SHE SAW YOU,” Hendry said, careful to keep his voice flat. “This wench saw you.”

For once he was thankful for the dull fury that surged into his throat as it choked off more words. His jaw clenched with such force that his teeth made creaking sounds inside his skull.

That Aon would let himself be seen was utterly unforgivable. The famhair had jeopardized weeks of preparations, careful plans, and dangerous attacks. But that he had let the woman survive? It was more than clumsy and foolish, it bordered on treason. Hendry’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at the other famhairean.

Had it not been only yesterday that they had all renewed their vows to one another?

Most of them stood in the center of the ruined settlement soaking in what sunlight could be had. Though it was possible that they did not hear him, Hendry suspected he was being silently ignored.

He glared down at Aon, who knelt in front of him, his head bowed low. For a long moment Hendry imagined kicking it so hard that it flew off into the woods. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drive the thought from his mind.

“She be acolyte for Bhaltair Flen,” Aon said.

Hendry’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Aon through the gauzy red of his rage. “Did you see him?” he said, grinding each word past his shut teeth.

Aon shook his head. “Flen no’ there. Only Oriana.”

Hendry slowly shut his eyes again, and focused on the pain in his jaw and the pull of every tendon in his neck. He had to concentrate, think clearly when it came to Flen. What was the old bastart up to? The wizened druid wouldn’t travel without aid. But then a new thought occurred to him: perhaps the leader of his famhairean had been tricked.

Hendry looked down at the still kneeling giant. “Describe her,” he ordered.

But as the famhair related the details, there was no doubt it was her: short, sturdy, and dark-haired with large eyes. It was the same lass he’d seen conversing with Flen. Since Aon had never seen the conversation his old enemy had inadvertently left in the flour, Hendry couldn’t doubt that it was her. The description was perfect. What he doubted now was her motive.

Aon lifted his head. “She say brother of Skaraven chieftain in castle.”

“At the McAra castle?” Hendry said, his fury ebbing ever so slightly. “The Skaraven have arrived?” It was sooner than he’d expected.

“Only one.”

Hendry scowled down at the bland face and emotionless eyes. Why send just one? One Skaraven didn’t do the McAra—or him—any good. Hendry needed all of them to be together.

“Oriana has plan,” Aon said.

Hendry made a dismissive sound as he waved away the air in front of him. Of course the druidess had a plan. Everyone had plans. Hendry had tired of the head-to-head battles with the Skaraven, who’d proven nigh impossible to kill.

“Oriana bid me tell it,” Aon said.

“’Tis she that you serve?” Hendry bellowed, his patience so thin now that if he but coughed, he would shred it.

The famhair bowed his head again. “Aon serve Wood Dream.” But then the giant raised his head and his hard, wooden eyes met Hendry’s. “Wood Dream kens.”

Hendry blew out a harsh breath but, as he did, he realized that all of the other famhairean had turned to watch them. He stopped mid-breath, eying each one, though their expressions revealed nothing. As he mustered a smile, he forced the tension from his shoulders.

“Aye,” he said. Then he looked back at Aon. “Aye, my friend. I ken it.” He extended a stiff hand for the famhair to stand. “Tell me. What does this druidess have planned.”

As Aon told him, Hendry found himself drawn in. He crossed his arms over his chest as he listened more closely, then found himself stroking his chin. What the druidess lacked in subtlety, she made up in audacity. At the last, Hendry had to raise an eyebrow. It could well be that Flen’s former acolyte had a mind as savage as his.