KANYTH JOINED THE McAra clansmen on patrol outside the curtain wall, as it kept him out of the castle and away from Perrin. A distinct gloom had fallen over the stronghold since the chambermaid had been found murdered. Maddock grimly ordered his wife and children be kept under guard in the solar, and doubled his patrols and sentries. He and his tanist spent all of the next day questioning the household staff. That night at the evening meal Maddock’s steward admitted to Kanyth that none provided any clue as to who had strangled the lass.

“Most reckon a villager slipped inside the servants’ wing to thieve, and killed Wynda while stifling her cries for help,” the man told him, and shoved aside his untouched meal. “Yet naught has gone missing, and we’ve kept guards on the poor folk since they arrived. Our chieftains fully accounted for themselves and the men.”

Bhaltair Flen intercepted Kanyth later that evening, and related the alarming message he’d received from Ruadri.

“Your chieftain wishes you to advise the laird of his plan,” the old druid said as he offered him a scroll. “I’ve written out the details plainly, but I caution you. Dinnae permit any but Maddock McAra to ken of it.”

“Aye,” Kanyth said as he tucked the scroll in his belt. He didn’t want to linger, but he suspected the old man had looked in on Perrin. “What of Mistress Thomas?”

“She’s shaken, but keeps busy looking after the bairns. Lady McAra insisted she stay with her in the family’s chambers for the day.” Bhaltair hesitated. “Clanmaster, earlier she asked me if you had returned to Dun Mor. She seemed relieved to learn you had no’.”

“Dinnae tie our hands with your bonding cord, old man,” Kanyth warned him. “The lady desires protection, no’ a mate.”

He went up to the solar, where he found the entry hall lined with armed clansmen. He greeted the tanist, who personally stood sentinel outside the laird’s study, and asked for a private word with Maddock.

“My lord isnae in a fair mood,” the man warned him as he opened the door.

Inside Kanyth found Maddock writing on a smudged parchment, a bottle of his favorite Skye whiskey at his elbow. He cursed as a blot of ink escaped his quill, and crumpled the page to toss it over his shoulder. It fell onto a pile of others that had been discarded.

“Ah, my Skaraven ally.” With an unsteady movement he rose to his feet, thought better of it, and sat back down. “Come and drink with me. I’ve attempted to write to Wynda’s kin of her death, but somehow, I cannae make polite this news of her throttling. An ugly end for a lass of but sixteen, and under my care.” He took a swallow from the bottle. “Ah, well. Likely as most they cannae read, and I toil in vain.”

Silently cursing Brennus for saddling him with this task, Kanyth joined him and accepted a swallow from the bottle. “My lord, the Skaraven send a message of grave import.”

Maddock’s eyes narrowed as he listened to Brennus’s revelations about the famhairean attacks, and how their intentions were not to siege his ally McFarlan, but the McAra. Kanyth then proposed the scheme the Skaraven had planned, and the details involved in replacing the laird’s men.

“A canny strategy,” Maddock said, nodding. “Your brother honors me with his counsel. No’ that I asked him for it.”

“He desires only to protect your clan, my lord,” Kanyth said quickly. “We count the McAra as our cherished friends.”

“Indeed.” The laird smiled with all his teeth. “Yet Brennus reckons we cannae defend this stronghold or keep safe our own. He’d come to do thus for me.” This time he got to his feet and leaned over his ink-smudged desk as he hefted the whiskey. “Fack your brother, and your clan.”

The side door to the study opened, and Lady Elspeth strode it. She went directly to her husband and snatched the bottle from his hand.

“Wife,” Maddock said, grinning widely and trying unsuccessfully to stand up straight. “Go away now, Skaraven. I must rub my bride’s belly and ease her suffering.”

“Och, now you think on me?” Elspeth planted a hand in the center of the laird’s chest and shoved him back into his chair. “You’re drunk, Maddock McAra, and twice a fool.”

“Aye, for you, my love.” He squinted up at her. “You seem very pink of cheek tonight. Come and kiss me.”

The lady slapped him, and Kanyth rose and started edging toward the hall door.

“Please stay, Clanmaster,” Elspeth said, her gentle voice tight with anger. “I beg you forgive my lord’s discourtesy. ’Tis his pride blethering, as ’tis wont to do when he indulges. No, Husband,” she added when the laird tried to speak. “You’ve spewed more than I have this day. You’ll hear me now.”

Maddock subsided and rubbed a hand over the mark on his cheek.

Elspeth drew herself up with as much dignity as her burdened body would allow. “I’ve endured much for your sake, my lord. I’ve sought to please you in all ways. I’ve accepted your faults, your vanity, your stubbornness. I’ve indulged your need to play the fine laird. I’ve birthed your sons and daughters. I’ve seen to your every comfort. Aye, and I’ve loved you every moment since we wed. That ’tis why you shall permit the Skaraven to aid us, and keep safe this family and our clan—for me.”

The laird scowled. “I shall keep you safe.”

“Should you refuse me this, I will leave you,” the lady said flatly. “I shall take my bairns to my father’s stronghold, where we’ll be kept safe by my kin, and never again return to you.”

The laird blinked as if confused. “I willnae permit you go.”

“No’ a soul under this roof would hinder me, and you ken it.” She leaned down until only an inch separated their faces, but her expression filled with soft sympathy. “’Twas no’ your fault the lass died, Husband. Evil surrounds us. ’Tis come in our home. The Skaraven would fight with our clan to end it.” She pressed her lips to his brow. “Wouldnae you do the same for them?”

Maddock looked up at her for a long moment. “Skaraven,” he said to Kanyth though he kept his eyes on his wife, “send word to your chieftain. It seems we shall stand together after all.” He pulled Elspeth into his arms, and held her tightly. “For the sake of a wife I’ve never deserved.”

Kanyth saw the laird’s eyes take on a blurry gleam, and quietly left the chamber. His relief came with a curious envy after witnessing the exchange between Maddock and Elspeth. The little laird had what he himself would never know.

’Tis as it should be. I cannae give Perrin what they share.

From the solar he walked toward the guest rooms where Bhaltair Flen had been installed. He’d direct the old druid to send a coded message with the laird’s reply to Brennus, and then he’d ride out with a night patrol. Until his brothers arrived he’d do what he could to keep the stronghold secure, and Perrin safe.

As Kanyth entered the passage leading to the druid’s chamber he saw the young chambermaid slipping out of Bhaltair’s room. In her hand she held a large, empty sack, and she chuckled merrily as she turned to face him. All the delight vanished from her expression as she beheld him.

“Marster Skaraven.”

She curtseyed clumsily, lost her footing and cried out as she fell to her knees. Though she struggled to get up, her hand slipped and she crashed down again.

Kanyth went to help her. “Here, lass, take my hand.”

“My thanks, Marster.” As she tugged on his arm she brought up her other hand. In a very different voice she said, “Yet I think I’ll have your life.”

He saw the flash of the blade a moment before she drove it into his neck. The pain of it cut off his air, and blazed through his neck and chest with white-hot agony. Blood poured down his tunic from the wound, and when he reached for the blade his legs gave way and he toppled. She danced away from him, giggling again as he choked and stared up at her.

“May you rot, you worthless bastart,” the maid said serenely before she hurried away.