Fergus dreamed of a storm of uncommon ferocity. Dark clouds tumbled across the night sky toward Killairic, lightning bolts erupting from their bellies as the wind rose to a tempest. He cried out a warning, but his words were snatched away, just as the pennant at the summit of Killairic’s tower was ripped free.

The cloud descended with fury upon the keep, the rain hammering upon its roof. The moat was flooded by the onslaught and he saw both children and animals swept away. The mill was deluged and the nets containing the eels were broken. Buildings and roofs collapsed, and stores of grain were claimed by the river that was consuming the keep. All the wealth of Killairic was flowing down to the firth and there was nothing Fergus could do to stop it. It seemed that he alone was left to stand fast against the storm.

Horses shrieked as lightning struck the high tower and the roof burst into flame even as the sound of the thunder made the ground shake beneath his feet. He saw the glow of the fire descending into the tower, doubtless igniting the stairs and the floors as it journeyed to the heart of the keep.

He heard the screams of those trapped within the keep, caught between fire and water, but he could only watch the destruction of all his father had built. He raced through the village, seizing one child or another, each one torn from his grasp. He tried to dam the flow of the water, but the raging stream leaped every barrier he created. He tried to reach those in the keep, but water kept him from them.

Where was Leila?

Where was his father?

Where was the reliquary he had vowed to defend?

It was a horrific nightmare and Fergus knew in his heart that this was the threat he had dreaded since Jerusalem. The complete loss of his home and his legacy, his wife and his family, never mind his own inability to save any of it, was his worst fear come true. He felt powerless and was infuriated by his own failure to defend what mattered most to him.

He roared in his fury and tried again to reach the portal to the keep. The dark cold waters rolled over him and drove him beneath the surface. When he rose sputtering, he had been swept downstream and the water was carrying him onward. He could not even touch the bottom, and he could not swim in the deluge. He was flung against some obstacle with such vigor that the breath was forced from him, then he took a mouthful of river water. Someone hauled him to the shore, someone with a fierce grip. He shook the water out of his eyes to find Isobel bending over him, her eyes shining with triumph.

“Mine,” she said with force, then opened her mouth. He saw her tongue become an asp and she laughed at his horror. She gestured to the sky and another bolt of lightning struck distant Killairic, setting the protective wall afire before Fergus’ eyes.

“A man can only love once,” she told him, her eyes shining in a way he did not trust. “And you swore to love me.”

Then she kissed him, her mouth locking over his as if she would claim his very soul. Fergus fought against her unholy grip and flung her aside, astonished that he could have erred so greatly.

“Isobel!” he shouted in anguish, wishing he could change the past.

He awakened, cold sweat on his back and his heart racing, the linens clenched in his fists.

“Fergus,” Leila whispered, her small hands upon his shoulders. She shook him. “Fergus! You are safe.”

She was right.

Fergus exhaled. He was in the solar at Killairic, safe and warm, the candles gutted and the fires in the braziers burning low. The rain pattered lightly on the roof, the fury of the earlier storm passed, and he took a steadying breath.

And his wife was beside him, concern in her eyes. Fergus took Leila’s hand in his and kissed her knuckles, willing his heart to slow. “It was only a dream,” he said with relief. “I am sorry I awakened you.”

Leila smiled and said that it was naught. Still shaken, Fergus drew her against his warmth and nestled them both beneath the covers and pelts, savoring the sweet curve of her against him. He remembered his dream with perfect clarity and wondered what it meant. How could Isobel put Killairic at risk? She was no sorceress and he could not dispel the image of the snake.

His dream—or perhaps his guardian angel—was telling him that Isobel was untrustworthy and Fergus knew better than to ignore a warning such as that.

---

Leila could not sleep after Fergus’ dream. She lay with him, his arm around her waist, listening as his breathing slowed.

Isobel.

He had called out for Isobel.

Which meant that Leila had hoped for too much too soon. She thought Fergus had changed his thinking about his former betrothed, that his journey to Dunnisbrae had strengthened his resolve to make their handfast a success. She assumed that Isobel was happy in her match, or that she had spurned him, or that something had occurred to dismiss Fergus’ regard for the other woman upon seeing her again.

