Fergus did indeed have a guardian angel.

She was his new wife.

When he finally joined her abed, Leila did not awaken. She turned and curled against him, her move so natural and trusting that they might have been wedded for a decade. He held her close and reflected upon his good fortune to have such a sensible woman as wife. He liked that she was concerned for him, and that they spoke so honestly to each other. And yet, the passion had risen between them with rare force—and it had not been satisfied with one meeting abed.

Fergus wanted her again. Indeed, his desire was well beyond his expectation, so fierce that he did not trust it would be sated soon.

It was an appealing notion, to have enduring desire for one’s spouse, and a marvel in a match wrought of good sense. Fergus savored it when he should have slept. It was good fortune, to his thinking, for a child to be conceived in affection.

He was surprised to feel his own contentment.

Ultimately, Fergus did sleep, for he awakened when the shadows were just beginning to dissipate. He left the warmth of the great bed with reluctance, knowing he had to depart soon to return by the evening meal, as he had promised. He was tempted to awaken Leila with a kiss, or a greater seduction, but feared his departure would be delayed too much. He rose in the shadows and dressed in haste, returning repeatedly to the bed to look down upon her.

Even as the sky lightened in the east, Leila slept, her lashes dark against her cheek, the sound of her breathing soft in the solar. Fergus watched the first rays of sunlight touch her features and his heart clenched in admiration. She was so delicate yet so fierce. He liked when she created a plan for them both. He admired her honesty and her clear thinking. He respected her determination to create a new home for herself and the future she wanted.

And that must lie at the root of his persistent desire. Fergus did not doubt that a glimpse of Isobel would be like a dagger plunged into his heart. He prepared himself for the sight of his beloved with another, knowing full well that he would find it wrenching, even more devastating that the news had been.

Perhaps it was wiser to feel admiration and affection for one’s wife, instead of love.

Fergus bent and touched his lips to Leila’s brow, savoring the softness of her skin and the little sigh of contentment that she made. He tucked the furs protectively around her, then unlocked the door of the solar. He stared at the key, then returned to Leila, sliding his hand beneath the covers to put the key to the solar in her hand. She did not awaken but her fingers closed around it instinctively. He could see the cord for the key to the treasury around her neck and imagined she would put them together when she awakened.

He knew, without doubt, that all of his treasures were safe in her care.

In the kitchens, Fergus found Agnes, sleeping on a pallet before the glowing coals on the hearth. She had to be shaken awake after her day of labor, but sat up with a jolt when she realized it was him. “My lord!”

“Shhh,” Fergus said. “Do not awaken the others. I would simply ask you to take hot water to my lady wife when the sun has risen.”

Agnes blinked. “She bathed last night, my lord.”

“She did, but it is her custom to bathe twice daily. A bucket of hot water will suffice in the morning, then the tub at night.”

Agnes wrinkled her nose but did not speak.

“Tell me what you are thinking, Agnes,” Fergus said.

“But you will think me impertinent.”

“Honesty is the best choice, Agnes. You should always tell the truth at Killairic.”

The girl nodded and lifted her chin. “I only wonder that she would bathe twice a day, my lord. I hope such excess does not make your lady ill.”

Fergus smiled, well aware that many of his fellows thought a weekly bath excessive. “I doubt it will. It has been her practice for years, and that of her people for centuries, if not more.”

Agnes, it seemed, could not hide her doubt. “If you say as much, my lord.”

“I will be back this evening and perhaps as glad of a bath as she.” He nodded and straightened but before he could take a step toward the stables, Agnes stood up.

“Is it true, my lord, that you ride to visit Lady Isobel at Dunnisbrae?”

“It is. I will return by the evening meal, to be sure.”

“Would you take a message to my brother for me, my lord? He serves the ostler at Dunnisbrae and I have not seen him for over a year.”

“Of course,” Fergus said.

She curtsied, her gratitude clear. “His name is Nolan, my lord, and it is said that we look alike.”

“And what message would you send him?”

Agnes thought about this for a moment, her brow puckered in a frown. “Just that I missed his company at the Yule and hope to see him soon.”

“It shall be done, Agnes.” Fergus nodded at her. “Do not labor too hard this day,” he said, his tone teasing for he guessed it would be otherwise. At the girl’s grimace, he strode toward the village where he would summon Hamish, then on to the stables, Tempest, and the promise of seeing Isobel.

