Though they had celebrated Samhain, ’twas not with the same fervor or zealousness of years past. A cloud hung over Mairghread and Brogan, and its name was Aymer Mactavish. Even their clanspeople were subdued.

Many believed his presence on Samhain Eve was an omen. Mairghread felt much the same way. Brogan did not put much stock into omens. However, he did believe evil existed in this world. Aymer was proof enough of that.

Most mornings — after loving her soundly — Brogan would leave her to sleep and would be gone from their chamber before she woke to begin her day. However, they had celebrated late into the night and had slept past dawn.

He woke to the sound of her retching in the chamber pot, behind the dressing screen. Propping himself up on one elbow, he waited quietly until she was finished. She looked quite surprised to find him awake when she came around the screen.

“When were ye plannin’ on tellin’ me?” he asked, smiling warmly.

“Tell ye what?” she feigned ignorance as she climbed back into the bed.

“That ye’re with child.” He was not an ignorant man. He had, after all, been married before.

“How did ye ken? I swore Martha to secrecy.”

Chuckling, he kissed her forehead. “I am no’ a lad who has just begun to shave,” he told her. “I have been married before, ye remember.”

“I wanted to surprise ye!” she exclaimed, looking disappointed.

Unable to contain his joy any longer, he kissed her until her breaths were ragged. “Ye have made me a verra happy man.” He was grinning from ear to ear.

Tears welled in her eyes, her joy not anywhere similar to his own. “What be the matter?”

“’Tis true, I thought I never wanted another bairn of me own. But ye changed me thinkin’ in that regard.”

He studied her closely for a moment, his grin fading to lines of concern. “But still, ye are no’ happy?”

“I was verra happy,” she sighed. Wiping her tears on the edge of the sheet, she said, “Until Aymer appeared last eve.”

“Do no’ let him take away yer joy,” he told her.

“I can no’ help it. What if he does go to the king?”

Her worry was not without merit. “When David was imprisoned and the false king Edward took the throne, where did the clan’s fealty lie?”

She thought it an awfully odd question, but answered it nonetheless. “Da was always loyal to David,” she told him. “As was James.”

“And Aymer?”

“Aymer is loyal only to himself.”

“Then we have naught to worry over,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

Confusion still lined her face and worry filled her eyes. “Ye make no sense.”

“Even if Aymer goes to David with his entreaty, it will all be fer naught. I ken David, and he will see right through his lies and treachery.”

Wide-eyed astonishment set in. “Ye ken David?”

Unable to contain his smile, he kissed her again. “Aye, I ken David. Me da and he are distant cousins.”

When her mouth fell open, he chuckled, and gently closed it, a finger pressed to her chin. “That surprises ye?”

“I-I,” she fought for words. “Why did ye no’ tell me this before?”

Shrugging once, he said, “I have been a bit busy of late,” he teased.

Relief finally settled in, as she let out a breath and sank further into the bed. “What other surprises do ye have in store fer me?”

Waggling his eyebrows devilishly, he said, “I have one more, if ye be feelin’ up to it.”

Rolling her eyes, she slapped his roaming hand away. “That be no’ a surprise.”

“Used to me now, ye are?” he teased.

“Och! I doubt I will ever grow used to ye,” she quipped.

In a flash, he was on top of her, supporting his weight with his elbows. Plying her neck with soft kisses, he said, “Ye have made me verra happy this day, love. Verra happy.”

Giggling, she placed her palms on either side of his face. “I can tell how happy ye be.”

* * *

The news that Mairghread was with child spread throughout the keep and their lands. Though she and Brogan were overjoyed and excited, nothing could match what Gertie and Tilda felt. As soon as the happy tears were shed — and there were many — they immediately set to work with preparations.

“But the babe will no’ be here until the end of May,” Mairghread told them. They had come to the spare room she and Brogan used as a shared study of sorts. While she sat behind the table, going over the books Reginald had brought her earlier, Gertie and Tilda stood, eager and happy, across from her.

