With each passing day, Mairghread grew stronger. At least in the physical sense. After a week, the dark circles under her eyes were gone; she had gained a bit of weight, but not enough to suit Brogan, and even her hair seemed more lustrous.

However, there was something not quite right about her. ’Twas Gertie and Tilda who came to Brogan and pointed it out to him.

’Twas after the morning meal and he was headed out of doors to help with the felling of trees in the forest. The two women practically cornered him before he could leave.

“Good mornin’, ladies,” he greeted them.

“Laird, we need to speak with ye, and it be verra important,” Gertie told him.

“Aye, laird, verra important,” Tilda said.

They had lost two days already to torrential rains. He was in a hurry, because they needed to get the wall built as soon as possible.

“Can it no’ wait? I am needed in the forest and Mairghread awaits ye above stairs.”

“That be what we want to speak to ye about, m’laird. Mairghread,” Gertie told him as she blocked the doorway.

He loosed a sigh of frustration. “Verra well.”

“She has no’ been herself of late,” Gertie told him.

“Aye,” said Tilda. “She be verra sad.”

“Sad?” he asked. He hadn’t witnessed her being sad. On the contrary, they had been enjoying one another’s company for the past sennight. “I have no’ seen her sad,” he told them. “A bit tired, mayhap, but no’ sad.”

“Pardon me, m’laird, but ye do no’ ken her like we do,” Gertie told him. “We be tellin’ ye, she is no’ herself.”

“Aye, and she be sad,” Tilda added.

They were beginning to talk in circles. “Pray tell me, what makes ye think she be sad?”

Gertie stood a bit taller. “She be sad all the day long, until ye get back from workin’ on the wall. ’Tis only when she sees ye that we see her smile.”

Oh, he knew it should not have given him the sense of pride that it did, but he could have puffed out his chest and walked around like a peacock in rut for the rest of the day. “And this is bad how?”

Gertie and Tilda cast each other knowing glances. “She was like this with James,” Gertie told him.

“Aye,” said Tilda. “She was always much happier in his company. But ’twas nowhere near as bad as it is now.”

Gertie nodded her agreement. “She sits in her room all the day long. She does no’ laugh with us, like she used to in the auld days. She will no’ eat, she will no’ sew—”

“She be right good with her stitches,” Tilda added.

“Aye, she is,” Gertie agreed. “Or she used to be.”

“Aye, she used to be. She was also good at midwifery, remember Gertie?”

Gertie smiled a bright beaming smile at that memory. “Aye, she was verra good at that.”

Brogan saw their concern was genuine. He hadn’t known about her not eating or doing anything that might seem ‘normal’, until now. Whenever he asked how her day was, she would always reply with a smile and say, ‘’Twas good.’

“She sleeps much of the day,” Gertie told him.

This was news to him. Of course, he’d been sleeping in the chamber next to her, not with her.

“We do no’ want to say it be yer fault, laird,” Gertie told him.

“But it is,” said Tilda.

“How is it my fault?” he asked, wholly surprised by the accusation.

“Well, now, m’laird, do no’ get yer trews in a bunch!” Gertie told him. “’Tis a right good thing ye have done fer her.”

“Aye, a right good thing!” Tilda said.

“But,” Gertie started then stopped.

“But?” he asked with a raised brow.

“She needs a purpose other than ye in her life.”

He shook his head in confusion. “A purpose?”

“Aye, a purpose,” Tilda said. “A reason fer her to leave her room.”

“What exactly are ye askin’ of me?” He crossed his arms over his chest, fully prepared for some insane plan or idea they might have.

“We want yer permission to give her a purpose.”

He couldn’t see any harm in that.

“But we need ye to encourage her, m’laird. Mayhap, she should no’ be so dependent on ye?” Gertie told him cautiously.

He let loose another frustrated breath. “Aye, ladies, ye have me permission to give me wife a purpose. And aye, upon my return this night, I will talk with her and encourage her to leave her chamber.”

They cried their thanks at the same time.

“Now may I please go?” he asked, nodding toward the exit they were blocking.

They stepped aside to let him pass.