---

Duncan was not surprised to see Fergus in the stables so early, but he was disappointed. It seemed to him that a man should linger abed on the morn after his nuptials and he did not trouble to hide his disapproval.

“You will still ride north this very morning?” Fergus asked, his mood clearly merry. “Do you not take more with you than this?”

“I need little on this journey but my wits and my blade,” Duncan replied. “I will break my fast in your father’s hall, though, and ride out with a full belly.” He gave the younger man a sharp look. “Do you not intend to break your fast with your new wife?”

“Leila is sleeping yet, and I would leave at dawn.”

Duncan shook his head and could not bite his tongue. “Leaving the bed of a loyal woman to gaze upon a faithless one.”

Fergus paused in grooming his destrier to turn to Duncan. “You still disapprove, but I will perform this errand today.”

“I think a man should appreciate every advantage that comes to him. You are more fortunate to have Leila as your wife than you could have been with the other.”

Fergus’ tone cooled. “You never liked Isobel.”

“I never trusted Isobel. I have seldom seen a woman so intent upon her own advantage, to the exclusion of all else.” Duncan closed a saddlebag, tugging hard on the strap. “Her faithlessness has done you a favor, at least. You might have been wedded to her otherwise and paid a higher price than four years of chastity.”

Fergus shook his head and returned to the grooming of Tempest. “That is harsh, Duncan.”

“Did you never guess her faithlessness?”

“Never!”

Duncan had suspected as much but was still startled to hear Fergus say it aloud. “I thought you had eyes in your head, lad, never mind the Sight. My mother would have said that one wished for honey on both sides of her bread and more besides.”

“Perhaps she deserves so much honey as that.”

“Why? Because her face is pretty?” Duncan scoffed. “It is her nature that is of greater import, or should be.” When Fergus did not reply, he continued. “Perhaps beauty does have a way of distracting a man from the truth of a woman’s heart.”

Fergus turned to eye Duncan. “You suspected all along that she would not wait?”

“I doubted she would tolerate any inconvenience to herself or her own desires,” Duncan admitted. “Your absence for four years would certainly be that.”

“But surely love should last a lifetime.”

Duncan decided this might be his last chance to grant a measure of advice to the younger man. Who knew what awaited him in the north? He propped his hands upon his hips and confronted Fergus, his tone challenging. “Was it love that compelled her to accept your hand? Or was it advantage?”

Fergus’ expression became guarded. “Speak bluntly, Duncan, if you please.”

“Careful what you wish for, lad,” Duncan advised with a smile. Fergus neither replied nor changed his manner. Duncan sighed and spoke his mind. “Lady Isobel is a beauty and born to a good family but not a powerful one. Her lineage will be hers forever, but beauty fades. Her father’s ability to secure an alliance with her marriage would diminish every year after she began her courses.”

“Four years is a long time to wait, then,” Fergus mused.

Duncan chose not to add his other thought, even though he had been encouraged to speak plainly.

Fergus eyed him. “And what of your time away from Radegunde?”

“It is much the same,” Duncan acknowledged, his heart squeezing a little at the mention of his beloved. “She counts the days more precisely than I do, because she desires a houseful of children. Her years to bear them are limited and I do not doubt that she will resent each day that passes without such effort on our part.”

Fergus’ gaze brightened. “You were going to say something else a moment ago.”

“You will think it unkind.”

“If it is honest, kindness is no measure. Confess it, Duncan.”

Duncan pursed his lips, for he was no diplomat. “There are women of wit and wisdom whose merit as wives only increases with their age. I believe that Radegunde is one such, and I will be glad to have her hand in mine.”

Fergus, of course, did not miss his implication. “But you think Isobel is not such a woman,” he guessed.

Duncan winced. “I believe she might feel the passing of time more keenly, or her father would. I make no excuses for her, a broken promise is still a betrayal, but I must wonder if there were other factors she found persuasive.”

“And I will wager that you think Leila of a similar ilk to Radegunde.”

Duncan smiled. “Perhaps you do see clearly, after all, lad.”

“Love must be of import, Duncan,” Fergus insisted, and Duncan wondered who he sought to convince.

“Love might need time to blossom, as it did for Gaston and Ysmaine.”