But still Isobel claimed his dreams.

Perhaps his passion this night had been fueled by the sight of his beloved and was not prompted by Leila. The notion was a disturbing one, as was the possibility that she was mistaken in her understanding of her husband. She felt in the darkness of the night that she had wedded a stranger and cast her life down a path fraught with uncertainties.

Sleep was impossible. Leila recalled every observation, every word, every gesture, seeking a solution to the riddle of winning her husband’s heart. What was the root of Fergus’ terror? That he would lose his beloved forever? Leila could not bear to think about it, and yet she could not cease to think of it. It seemed that her efforts to gain allies at Killairic and make a new home in this place were doomed to failure, if Fergus could not see her merit.

Would she win the loyalty of his father, of his smith, of those in his village, but not his own regard? It was an unreasonable possibility. What if she was already with child? Leila considered her future and did not care for the view.

Leila had never been one overly inclined to prayer and certainly she had been remiss in her routine on the journey from Jerusalem. But she had to believe that Calum’s gift had been a timely reminder. She would continue to fight for her desire and to take steps toward its achievement, but she had need of strength for the battle.

When the sky began to lighten in the east, she slipped from the bed. She washed and dressed, quickly and in silence, then took the small rug Calum had given to her and left the solar. She hesitated a moment, then locked the door behind herself, reasoning that she would be back before Fergus awakened.

She was glad of her choice, for she saw Agnes sleeping on a pallet in the kitchens. She continued to the garden, where the plants were lush and wet after the rain.

There was a stone bench there, aligned with the rising sun. Leila spread her small rug over it and kneeled to pray. With all her heart, she hoped that her husband would come to love her, though on this morning, it seemed that a miracle would be required for that to occur.

---

Fergus awakened to a knocking upon the solar door. Leila was gone and he was alone in the great bed.

“My lady?” Agnes said from the other side of the door. “Would you like to bathe, my lady?”

Fergus swung out of bed and dug in his baggage for fresh braies. “Agnes?” he asked as he went to the door.

“Aye, my lord. I am sorry for I did not mean to disturb you...”

Fergus tried the latch but the door was locked.

Of course. He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “My lady has taken the key with her, Agnes. Could you find her, please?”

“Of course, my lord. Right away, my lord.”

Fergus leaned back against the door as Agnes’ steps sounded on the stairs. He appreciated that Leila was protective of the reliquary, but they were home, not forced to take shelter in an inn where they knew none of the other occupants. Even so, it was locked securely in the treasury, so there was little need for the solar to be locked as well.

He had seen Leila’s resolve, though, and wanted her to have time to gain confidence in those who lived at Killairic. Doubtless, she was winning hearts already this morn, while he lingered abed. Had he ever met a woman of such determination? Fergus smiled, knowing he had not and feeling blessed that Leila was his wife. He would have the silversmith copy the keys this very day and surrender one to his father’s care.

Leila should find that acceptable.

In the meantime, he yawned mightily and returned to bed. It was too early to rise after his ride of the day before, so Fergus burrowed beneath the pelts and covers. He thought fleetingly of his nightmare, but then he smelled the scent of Leila’s pleasure, smiled and fell asleep with contentment.

Leila.

---

By the time she finished her prayers, Leila was aware that she was no longer alone.

She stood and rolled up the small rug, before turning. It was Murdoch who leaned against the wall of the keep, his gaze bright and watchful. He stepped out of the shadows and bowed, clearly not wishing to surprise her.

But surprise her, he did, for he addressed her in Arabic.

“Good morning, Lady Leila.”

Leila was struck by a bout of yearning for her uncle’s home that nearly took her to her knees again. She straightened and returned the warrior’s greeting, reminding herself that Killairic would now be her home.

She stifled her doubts.

“At the risk of impertinence, I would suggest you turn a little more to the right. Mecca is further south than you seem to believe.”

Leila blinked, then remembered Calum’s story. “You journeyed from Palestine with my lord husband’s father.”

“I did, though I was there many more years than he.” His expression lightened but he did not exactly smile. “Long enough to learn your tongue.”

“You speak it well.”

“And yet I fear I have forgotten much. I beg your indulgence.”