He heard Tilda say, “I told ye he would see the sense in it.”

“Aye, but I did no’ think ‘twould be that easy.”

* * *

All morning long, Brogan felt a good deal of pride in knowing that his new bride pined for him when he was absent. But the more he thought on it, the more concerned he became.

Mayhap ’twas not such a good thing after all. Mairghread needed to be able to stand on her own two feet. She needed to be independent and capable of making her own decisions.

By the end of the day, his pride had turned to worry. What was holding her back from leaving her chamber? Was it fear? Embarrassment? Something else?

He took his frustration and worry out on five good-sized trees. By the end of the day, they had seven more trees felled and ready to be de-barked. Although they were making good progress, he still worried ’twas not enough.

If Aymer had somehow learned Mairghread had married another and that a new wall was being built in his absence, he could very well hie himself back at any moment.

And where the bloody hell was Reginald? He’d left a sennight ago and no one had heard a word from him. Brogan prayed he and the men who went with him were well and successful in their mission.

Torn he was between wanting to help his wife and needing to build this wall. His frustration began to build. Mayhap what he needed was a hot bath and some time in the kirk, alone with his thoughts and God.

* * *

As soon as the workday was done, Brogan and many of the other men hopped into the loch to wash away the grime. ’Twas becoming habit for him as well as necessity. But this eve, he did not linger or dally long. He wanted to get back to Mairghread.

Just as had happened each of the five days since moving back into her room, the moment he walked in, she got to her feet and smiled. ’Twas only because of Gertie and Tilda’s mention earlier that morn, that he paid closer attention to her smile. ’Twas more a smile of relief than an I be glad ye’re back smile. He also noticed she was in a night rail and robe. No sewing basket sat near her chair.

“How was yer day?” he asked again, as he had been doing for days.

“’Twas good,” she replied, as she had done for five days.

Gertie and Tilda each gave him a look that said, We told ye so.

“I thank ye, ladies, fer takin’ such good care of Mairghread,” he told them as he escorted them to the door.

“’Twas our pleasure, m’laird,” they said, mouthing their typical reply.

Closing the door behind them, he would have typically gone to sit by the fire with his wife. But not this night. Instead, he asked, “Do ye have a favorite dress?”

A bit taken aback, she blinked, and said, “I suppose I do.”

Brogan went to her clothes cupboard and opened the door. “Which one?” he asked as he stepped aside. “The burgundy?”

Still looking confused, she stepped forward and peered inside. “Nay, the green. Why do ye ask?”

“I think we should dine below stairs this night,” he said.

Pulling her shoulders back ever so slightly, she said, “I would prefer to dine here, with ye.”

“Mairghread, I think it be time ye get out of this chamber, at least for a little while.”

Turning her back to him, she went to stand near the hearth. Brogan knew she was fighting an inner battle. He could only guess about what it was.

“I can no’ help ye if ye do no’ confide in me,” he told her as he went to stand near her. “Why is it ye do no’ wish to leave yer chamber?”

She replied with a simple shrug.

“Lass,” he said as he turned her around to face him. “We have been through much together, aye? Please, tell me.”

Her eyes grew damp as she struggled to tell him. “If I leave this room, I will be tempted.”

Giving her a warm smile, he said, “So ye plan on stayin’ in here all the rest of yer days?”

“Och! I do no’ ken how ye do it!” she said with much exasperation.

“Do what?”

“Ye can sit at every meal and no’ be tempted to drink! Ye can walk this earth never bein’ tempted to take a wee nip.”

He could not help but laugh. “Ye think me never tempted?” he asked. “Lass, I be tempted every day.”

“Ye are?” she asked disbelievingly.

“Aye, lass, every day. And ye will be as well.”

Looking rather deflated, she said, “Och! I do no’ ken if I can fight it.”

“Of course ye can,” he told her.

“But how?”

He smiled once again. “Do ye remember what I told ye abovestairs? Ye need to live more than ye need to drink. That is what I tell meself each time I be tempted to take just a taste.” Aye, he had been tempted too many times to count. Especially these past weeks. “I ken I can no’ drink, Mairghread, fer if I do, I will become the man I was before. And I despise that bastard.”