Fergus did not reply to that, and Duncan could only hope he would think upon it. Tempest was saddled and Duncan heard Hamish outside the stables with his palfrey. The younger man came to him and offered his hand. “I wish you Godspeed, Duncan, and every blessing on your journey,” Fergus said. “May you find what you seek and secure a home for yourself and Radegunde.”

“I thank you, lad.”

“We have talked of this before, but you know you are welcome at Killairic.”

“And I know that my path lies north, that my future must be built upon my past.”

They embraced then, and Duncan knew he would miss the younger man’s company. When Fergus spoke, his voice was husky. “One of us should be joyous in marriage, Duncan, and that task now falls to you. Ride forth and prove to me that love can conquer all.”

“Do not be so quick to dismiss your chance of a good match,” Duncan scolded. “You may not be able to see past the shadow of this disappointment, but I do not believe myself to be the sole one of us destined to happiness.”

Fergus did not look convinced.

Yet.

He returned to Tempest and swung into the saddle, riding the beast out of the stable and speaking to Hamish. As Duncan turned back to the hall, where he would break his fast, he heard the horses canter through the village and then to run. He believed that Fergus had already found the wife he deserved, if that man would but open his eyes to see the truth.

---

Leila awakened with the sense that someone was nearby.

Not Fergus.

She felt the key to the solar beneath her fingers and guessed that Fergus had left the door unlocked. The hair prickled on the back of her neck, as if she was being closely watched, and she smelled straw. There was no straw in this fine bed. She smelled onions, as well. Raw ones. She opened her eyes ever so slightly to find Agnes examining the trunks and making her way to the door to the treasury.

The girl slept on a straw pallet and had likely cut onions in the kitchen.

Leila rolled to her back with a sigh, as if she moved in her sleep, but kept a wary gaze upon the girl. Agnes started and glanced toward the bed, then stepped toward the treasury door. She ran a fingertip over the lock and bit her lip, glanced back at the bed, then silently tried the latch. Leila’s eyes narrowed, her resolve to limit the girl’s access to anything of import redoubled.

She did not blame Fergus for his trust of those welcomed in his father’s hall, but she did not share it either.

She yawned noisily and stretched, hearing Agnes hasten back to the door. When Leila opened her eyes and sat up, the girl gave every appearance of just arriving at the threshold with a bucket of steaming water. She smiled and curtsied, but Leila was not fooled.

She made sure the girl saw the lace around her neck with the key, and how she added the second key to it before she replaced it around her neck and rose from the bed.

“Good morning, my lady,” Agnes said, curtseying again.

Leila decided to disguise her understanding of Gaelic. She could have replied in kind, but instead bowed her head once and answered in French. Agnes would not be the sole one with secrets in this keep.

She pointed to the door and shooed Agnes in that direction. When the girl stepped over the threshold, Leila closed and locked the door, ensuring that the girl heard the lock tumble. Then she washed and dressed alone. The laces were at the sides of the kirtle, so she did not need assistance. She swept the floor and shook out the linens, hanging the coverlets and pelts to air. She left the shutters open then unlocked the door.

Agnes was sitting upon the step, waiting for her, and quickly hid her mutinous expression. Her gaze flicked past Leila to the cleaned solar and her surprise showed. Leila gave her the bucket of water and the one of slops, then pointed down the stairs. “Today, we will clean the hall,” she told the girl in French, who clearly did not understand but was leery of whatever Leila had planned.

Her lips tightened when Leila locked the solar door, and Leila held the girl’s gaze as she dropped the key down the front of her chemise. She gestured then and the girl preceded her, her mood most clear.

Duncan sat alone at the board, amusement lighting his eyes when he watched Agnes stalk across the hall with her burden. Leila was glad to have the chance to speak to him before his departure and took the seat beside him. Iain brought her a piece of warm bread and some honey, and she accepted his offer of ale and an apple.

“I am glad to see you more settled,” Duncan said and Leila smiled.

“Only for a year and day, Duncan. I am certain that Fergus intends to find me a husband.”

“And I would hope that you intend to keep the one you have.”

She smiled. “I hope to show him that I am a good wife.”

“And if the lad is fool enough to cast aside the gem that has come so easily to his hand, then you must remember my offer.”

Leila smiled and kissed his cheek. “I will, Duncan. Thank you.”

He finished his ale and nodded, his gaze lingering upon her. “The anniversary of my handfast with Radegunde is the sixth of September. I hope to see you before then, either as I journey to collect her from Châmont-sur-Maine or as we return to Scotland together.”