“You have it, surely.” Leila made to return to the keep, but Murdoch stepped forward. Her gaze flew to his face, though she found his expression inscrutable.

“In truth, I sought the opportunity to speak with you.”

Leila had a moment to realize that they were alone, that no one knew her location and that she knew little of this man before Murdoch cleared his throat and continued.

“Calum is a good man and a better laird,” he said quietly. “But his health is not what it was.”

“I would not think of his demise,” Leila said. “He has been good to me, and I like him well.”

“As do many, yet his passing will come. I do not wish for it, either, but I would have you know the challenge before you.”

“Challenge?” Leila did not understand.

“What do you believe will happen to Killairic when Calum leaves this world?”

Leila frowned. “Surely it is the legacy of my lord husband...” She fell silent when Murdoch shook his head, his gaze unswerving.

“Killairic was granted to Calum by the king.”

“And now it is his, surely?”

“It is the king’s,” Murdoch said, his expression intent.

“Then it is not my husband’s legacy?”

“It might be, or it might not.” The warrior looked over the hills to the firth and England beyond, his eyes narrowed. “Is it true that Jerusalem is fallen?”

“Saladin reclaimed it, aye.”

“And the King of England would call for a crusade to retrieve it?”

“We heard that rumor in France and England as well. The French king means to join him in that effort, by all accounts.”

Murdoch nodded. “Do you think it likely that a king who called for a crusade to evict the infidels from Jerusalem would entrust a holding upon his borders...”

“To a man wedded to the enemy,” Leila finished, then sat down upon the bench. She knotted her hands together in her lap, hating that she could be the obstacle to Fergus keeping his home.

“I do not,” Murdoch said softly.

“Nor do I,” Leila agreed.

She watched him look past her to the village, his gaze sharpening on something there. She twisted on the bench and saw the priest outside the chapel, sweeping the steps free of the debris that must have gathered there in the storm. The sunlight seemed to touch the cross on the roof of the building as she watched the priest and Leila made up her mind.

She turned back to Murdoch, who appeared to be waiting for her decision. “I was born and raised in one of the villages claimed by King Godfroi and surrendered to the command of the Holy Sepulchre after his death. More importantly, I grew up in a household much concerned with tolerance. There were Christians serving in my uncle’s household.”

“Rūm not Franj,” Murdoch guessed.

“Aye, their kin were from Constantinople and Antioch. The wife of one told stories that were common to both faiths, like the Seven Sleepers, to my cousin and me. My uncle was much enamored of the works of Abū Alī ibn Sīnā, both in matters of medicine and the nature of the soul.”

“They call him Avicenna here. His works are known in some circles.”

“I understand that it would be of aid to Fergus if I changed faith,” Leila said with care. “But I would not imperil my immortal soul without understanding fully what I do.” She gestured to the priest. “It is unlikely that I can speak to this man, or understand him with sufficient accuracy to discuss such matters.”

Murdoch bowed. “I would be delighted to be your servant in this, my lady. Though I am not a religious man myself, I believe I could translate for you.”

“This is what you came to propose to me,” Leila guessed, seeing that he was not surprised.

Murdoch nodded and the barest smile curved his lips. “I would see the succession of Killairic assured, my lady. It is possible that you will soon conceive a child, which would be good, but I would not have such a detail put all at risk.”

Leila nodded. “I thank you, Murdoch. Yours is good counsel and I appreciate that you dared to offer it, though I cannot say what the result will be. Not yet.”

He bowed again. “Inshallah,” he said and Leila smiled.

“Inshallah,” she agreed. She hastened back to the solar then, intent upon leaving her rug there and greeting her husband.

---

There was no doubt that Fergus had married well.

Everywhere he went that day in the village, praise of his lady was in the air. The smith, Farquar, was uncharacteristically fulsome in his admiration and showed Fergus how the dapple plow horse, Nellie, already improved her gait. Leila had evidently been there before Fergus to check on her charge, as well, a circumstance that impressed Farquar as much as the lady’s knowledge.