A light laugh passed through her lips. “Ye’re daft.”

“So ye keep reminding’ me,” he teased.

* * *

Eventually, he was able to convince her to dress and go belowstairs with him. “I admit to ye, I am fearful,” she told him after he returned from his chamber where he had donned fresh clothing.

He didn’t necessarily hear her, for he was completely taken aback by how beautiful she looked. Her hair was braided and fell down her back. The gown, a dark green silk, clung to her quite nicely. If he were a lesser man, he would divest her of that dress, take her to the bed, and love her until neither of them could walk.

“I ken I need to ask their fergiveness,” she told him as she put her feet into matching slippers. “But I fear I am no’ quite brave enough to do that.”

Forcing his thoughts to heel for honor’s sake, he smiled and offered his arm. “Do no’ fash yerself over it.”

They were quiet as they left the room and went belowstairs. The gathering room was alive with chatter and music. Henry, Comnall, and the rest of his men stood as soon as they saw them approaching.

The entire room went quiet and stood when they entered. He was beginning to recognize a few faces of the men he worked with. The rest, however, were still strangers to him. Many surprised faces followed them as he led Mairghread to the dais.

Once they were seated, the rest of the room sat as well. An odd, eerie hush had fallen over the place. ’Twas as if they were collectively holding their breath to see what might happen. It had been a fortnight since any of them had seen their lady.

Mairghread leaned in and whispered. “They all be starin’ at me.”

“’Tis because ye be right beautiful this night,” he told her.

She was unconvinced.

Thankfully, the serving maids started filing through the door with platters of food. He hadn’t had time to let them know they would be dining here this night. Blessedly, the moment Mairi saw them at the dais, she came to them straight away.

Though she was rather nervous, the maid set a platter on their table. “I will get ye trenchers and eatin’ knives, m’lady.”

Mairghread whispered her thanks but kept her gaze firmly planted on the table.

Brogan reached under the table and took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “After we eat, would ye like to walk with me? Ye can see the progress we be makin’ on yer new wall.”

“That would be nice,” she told him. He detected a slight tremor in her voice.

“Mayhap on the morrow, we could ride together? Ye could show me how beautiful this land of yers is.”

Slowly, her shoulders began to relax. “I have no’ ridden just to be ridin’ in a verra long while.”

He was doing everything he could think of to keep her mind off the curious eyes that were staring at her. ’Twas a rather uncomfortable feeling knowing all eyes were upon you.

Mairi and another serving maid were back at their table. Mairi placed trenchers, eating knives and mugs in front of them.

“Mairi,” Mairghread said her name in a soft tone. “I would like the same cider this night that me husband is so fond of.”

The poor girl tried to hide her astonishment, but not before Mairghread had seen it. Smiling up at the young girl, she said, “And ’twill be the same each night from this point forward.”

Mairi returned her smile and gave her an approving nod. “Aye, m’lady.”

“And Mairi?”

“Yes, m’lady?”

Mairghread took in a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I want to apologize to ye for how I have treated ye these past few years.”

“Och, m’lady!” she said with wide eyes. “There be no need—”

Mairghread stopped her with a raised hand. “Aye, lass, there is. I have treated ye, among others, verra poorly. I behaved deplorably and there be no excuse fer me behavior.”

Tears filled Mairi’s eyes. “I remember ye from when I was younger, before yer troubles started, m’lady. Always a kind lady ye were. To all of us. Ye never cared if we was poor as dirt or rich as kings, ye treated us all with great kindness. I ken ye could no’ help what happened later, fer yer heart was broken.”

Damn it if Mairghread’s eyes did not grow wet at hearing this young woman’s kind words. “Thank ye, Mairi.”

* * *

Brogan watched in fascination as his wife apologized and the lass accepted it so graciously. Aye, these people not only adored and respected his wife, they loved her. ’Twas not just those who were close to her, like Reginald, Gertie and Tilda. Nay, she was surrounded by people who cared about her. Suddenly, he was beset with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and his shoulders felt lighter. With these kind and good people surrounding her, there was no limit to what she could accomplish.