“Och! Ye’ll blink twice and she will be here!” Gertie exclaimed.

“Or he,” Tilda argued.

“Either way, there is much to be done,” Gertie replied with a roll of her eyes. ’Twas her most fervent belief — or mayhap just wishful thinking — that ’twas a girl Mairghread carried. “We need a cradle, clothes, nappies, and bonnets.”

“Do no’ ferget the birthin’ supplies,” Tilda reminded her.

“Och! The birthin’ supplies,” Gertie exclaimed, patting her chest with her hand.

“And new dresses, fer when she starts to show,” Tilda added.

Knowing the fervor with they had planned each of her weddings, Mairghread knew they’d not rest until everything was in place. And knowing them as she did, they had everything ready within the week.

Keeping them occupied with the impending arrival would be a blessing. Then they’d not hover over her, constantly pecking at her to rest or to eat.

“Ye will help me then?” she asked, pretending she thought they wouldn’t.

“Of course we will!” they replied in unison, aghast that she thought they would not in her hour of need.

Smiling brightly, she said, “Well, I be verra busy with bein’ chief, as ye ken. I will be verra glad fer yer help. Do what ye think is best, but within reasonable cost.”

“Ye’ll still remain chief?” Gertie asked, more than just a bit appalled.

“Aye, I will,” she replied. “Our clan needs me now, more than ever.”

“But there be so much to do, lass. And ye need yer rest,” Gertie said with a motherly scowl.

“I will rest. But I can no’ rest unless I ken the two of ye are makin’ the preparations fer me.”

Holding her breath, she watched as the two of them looked to one another for either approval or to gear up for more arguing.

“Verra well,” Gertie sighed. “We will take care of everythin’. As long as ye promise to rest and eat.”

Letting out her breath, she smiled warmly at them. “Of course, I will.”

As they were leaving, she heard Tilda remark in a hushed whisper, “I did no’ believe her fer a moment. Did ye?”

“She’ll rest. Brogan will no’ allow her to tax herself.”

Mairghread bit her lips to keep from laughing out loud. Brogan was a logical thinking man. Calm at all times, he was. Nay, he would not insist she do nothing for the next six months but rest and eat, as if they were fattening up the proverbial cow.

* * *

Mairghread’s assessment of her husband could not have been more wrong.

“Ye will rest,” he was telling her for the third time in the past few moments. She sat at their desk. He stood across from her, with fierce determination etched in his face.

Rolling her eyes, she was growing more perturbed with his misguided belief that she had somehow grown weaker, just by getting with child. “I be fine, Brogan. I will rest when I feel the need to.”

“I said ye will rest.”

They were going around in circles at this point. Puffing out her cheeks, she blew out her breath slowly. She had no desire to argue with him, but really, he was giving her no choice.

“Brogan, I will need to rest more as my belly grows bigger. This is no’ the first time I have carried a babe.”

“’Tis the first time ye’ve carried my babe,” he said, his eyes turning to slits as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Biting back a retort, she closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. “All I am doin’, is goin’ over the books that Reginald has brought to me. ’Tis no’ like I be plowin’ fields by hand, or movin’ stones.”

He remained silent, still fierce and quietly unwavering.

“Please, God, tell me ye will no’ be like this the entire time?” she asked, vexed.

Quirking his brows, he leaned over the desk. “Aye, I will.”

There was no changing the stubborn man’s mind. Annoyed, she got to her feet, and she too, leaned over the desk. They were almost nose to nose. “Ye can no’ treat me as if I be some fragile piece of glass that will crumble at any moment.”

“That is no’ what I be doin’,” he breathed slowly.

“Then what are ye doin’?”

He kissed the tip of her nose, throwing her momentarily off balance. “I be treatin’ ye as me wife, who I greatly care fer.”

That was not the answer she had been prepared to hear. “Ye care fer me greatly?” she murmured as she looked longingly at his lips.