He had the keys copied by the silversmith, lingering with that man while a mold was made and the metal poured. He chatted with the silversmith, who had always possessed an excellent memory, and caught up on births, deaths, and gossip in the village. The miller had died after the marriage of his son, and the silversmith hinted that the younger man was overwhelmed with his responsibilities. His wife had borne a son and was with child again, and the silversmith noted the demands of infants. Fergus resolved to send Hamish to assist him, under the guise of learning more about the milling of grain.

He then made a visited to Margaret, only to hear more praise of his wife. Margaret was very happy with the needles and thanked him for his gift. Margaret and her girls were busily sewing and he was pleased to see the cloth he had brought home being so expertly shaped into garments for Leila. They agreed upon the suitability of the colors and how they would flatter his wife, and Margaret reminded him that the old midwife had died in his absence.

“I would wager, my lord, that you might wish to find another before the winter,” Margaret said, keeping her gaze fixed upon her work. Fergus knew she felt she was speaking out of turn.

“Because my lady may conceive?” he asked gently.

Margaret nodded. “She is such a wee thing, my lord, and so kind. I would not see her welfare at risk.”

“Nor would I.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, for speaking so boldly, but men do not always think of these matters.”

“You are right, Margaret, and your counsel is welcome. Do you have any notion of where a midwife of skill might be found?”

“There are two in Dumfries, my lord, the younger being the daughter and apprentice of the older. She might welcome the opportunity to leave her mother’s tutelage.”

“So long as she knows all she must.”

Margaret scoffed. “At thirty summers, I doubt she will learn much more. She was to wed, my lord, and have a family of her own, but her betrothed died before the nuptials were celebrated.”

“Tell me her name, Margaret, and where she might be found. I will seek her out when next I am in Dumfries.”

“I think that would be wise, my lord. Some folk need time to make such a choice as this.”

From there, Fergus visited the mill and admired the children of the miller’s son. He asked if the younger man might offer some tutelage to Hamish, as a favor, and the offer was gratefully accepted. He collected the finished keys from the silversmith then, feeling that his morning had been well spent. Fergus was returning to the hall for the midday meal, thinking that he should hunt this week to ensure there was sufficient meat, when he saw Leila and Murdoch leaving the chapel together.

They were unexpected companions, to his thinking, but Leila smiled and hurried to his side. He bent to kiss her, knowing that many eyes watched them. “I begin my lessons with the priest,” she said, her words falling in a rush. “Murdoch aids in the translation of more subtle notions.”

“I could assist you in the same way.”

“But you have obligations, Fergus,” Leila said, smiling up at him. “And Murdoch has offered most kindly to do this for me.”

“Are you sure it is not too much of a burden, Murdoch?” Fergus asked the warrior, who he would have named the most unlikely assistant for any studying matters of faith.

Murdoch smiled, his gaze flicking to Leila with admiration. “I would aid my lady to find her footing in this land, sir. It is not a simple task she has undertaken, and I would see her succeed.”

“It is most appreciated,” Fergus said, wondering if he saw too much in this new union. He had no reason to be suspicious of Leila, and little more to doubt Murdoch’s intent. He did not like how openly the warrior admired his wife.

Still, he felt uneasy but could see no elegant way to change the arrangement. Leila was clearly pleased with it and he did not wish to tamper her enthusiasm. Matters would be much simpler if she changed faith, but he knew it was a delicate matter. He was glad she had embarked on the quest of learning more, and that without his prompting, and reasoned that Murdoch’s assistance was a compromise he would tolerate.

Just as Leila would tolerate the duplication of the keys. Fergus had learned from his parents that marriage was challenged by differences of opinion and the trick lay in negotiating a balance between both views.

He would not criticize her scheme.

They reached the hall to find his father still in his chamber. Enguerrand and Yvan were playing chess in one corner while Iain arranged the midday meal.

“I will take the duplicated keys to my father,” Fergus said to Leila, showing her that they were already upon a lace. He surrendered the original to her once more, noting how her fingers closed over them protectively. Her lips tightened, but he smiled at her. “There must be a second set,” he whispered. “And I saw the silversmith destroy the mold.”

She nodded reluctant agreement.

“My father will not surrender them to any other.”

Leila nodded again. “If he is tired from our vigil last night, I could take a meal to him.”