He looked out at the people who had filled the gathering room once again. Some of the faces he recognized, but others, he did not.

“Mairghread,” he said to her as he began offering her choices of meats. “Who be these people we dine with each night?”

“No mutton, please,” she said as he held up a piece. “Mayhap some roast duck.”

He placed the meat on her trencher.

“These people are what me da used to call the lonelies.”

Brogan raised a brow that asked her to explain.

“The black death hit us in 1351,” she told him. “We did no’ suffer near as bad as many clans did. But still, we had significant losses. Entire families were left dead, while others lost spouses, or parents, and children. When Da realized many of these people — some of which were the sole survivors — were all alone in this world, he invited them to sup with us. He could no’ stand the thought of a body eatin’ each of their meals alone, ye ken. So he started the tradition. Anyone who be lonely, without kin or friends to sup with, could sup here. One night or many, he cared not. And so it remains to this day.”

“Ye feed this many each night?” he asked, mentally adding up the cost of such a thing.

“Aye, we do.”

“But how do ye afford it?”

Mairghread smiled, showing nearly perfect white teeth. “’Tis no’ as expensive as ye might think. Much of this food ye see here? Those people,” she nodded toward their guests, “provided most of it. The venison? ’Twas probably Ryan McKindle over there — the one with the black hair and blue eyes” — she pointed him out. “And his son, Michael, who hunted it. Ryan lost his wife, Michael’s mum, three sons and a daughter to the Black Death. They sup with us a few nights a week and bring game. Usually venison.”

Brogan was amazed at learning this.

“The fish was probably caught by George there, and Seamus. They go fishin’ a few times a week and share their bounty with us.”

Brogan looked at the crowd but did not find Seamus. “Where be Seamus?” he asked.

Mairghread laughed. “Probably abed by now, he rarely sups with us. But auld George be here. He lost his wife, two sons, and three grandchildren.”

Brogan had lost only his Anna. He could not imagine losing children and grandchildren as well.

“I think I would have liked yer da,” he said.

Marighread smiled. “I think he would have liked ye as well.”

* * *

As he had promised, Brogan took her to look at the progress being made on the wall. The sun was just beginning to set, casting their world in shades of crimson and purple. “’Tis beautiful!” Mairghread exclaimed.

In the past, he might have disagreed about a wall’s beauty, but he could not argue with her this night. ’Twas a damn sight better than what was there before, which was nothing at all.

“The men have been working verra hard,” he told her.

“So I can see,” she said with a smile.

Though it was far from done, it did make him feel better about their future safety as a clan. But if they could complete it before Aymer’s return, ’twould indeed be a miracle.

“How many men have ye workin’ on it?” she asked as she brushed her fingers across one of the logs.

“At present? Eighty men, working in two ten-hour shifts.”

She furrowed her brow at that number. “But our clan numbers at least three hundred, the last I knew.”

“Aye, but many have other duties that also must be seen to. There be the farming, the cattle and the horses.”

“How long do ye think before it is completed? And what of towers?”

Brogan was pleased that she was thinking clearly and every bit like a chief. “At our current pace? Mayhap six months.”

’Twas evident the answer did not sit well with her. “We can no’ pull men in from the fields,” she said. “But the cattle and horses can take care of themselves, aye?”

“To a certain extent, they can. I think mostly the men be watchin’ over them, to make certain they be no’ stolen.”

She nodded in understanding. “Gertie and Tilda were talkin’ earlier, though I admit, I thought mayhap they were exaggeratin’. But they spoke of horse thieves and reivers comin’ up from the south.”

Brogan was forced to bite his tongue to keep from laughing and sharing the truth with her.

“Mayhap, we should go to the nearby villages and see if we can no’ hire men?”

Aye, she was thinking like a chief, all right. Smiling warmly, he said, “I have already sent Reginald to do just that.”

Pleased with his response, she returned his smile. “Ye would make a fine chief, Brogan Mackintosh.”

“As would ye,” he replied.

* * *

After touring the wall and enjoying the evening air, Mairghread expressed the need for sleep by yawning several times.

