.”

Wilona nodded and hurried inside, her tongue silent.

Neata appeared, hurrying past everyone, heading straight inside the cottage.

Imus came out after Neata went in and walked over to Slain.

“Was Potsman able to speak to you?” Slain asked.

Imus shook his head. “He is barely breathing. Neata will let you know if he says anything. Some of the men are searching where we found him. I go to join them.”

Imus gave Hannah a quick glance before his eyes returned to Slain, and with nod, he took his leave.

“He believes I know something,” Hannah said, having seen a questioning look in his eyes.

“Imus worries for the clan as do they all and you letting the young lad go does not sit well with them. You should have trusted me.”

“I do trust you, husband, it is the savage I am not sure of.”

While her words hurt Slain, though they were all too true, she was better off not trusting the savage. There was no telling what he would do. Right now, however, he had no time to dwell on that. He needed to find out what happened to Potsman and if it was in any way connected with the young lad Conlan.

“We return to the keep,” Slain said. “You will wait there while I join Imus and the others in their search.”

“I will go with you. I might be able to help,” she offered, hoping he would not refuse her. She would feel more helpless than she already did if she was left in the keep to wait.

“It is better if you stay in the keep.”

She was ready to argue when a thought came to her. “You worry that the clan thinks I had something to do with this and might—”

“No clansmen would dare harm you. They fear the savage too much to do anything so foolish,” he said, his hand leaving hers to slip around her waist and draw her close. “They would, however, turn their heads away from you and not speak with you.”

Hannah shrugged. “I have suffered such before and survived.”

“Who did such a thing to you?” His demand held more concern than gruffness.

With a tilt of her head and a playful smile, she said, “You might not believe this, but I was not always obedient.”

Slain chuckled. “And you are now?”

She pressed her fingers to his lips as if in a kiss. “I try to be.”

“You do well enough, wife, I would have you no other way.” He kissed her cheek, fighting not to capture her lips in a loving kiss.

“Then let me go with you. I want to help and I want the clan to see that I help. I also want to prove that Conlan had nothing to do with this.”

His response was to take her hand and continue walking. Hannah was disappointed until he turned toward the crumbled building, men still keeping watch over the smoldering debris.

Hannah was relieved and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.

“You will do your best to obey me, wife,” Slain ordered.

“Aye, husband,” she said, pleased that he requested she do her best and not demand or threaten that she obey his word.

“You mentioned your father had used Conlan before to set fires. Did he ever send someone along with him?” Slain asked as they entered the woods.

“Not that I know of. Conlan was always sent on his own. He is too quick on his feet for anyone to match his pace.”

“I would doubt that if I had not seen it for myself. The lad is faster than any I have ever seen.”

They continued to walk deeper into the woods, spotting Imus and a couple of men in the distance. One of the men had squatted down, looking at something more closely on the ground while the other two looked on intently.

“They have found something,” Hannah said anxious to see what it was.

The men looked up at Slain and Hannah as they approached and Slain waited for a nod from Imus before he hastened their pace, wanting to make certain what they had found was something Hannah need not see.

“A small pool of blood,” Imus said when Slain and Hannah were close.

“From Potsman?” Slain asked.

Imus shook his head. “Potsman was found closer to the edge of the woods. This could possibly be where someone stopped to tend a wound.”

“Potsman looked to have suffered too much of a beating to have inflicted any damage on his opponent,” Slain said, turning his head as his dark eyes searched the ground around them. “That is odd… no tracks.”

“We thought the same,” Imus said and the other two men nodded in agreement. “We have searched deeper into the woods and have found nothing.”

“No tracks at all?” Slain asked, a questioning wrinkle settling between his eyes.

“None,” Imus said, scratching his head.

A shudder caught Hannah along with a rush of fear.

Slain turned to his wife, feeling the sudden ripple that ran through her and concerned the scene had disturbed her. “What is wrong?” he demanded, seeing how deathly pale she had turned.

“Did your men use any weapons against Conlan?” she asked.

“He was too fast we could not—” Slain turned silent, realizing what had upset his wife and he tilted his head back, his eyes going to the tree branches overhead.

Imus and the other men followed suit, though did not know what they were looking for.

One of the men scrunched his eyes, scratched his head, and pointed. “Is that a body sprawled over a branch?”

Hannah’s heart lurched in her chest and she grabbed her husband’s arm. “Hurry and get him down, Please. He is hurt.” She was ever so grateful the leaves had yet to fully bloom or Conlan would have never been spotted.