Fergus smiled down at her, appreciating how she cared for his father. “He might prefer that. I will ask him.” He kissed her again. “Thank you, Leila,” he murmured for her ears alone. “We make a good beginning together.”

Fire lit in her eyes. “We shall build a future, Fergus,” she said with familiar ferocity. “One day at a time.”

“And each night there will be another increment of a tale, if I join you abed,” he teased. She flushed a little but did not deny it. “You will see how readily I am taught to do just that, my lady,” he whispered and she could not hide her pleasure. “Ride with me this day. I will show you the land of Killairic and perhaps we will hunt a bit.”

“I would like that well,” she said, her pleasure clear.

“I will send word to Stephen. Tempest can take his leisure today, and we will ride palfreys. Some of the men may come with us. It will be good to check the level of the rivers, as well, after that rain and ensure that the bridges are in good repair.”

---

Hamish was surprised to find himself regarded with a kind of awe in Killairic village. The situation was so vastly different from the time before his departure that he could scarce believe it. Was it simply because he had journeyed so far?

It was his aunt who made the reason clear to him, when he finally had the opportunity to linger at home for a day. Laird Fergus had released him from service for the day after their return from Dunnisbrae, and Hamish was glad of it.

His uncle Rodney’s cottage was smaller and darker than he recalled, and his aunt was more plump, but the smell of her rabbit stew was achingly familiar. It made his mouth water just as it always had.

“I suppose you have had much finer fare on your journey,” Mhairi said when she was serving the stew into bowls.

“I have missed your cooking,” Hamish confessed. “I have often wished for such good hearty fare as this.”

“And fine fare it is,” Rodney agreed. “There are many less fortunate than ourselves, to be sure.” As was his wont, he bowed his head and they prayed together for a moment.

“The bread is from yesterday, I fear,” Mhairi began but her husband interrupted her.

“You have no need to apologize, Mhairi,” he said. “Our fortunes are what they are and we offer our best. Hamish can have no complaint.” He arched a brow. “Or if he does, he can eat in Killairic’s hall.”

“I have no complaint,” Hamish said quickly. “There were nights we had naught to eat at all, and nights that what we had was not palatable.”

“Not palatable?” Rodney echoed with a grin. “The boy has become a diplomat, Mhairi.”

They laughed easily together and ate in silence for a few moments. Mhairi’s eyes shone with pleasure when Hamish requested a bit more of the stew.

“You must tell us of your adventures,” his uncle invited.

“I do not know where to begin. Outremer is so different, and yet, so much the same.”

“How so?”

“It is hot and dry, dusty. The food is different, and then there are all the languages to be heard. The Temple was a refuge, for it was tranquil and orderly, and most there spoke French.”

“And it was a sanctuary in a troubled land,” Rodney contributed.

Hamish nodded. “True. I always was relieved when we passed through its gates, and slept well in that place. It was a fortress, to be sure.” He eyed the last of his stew as a realization struck him. “It has fallen now and is in the hands of the Saracens. That refuge is no more.” His throat was tight as he recalled their near escape and the men he had known who might not draw breath any longer.

His uncle put a hand over his. “But you are home and safe here, lad,” he said gently.

Hamish took a breath and nodded.

“Praise be,” his aunt said. “I feared for your survival day and night, Hamish, and thought my heart would burst when I saw you returned.”

“It is remarkable that only one of your party did not return,” Rodney said. “Given all the woe in that part of the world.”

Mhairi sniffed and rose to clean the table. “I doubt any will miss Kerr overmuch,” she said, then poured ale for them all.

“Mhairi...” her husband warned, as Hamish often recalled him doing.

His aunt ignored the warning, which he also remembered well.

“Can I not speak the truth in my own home?” she demanded. “That boy was not one to turn your back upon. In truth, I feared him more than the Saracens when Hamish rode out. Like all those linked to Lady Isobel, he could not be trusted.”

Hamish said naught.

His aunt fixed him with a look. “And if ever there was a soul less likely to come to the aid of others against a party of bandits, Kerr it was.”

“Mhairi!”