“Mayhap we should get ye to bed?” he suggested as he turned them back toward the keep.

His suggestion was met with silence.

“Gertie and Tilda came to me this morn,” he told her. “They be concerned over ye. They tell me ye be no’ sleepin’ well at night.”

She mumbled something about them being traitors and was nothing sacred anymore?

Brogan laughed heartily. “Lass, we be all concerned fer ye.”

He caught her rolling her eyes out of the corner of his own.

“Be there a reason ye find sleep difficult?” he asked.

She took in a deep breath before answering. “It be many things,” she said.

“Such as?”

Another roll of her eyes. Clearly, she did not want to discuss it with him. But he felt ’twas important to her full recovery that she learn to discuss things with him. Even the unpleasant ones.

“I have no’ gone to sleep without the aid of drink in three long years.”

That made sense. He, too, had suffered for weeks after, being unable to sleep well. He was about to offer her some encouragement, to tell her that this too, would pass, when she went on to say more.

“And I have bad dreams.”

“What kind of bad dreams?” Was she perchance beginning to regain some of her memories through dreams?

“Dreams that make no’ a lick of sense,” she told him.

They arrived at the main stairs leading up into the keep. “Dreams with lions tryin’ to eat me feet. Dreams of men in masks comin’ into me room and just standin’ there, lookin’ at me without sayin’ a word. Dreams where I be drowning’.”

Peculiar, aye, but did they truly mean anything? He opened the large, heavy door and guided her through, placing his hand on the small of her back.

“Like I said, dreams that make no’ a lick of sense.”

“Aye, they be odd,” he agreed.

“Gertie and Tilda be convinced there be a hidden meanin’ in them,” she laughed, though not heartily.

“Some people do believe such,” he told her. “Me step-mum, she believes that dreams are messages from long dead relatives, tryin’ to warn us of either impending doom, or a comin’ blessin’. Me da, of course, thinks she be daft.”

“Whatever they may or may no’ mean,” she said as they made their way to the stairs, “they be keepin’ me up at night.”

As they ascended the stairs, Brogan said, “Mairghread, ye can come to me, day or night, ye ken that, aye?”

She cast him a furtive glance. “There be no sense in both of us bein’ up all night.”

He paused briefly on the stairs. “Mairghread, I be yer husband. I be here to help ye. I care no’ the time of day or night. ’Tis me duty to help ye through these times, just as I ken ye would do the same fer me, would ye no’?”

* * *

Aye, she very well would help him, should ever he need it. Though, in truth, she doubted he would ever truly need her help with anything. Of all the men she had known in her life, he was the one who seemed to have a grasp on every situation. “Aye, I would,” she told him.

He smiled then, a warm, kind smile she found she was growing to like. But that lead to immense feelings of guilt. How could she like this man, admire him, think him a good friend, and keep her promise to James?

They continued on and were soon entering her bedchamber. Someone had already seen to lighting candles and a fire. The room was bathed in warm shades of gold.

Brogan crossed to the door that led to his chamber, paused, and turned to face her. “If ye need me, I be right next door.”

She nodded her head and thanked him for his kindness. A moment later, he was closing his door behind him. For a long while, she stared blankly at the closed door, wondering how her life had come to be changed so drastically in such a short time.

Of course, three years ago, it had changed, in what seemed like the blink of an eye now. One moment, she was a happily married woman, with a brand new bairn and looking forward to having at least a dozen more. The next moment, she was waking up, suffering from her own knife wounds, and being told it was all gone. Her husband, her babe, her entire future. Just. Like. That.

She had shed many tears since that awful day. Even more of late. Tears of frustration, anger, bitterness, and anguish.

This night, she shed them for new reasons. A sense of longing, of missing James and her babe. What would Connell have been like? Would he have been a serious child or precocious? He would have inherited everything one day. He would have married, made her a grandminny …

Wiping away the quiet tears, she cursed. The tears made her feel weak, as if she was not strong enough to get through just one more day without them. Slowly, as if her limbs were made of lead, she unlaced her dress, stepped out of it, and into a warm night rail. Grabbing her robe, she slipped her arms into the sleeves, tied the belt around her waist, and went to her window.