His wife did not have to plead with him, he had every intention of getting the lad down and discovering what had happened. If the lad was still alive.

Hannah watched with a fearful heart as the men worked to get Conlan down and while she hated to hear him moan in pain, at least the moans let her know that he was alive.

When they finally laid him on the ground, Hannah went down on her knees beside him, her trembling hand swallowing his small one in a loving grip.

“Conlan, it is me Hannah. I am here. You are not alone. All will be well.”

His eyes fluttered open. “A dream.”

“No. No. It is not a dream. I am here. The healer will take care of you.”

Conlan groaned, his face scrunching in a painful wince. “Tried to stop him.”

“Who did you try to stop and stop him from what?” Slain demanded, squatting down beside his wife.

“He beat the man—” a painful groan devoured his words.

“He needs Neata.” Hannah looked to her husband through misty eyes. “Please have him taken to the keep and send for Neata.”

Slain stood, tugging his wife to her feet along with him. “I will not pull Neata away from Potsman to tend the lad.”

“Please,” Hannah begged.

Slain looked to Imus. “Your cottage sits close to Wilona’s, take the lad there so that Neata can tend him when she finishes with Potsman.”

Imus did not argue. He picked the lad up gently and carried him off, Hannah hurrying behind him and Slain keeping pace with her.

Neata was outside Wilona’s cottage speaking with Blair when they approached and both women hurried over when Imus turned up the path to his cottage. This time Hannah would not be chased away. She did not care who might yell at her or who would grow angry with her, she entered the cottage, intent on remaining at Conlan’s side.

Slain let Hannah be, needing time to speak with Imus alone and she needing to be with her friend.

“He saw something,” Slain said after he and Imus stepped around the side of his cottage to talk.

“He beat the man, those were his words,” Imus said. “It sounds as if he might know who it was, perhaps someone who was sent with him to see the deed done?”

“But why stab the lad if they were to work together?”

“Maybe the lad protested the beating?”

“That would be cause for a hand to be used against him but not a knife, and from what Hannah has told me her father used the lad often. He would not be pleased with his loss.” Slain shook his head. “No, there is more here than we are seeing.”

Imus shook his head as well. “You do not think it is someone in our clan that has done this, do you? All know you would never let this clan fall to MacFillan or to anyone.”

“I ask them to trust without seeing.”

“You asked us to trust once before and you returned to us with a troop of men who helped rebuild the village. They know you have powerful friends you can call on for help. I do not believe there is one among the clan who would betray you. This falls on Ross MacFillan.”

“The only way we learn the truth is from Potsman or the lad and I fear the lad might not make it. He took a wound to the stomach. Whoever delivered it meant to kill him.”

“Why kill the lad and not Potsman?” Imus asked.

“I wonder the same.”

* * *

“I cannot leave him,” Hannah said when Slain came to collect her. “I do not want him to wake to strangers. He will try to run and make his wound worse. Neata did all she could, searing the wound. She says he is young and strong and being as willful as he is should help him. Rest and care is all that will help him now, and prayers. Time will see to the rest.”

Neata’s conclusion did not surprise him and either did his wife’s words. Looking down on the deathly pale lad, Slain could not blame her for wanting to stay with him. He was so scrawny Slain wondered if he ever ate. He got annoyed at himself for not having had the lad taken to the keep. At least then, Hannah would have remained home.

Home.

It was her home regardless of what others might feel or think and that was where she should be right now. Home with him, but there was no way she would leave the lad and he would not force her. He would stay there with her.

Slain took a chair from the table and placed it against the wall where he would have a view of his wife where she sat beside the bed holding the lad’s hand.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly.

“I am staying with you,” —he continued before she could protest— “if he wakes I want to speak with him.”

“What of Blair and Imus?” Hannah asked, knowing that was only partially the truth. He did not want to leave her there alone.

“They will find a place for the night. Tomorrow I will have the lad moved to the keep so that you may watch over him.”

“I am grateful for that, Slain.” She brushed the lad’s hair off his brow with a soft sweep of her finger. “Who could have done this to him? My father had no cause to harm him.”

“Hopefully, he will be able to tell us when he wakes,” Slain said, wanting to keep her hope strong for the lad.

“Conlan will not be going back to my father. He will stay here with us,” Hannah said as if it had already been decided.

Slain made no comment. If the lad survived, he would see what he had to say and only then decide his fate.

The door opened and Imus stepped in. “Potsman is awake.”