“Hamish does not have to reply. I know the truth in my own heart.” Mhairi raised her cup. “And so we should drink to the health of Laird Fergus, whose heart is so good that he sees only the merit in others. Bless him for his kindness in concealing whatever truth there was about Kerr. There is naught to be gained in sharing a man’s wickedness once he is dead.”

They drank the toast in silence, which Hamish supposed was a good indication that they all agreed.

“But a Saracen bride? Now that is not a matter that will pass unchallenged,” Mhairi said once she had drained her cup.

“Why should any challenge it?” Hamish asked. “Surely Laird Fergus can take whoever he desires to wife?”

“Surely he can, but the king must invest him with the seal when the old laird passes,” Rodney said.

“Do you truly believe that when kings call for a crusade against the Saracens that they will suffer an infidel to be wedded to one of their lords?” Mhairi shook her head and filled the cups again. “I think not.”

“But Leila is good and kind.”

Mhairi pursed her lips. “She seemed pleasant enough on her wedding night, but I suppose any woman would be glad to wed Laird Fergus. So tiny.” She raised her brows. “So brown!”

“She is said to be his whore, but would a man find such as she alluring?” Rodney asked.

“Leila is no whore!” Hamish said hotly. “She was our companion and friend. I am glad that Fergus has ensured she could remain here.”

His aunt and uncle exchanged a glance.

“For a year and a day,” Mhairi noted gently.

“I heard that Murdoch is aiding her in taking lessons from Father Gregory,” Hamish said. “She wishes to learn before she changes her faith.”

“There is no harm in that,” Rodney acknowledged.

“I would trust Leila with my life,” Hamish continued. “Indeed, I have done so.”

Mhairi flicked a look at him. “Even though she is an infidel?”

“At the Temple, I was taught that there is good and bad in every kind, believer or infidel, and in truth, there are many areas of common belief between our faiths...”

“Which is why men slaughter each other in Jerusalem,” Rodney said wryly.

“In Outremer, in many places, people of different faiths live together in harmony,” Hamish argued. “It is the knights from France and England who provoke war there. Those who live there only defend themselves and their property.”

His uncle raised his brows.

His aunt took a deep breath. “And so you think the Holy City should be surrendered to infidels?”

“They also hold it as a place of worship. Lord Gaston, the leader of our party, tried to negotiate peace. He said both claims had merit and should be respected.”

“And infidels respected this?” Rodney’s skepticism was clear.

“I am sorry to say this, uncle, but they were more likely to respect it than Christian kings and knights.” Hamish shook his head. “I have seen things to make me doubt the merit of my own kind.”

There was a moment of quiet in which Hamish looked at the table and his aunt and uncle studied him. He knew he was defying their convictions and was aware that he had never done as much before. He felt that he had erred, for he was now a guest in their home, and wished he could take back the words—even though he yet believed them. He had not intended to give offense.

Finally, Rodney cleared his throat. “You are not the sole one to think well of the lady. Farquar said the Lady Leila has helped old Nellie. He said she shows the surety of a good ostler and her care already makes a difference.”

Hamish looked up. “What is wrong with Nellie?”

“She is lamed and refuses to put one foot down. We have been plowing the fields without her and it is heavy labor.” Rodney shook his head. “You know how Farquar cannot bear to see a horse suffer and can anticipate how he would argue with those who suggest Nellie’s time should come to an end. He was most impressed by Lady Leila’s efforts yesterday.”

“She has a talent with horses, to be sure,” Hamish agreed. “That was how we knew her. She came to the Temple, disguised as a boy, to aid in their care. She was friends with Bartholomew, the squire of the knight Gaston I mentioned earlier. He served almost twenty years with the Temple, and Bartholomew was his squire all the while. It turns out that Bartholomew is the lost heir to Haynesdale, and now he is lord there.”

“Well, well, Mhairi, our Hamish has gathered powerful friends in his time away!”

“And how did Lady Leila come to be in your party, then?” Mhairi asked.

“Her uncle had betrothed her to a man she distrusted and would not listen to her protests. She fled and asked for our protection. Laird Fergus took her as his squire, saying he had bought so much for Lady Isobel that he had need of another squire. We called her Laurent, and I did not know she was a lady until several weeks ago.”

Rodney chuckled at that. “It is no good thing to be adept at disguise, lad.”