Night was falling, the hour growing late. Though she was tired, she knew sleep would not come easily.

For in the room next to hers was a fine man. A good man. A man she now knew she could trust as a friend and ally. But could she ever be a true wife to him? A wife who would or could join with him? Give him his own bairns?

Nay, she did not think she could. Just the thought of it made her feel she was betraying James, as well as Connell. To James, she had sworn never to take another husband. To Connell, never to hold another bairn in her arms.

’Twas not fair to Brogan. None of this was.

The man had married her, not knowing of her addiction or of the promises she made at the graves of her husband and son.

She was not some naive, innocent maid. She had eyes and often caught him staring at her, like a wolf about to devour a rabbit. But always, she pretended she hadn’t noticed, hiding her guilt behind a veil of ignorance.

There was not a doubt in her mind that he would remain faithful to her all their days. He would not take a mistress, no matter how strong his physical desires and needs might be. Too honorable, he was, to break the vows he made.

But something odd happened when she thought of him with another woman. Her stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. She recognized it almost immediately. ’Twas jealousy. Sheer, deep jealousy.

Why would I feel jealous? She asked herself as she stared out at the water. He would certainly be justified in takin’ a mistress, especially if ye can no’ be a true wife to him. Confusion began to reign supreme. Aye, he was her husband, but in name only.

Nay, she told herself. He was more than just a husband in name only. He has shown ye more kindness, more generosity than he could have been expected to. He has treated ye with naught but a gentle hand. More gentle than ye deserved.

She had known women from her past who would toy with a man’s heart and ego. They would let on they were interested, would flirt relentlessly, but they would never go that extra measure of actually marrying him. But if another woman caught his fancy, och! Let the screamin’ matches and battles begin!

I do no’ want to be such a woman as that, she told herself. Brogan deserves more of ye. He deserves far more than ye can give him.

Oh, she knew she should discuss this with him, in a mature and respectable fashion. But the coward that she was of late would not allow her to broach the subject. If I had just a dram of whisky …

“Nay!” she whispered harshly. “That would solve nothin’. ’Twould only create more problems, ye fool.”

Nay, sleep was not going to come easy this night and it wouldn’t be because of bad dreams.

* * *

Sleep did not come easily for Brogan either. Unable to shut his mind off, he tossed and turned for two hours before he finally decided to get out of bed.

Never one to sleep in anything but his skin, the cool night air did very little to cool his growing desire for his wife. The wood floors felt cool against his bare feet as he padded to the window. He drew open the fur and let out a heavy sigh as he looked out at the rocky cliffs and water. ’Twas a clear night, with the moon shining brightly, though he could not see it from his current vantage point. There were a few little clouds, but nothing that promised rain.

He was doing his best to think of something else, anything but his wife. Thus far, he was failing miserably in his attempts.

Mairghread was a fine woman, he concluded. Not the sharp-tongued harpy of weeks ago. Nay, when sober, she was a decent, intelligent woman. And God’s teeth, was she beautiful!

What he would not give to feel her skin against his own. To hear her ragged breaths of desire and need. To have his lips pressed against hers, against that soft and tender flesh of her long neck.

“If ye keep this up, ye’ll need to sleep in the bloody loch!” he cursed himself.

In his heart, he knew they had a long while to go before she felt she could trust him completely. There were many reasons, he supposed, that made her hold back. Undoubtedly they had everything to do with James.

The only blessing in knowing Anna was not going to live was the fact that they had time together to discuss the future. His future without her. There was no doubt in his mind that she meant the words she had given him. Do no’ love a dead woman fer too long. I want ye to give yer heart to someone again. I want ye to live, Brogan. And love and have many children.

A few months ago, that seemed an impossible request to fulfill.

But as for Mairghread and James? Nay, they had not had the time to say their goodbyes. There was no time for James to tell her words such as the one’s his Anna had given him.

Though he had not met the man, he was certain James would have done just that. Given Mairghread permission to move on with her life. To love again. To live again. They had both been too young then to think of such things.

Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head and went to stand by the fire. Raking the coals with the iron just to have something to do with his hands.