“Aye, I do.”

Without touching or kissing her, he was able to disarm her good senses, with nothing more than the soft timbre of his voice. Warmth and need spread throughout her body, the kind of need that made a body ache with desire.

“I will rest, but only if ye join me,” she murmured.

There was no need to ask him twice.

* * *

Their joy lasted less than a sennight when Archibald Mactavish’s body was found hanging in the armory. ’Twas Henry and Comnall who found him.

Not wishing to cause Mairghread any upset, they sent for Brogan and Reginald. The two men were now studying his lifeless body, which still hung from the low rafters. A belt, undoubtedly his own, had been wrapped around his neck, before being tossed over the beam. His body swayed to and fro with bulging eyes, his swollen purple tongue protruding from blue lips.

“We knew there was no hope fer him, so we left him, so ye can see fer yerselves,” Henry explained.

Brogan studied the scene before him. The lad’s feet were several inches off the floor. There was something off about it all.

“I found this, scratched into the wall,” Comnall added, drawing their attention away from Archibald’s swaying body. Brogan and Reginald came over for closer inspection.

On the wall had been scratched the words I be sorry fer me sins, A.

Anger swelled as Brogan turned once again to look at the body.

“What would make a young lad take his own life?” Comnall asked. “What sins could someone so young have committed?”

Brogan snorted derisively. “His only sin was crossing the path of Aymer Mactavish.”

Henry and Comnall were confused. “What do ye mean?” Henry asked.

“Look more closely, lads,” Brogan said with a nod toward Archibald’s body.

’Twas then that Reginald saw it. “God’s teeth!” he exclaimed.

Henry shook his head. “I fear I do no’ see it.”

“He did no’ take his own life,” Brogan said through clenched teeth. “The lad was murdered.”

* * *

“Murdered?” Comnall and Henry asked almost in unison.

“Aye,” Brogan replied. ’Twas all he could do not to call for a war party to go in search of Aymer Mactavish. But he had no hard evidence that ’twas he who had killed the boy. Only a deep suspicion.

“I still do no’ see how ye arrived at that conclusion,” Comnall said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Look at the belt,” Brogan told him. “See how close it be to the beam?”

Comnall and Henry took a closer look.

“Now look at his feet.”

They did as directed.

“Now tell me, lads, how did he get his sword belt wrapped around the beam, and himself pulled up so high? Without a chair or stool?”

Awareness burned brightly then. “Bloody hell,” Comnall muttered.

“Aye,” Reginald finally spoke. “He could no’ have gotten that close to the beam without aid of a chair or stool.”

The four men stood in silence for along while. Their fury was palpable. Someone had taken this young man’s life.

“I doubt Aymer was able to make his way beyond the walls, unnoticed. But this was still done by his order,” Reginald put to voice what he was certain everyone else was thinking.

“But why?” Henry asked.

“Because Archibald acted at Mairghread’s messenger. She sent him, with a letter, to tell Aymer she had married me, a day after our weddin’.”

“So?” Henry asked, uncertain what that had to do with anything.

“If Aymer does in fact go to David to have our marriage set aside, as he has threatened to do, Archibald could have stood as witness on our behalf.”

“Bloody hell,” Reginald raged. “Drayton!”

“Who be Drayton?” Comnall asked.

“Drayton went with Archibald to give Aymer the news.”

Comnall whistled in a low yet surprised tone. “Where be he now?”

“No one kens,” Reginald replied. “Archibald told us he left the lad in Edinburgh. He has yet to return. It has been months since anyone has seen him.”

Dread filled Brogan’s gut. “There may be a chance he is still alive.”

“Doubtful, but aye, there is a small chance,” Reginald said.

“Find at least seven, nay ten Mactavish men who know this Drayton lad. Have them take five of me own men with them. They will look under every rock, in every valley, tavern, and inn between Edinburgh and here. Hell, send them to Inverness if ye must. But I want that young man found!”