“She defended my lord’s belongings and his welfare more than once,” Hamish said with ferocity. “I would trust Leila as well as Laird Fergus, in any situation.”

“Well, there is an endorsement for you, Mhairi,” Rodney said. “And a potent one as well. The boy has found his voice on his journey, to be sure.”

“An honorable nature is all well and good, and truly I am glad to hear of hers,” Mhairi said. “But there will be trouble yet over her faith, upon that you can rely.”

His uncle nodded sagely. “Killairic is prosperous and Laird Calum is aged. We had best brace ourselves for assault.”

Hamish disliked this forecast and knew his feelings showed, for his uncle gave him a nudge. “What is it, lad?”

“I had thought all was different here. I had thought we rode home to peace.”

“Perhaps that is one trait men hold in common, a desire for whatsoever belongs to another. We have seen our share of war and pillage in your absence.” Rodney was philosophical. “I am glad to hear that my lord Fergus has taken a good woman to wife, though. That is reassuring, whatever her faith.”

“Aye, for he could have wed Lady Isobel.” Mhairi grimaced.

“Mhairi...”

Mhairi shook a finger at her husband. “We have not seen the last of that one, not since Laird Fergus came home, hale and handsome, with riches besides. I would wager that old Stewart MacEwan is not looking so alluring on this night.”

Hamish guessed from what he had witnessed the day before that his aunt was right.

“Mark my words, she will try to find a way to return to Laird Fergus’ affections. I hope this time he is wiser about the truth of her nature.”

“What is the truth of her nature, Aunt?”

“Mhairi...”

Yet again, Mhairi ignored her husband’s warning. “She is one who sees to her own advantage alone. She wed Stewart because he admired her and offered her a home. In absence, Laird Fergus lost his appeal to that one. It is a measure of her nature that she could not keep a pledge and that her love was so thin that it could not sustain her while she awaited his return. And now, she will wish to leap from one to the other, for her spouse is older and perhaps harsher. Nay, we have not seen the last of her.”

“Mhairi, you see shadows in every corner.”

“Usually, because they are there. It will be that little maid who aids in the matter, to be sure.”

“Which maid?” Hamish asked, though he already guessed his aunt must mean Agnes. Pretty Agnes, who smiled at him so sweetly and whose attention made his heart pound.

“The one come from Dunnisbrae, that one with the fair face and the dark heart.”

“Agnes,” Rodney contributed. “The orphan.”

“Who is cut of the same cloth as Lady Isobel, to be sure. It is no wonder they could not abide in the same hall and no coincidence that she came from Dunnisbrae to Killairic, purportedly in search of labor. Nay, she came to watch for Laird Fergus and her loyalty is to Dunnisbrae if not her own self. To be sure, Laird Fergus comes by his kindness of heart honestly, for his father shares it.” Mhairi gave Hamish a hard look. “Do not be fooled by that one with her twitching skirts, lad.”

“Of course not, Aunt,” Hamish said stoutly, though he very nearly had been so tricked. “Tell me what else is new in the village.”

“Well,” Rodney said, his manner becoming expansive as they returned to topics of greater comfort to him. “Gavin at the mill there, he finally married young Inge. It took no small resolve on the part of both fathers, given that she was out there on the isles, but they are happy, to be sure.”

“Two sets of twins she has born to him in four years,” Mhairi contributed. “And you never saw such handsome children.”

“You think all children are handsome, Aunt,” Hamish teased and the older couple laughed.

His aunt leaned toward him with sparkling eyes. “I will tell you this, Hamish. There will never be a babe more beautiful than the first one you sire.”

Hamish found his neck heating. “I am too young to wed, Aunt.”

“Nonsense! You have been across the width of Christendom, served with the Templars and are pledged to Laird Fergus. Your future is as secure as ever it will be.” His aunt raised a brow and Hamish nodded agreement.

He had not considered marriage, not yet, although he had thought of intimacy with Agnes. Perhaps one day, he would find a woman of merit, just as the knights in their company had done. If naught else, he would help Leila to find allies at Killairic, for defending a lady was what a man of any measure should do.

Hamish smiled because he had learned that from his uncle, long before he had journeyed to Outremer.