What must I do to show her she can trust me? Not just with her sobriety, or her clan, but with her heart as well?

He had no answer other than to continue to do what he had been doing all along. But what if that was not enough?

He grabbed a blanket from the bed and draped it over the chair before sitting down. With his head in his hands, he began to feel even more lost and alone.

When in doubt, pray, he heard his father’s voice as clear as if he were sitting in the room with him.

He’d been doing much praying of late. For Mairghread’s health, her recovery, her continued sobriety. He had also prayed for the quick building of the wall, for Reginald’s safe and quick return.

Brogan knew his prayers were not going unanswered. Aye, to the contrary. God had helped Mairghread decide to give up the bottle. He had also helped Brogan get her through those difficult and trying days. And aye, He had even seen to it that their new wall was being built.

Aye, He had answered every one of his prayers most generously.

He began to wonder if he weren’t asking for too much.

* * *

Brogan had just settled himself back into bed when he believed he heard Mairghread crying from the next room. He grabbed his plaid, wrapped it around his waist quickly. With his ear to the door, he strained to listen. Aye, she was crying.

Cautiously, he opened the door and peered inside. He found her in her bed, lying on her back. He knew at once she was having another bad dream.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Mairghread.” He spoke her name softly in hopes of not startling her too much. “Mairghread, ye be havin’ a bad dream.”

She sat up so suddenly that it startled him. With still sleeping eyes, she looked at him for a moment, before falling back into the bed with a sigh. Moments later, her breathing became steady and deep and he knew she had fallen back to sleep.

Pulling the covers up over her shoulders, he patted her side, and went back to bed. This time, he left his door open, just in case she would need him again.

Less than an hour later, he heard her crying again.

He went to her once more, again patting her shoulder and speaking her name. Not long after, she began whimpering once again. Finally, he decided to get dressed and sat in a chair by her bed, where he dozed off and on. He woke at dawn to the sound of birds twittering near her window.

Deciding there was no sense in trying to sleep anymore, he carefully pulled the covers up once again and left her alone. Besides, Gertie and Tilda would be arriving soon.

He paused at her door and took one last look at her. He hoped that someday soon she would be able to sleep soundly, uninterrupted by disturbing dreams.

* * *

He stopped by the kitchens to get some bannocks and sausages, which he ate on his way to the forest. He’d just finished the last bite of his bannocks when he arrived at the entrance. At least a dozen men were already there, including Henry. This morn, they were each working to debark the trees they had cut down the afternoon before.

“Good morn!” Henry called out when he saw Brogan heading down the path of logs.

Brogan returned his greeting as he looked out at the logs. “’Tis good progress, aye?” he asked. He wasn’t offering them reassurance; he was looking for it.

“I’d feel a damned sight better if Reginald would get back here with reinforcements,” Henry grumbled.

Brogan felt much the same way. He looked around at the Mactavish men. They all looked as tired and worn as he was beginning to feel.

“Mayhap, we should give these men a day or two of rest,” Brogan began.

Henry sported the look of a man who thought him completely insane. Leaning in and speaking in a hushed and frustrated tone, he said, “Then ye might as well just abandon the keep and give it over to the horse thieves.”

Brogan quirked an irritated brow. Was Henry beginning to believe in his own lie? “Give these men a few days rest by having them trade places with those who are tending to fields and animals.”

“Oh,” Henry said, only slightly embarrassed.

“Tending animals is work, but no’ the back-breakin’ work we have before us.”

Suddenly, Henry had come up with an idea on how to motivate the Mactavish people to work even harder. “What we need,” he said in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is a raid.”

Brogan thought it the most insane thing he’d heard of late and told him so.

“No’ a real raid,” Henry said as his eyes began to fill up with excitement. “Just the rumor of a raid.”

Brogan let out a heavy sigh. “No. We will no’ terrify these people with further lies.”

“But if they think more attacks are imminent,” Henry argued, “it might be the thing we need to get more men out of their fields and here, where they be needed.”

“No.”

Although Henry had finally agreed to let the matter rest, Brogan had a sneaking suspicion that he would bring it up again.