“You must send word,” Leila said. “We could meet at Haynesdale, if it is more convenient. I am certain that Bartholomew would welcome us all.”

“As am I.” Duncan stood and bowed. “Until we meet again, Lady Leila, farewell.”

“Journey safely, Duncan,” she said, rising to take his hands and kiss his cheeks in turn. “Radegunde is relying upon you.”

He smiled and touched the braid of Radegunde’s hair upon his wrist briefly before donning his gloves, bowing once again, and striding away. Leila blinked back a tear, and hoped that their paths would cross again, then she sat down to finish her meal. Murdoch was in the hall and watching her once again, but she ignored the way he saluted her with his cup.

Iain paused before her, bowing low. His French was almost as careful as Calum’s and certainly was more formal. “My lady, I am instructed to show you whatever you would like to see and to put myself at your disposal on this day.”

“Thank you so much, Iain. I should like to see the kitchens and the stores this morning, then the garden this afternoon. I must also visit Margaret in the village after the midday meal and would ask directions to her home.”

The older man nodded approval of this scheme. “We should perhaps choose a location for the dovecote while in the garden,” he suggested. “I have sent word to Dumfries this morning to engage the man who builds such structures. Xavier dispatched a boy to buy fish at the morning market and it seemed a good opportunity.”

“Thank you, Iain. That was an excellent notion. I know a little of the requirements of such birds, but both the weather and sunlight is different here. I remember, for example, that it was key to ensure that they had shade for part of the day, but that might not be the case here where the air is colder. Perhaps we should choose several alternatives and let the builder share his advice.”

“A most excellent plan, my lady.”

“Did my laird husband send word to Haynesdale?”

“He did, my lady. I sent it with the boy and bade him find a messenger in Dumfries. It should be readily done.”

“Thank you, Iain.” Leila set aside her napkin and rose to her feet. She beckoned to Agnes. “I should like to give Agnes the task of sweeping the hall and removing the rushes. The dogs can spend the day in the stables and the hearth can be cleaned as well.”

Iain nodded and gave rapid instructions in Gaelic to Agnes.

“Would you like to meet the cook, my lady? I hope that Xavier is not in foul temper this morning...” Iain continued, taking great pains to warn Leila of the perils of the fiend who commanded the kitchens. She understood immediately that the two older men who had vied for Calum’s approval for years now battled for her own.

The kitchen, to her delight, was immaculately clean. Two boys were scrubbing the wooden tables with great gusto, urged on by the dark-haired man with silver at his temples. He chided them as he chopped onions, casting them with perfect aim into a great cauldron that hung over the fire.

Iain cleared his throat pointedly.

Xavier turned, as if to shake his knife at the intruder, then he evidently saw Leila.

“This is Xavier,” Iain said.

“I am most pleased to make the acquaintance of the master of this domain,” Leila said, remembering that cooks often were proud. “The meal last evening was delicious.”

Xavier smiled and bowed deeply, then erupted a rapid stream of French. “My lady! I am enchanted and honored by your presence in the kitchen, my small domain as you so graciously acknowledge, and would offer my felicitations upon your marriage to Laird Fergus.” He bowed again. “I can only apologize that it was impossible to create your own favorite dishes for your wedding feast last evening as we knew nothing of you in advance...”

“Of course, you could not, Xavier. You had so little warning. I thought the venison was particularly marvelous.”

“Ah!” Xavier’s eyes lit. “But that was due to the return of your lady and his lordship, for I had no cloves before noon yesterday and they are the key to that particular sauce. You answered my dreams, my lady, and so the meal benefitted greatly from your arrival.”

He bowed again, and Leila instinctively liked him. It was clear to her that his enthusiasm was bound to the creations of his kitchen and that was a trait she could both admire and encourage.

“If there is a dish I can prepare to tempt your palate, my lady, you have only to tell me of it. If there are recipes you remember and would have served in the hall, you have only to tell me of them.”

Leila doubted that Xavier would have access to many of the ingredients she recalled but she appreciated the offer. “I thank you. I would not meddle in the administration of your domain, Xavier, but perhaps I can be of aid to you with the inventories.”

“But of course, my lady. It is your right to approve all expenditures in the kitchen.” Xavier offered a pair of keys to her, gesturing to a storeroom. Within it, there were sacks of dried peas and of flour. A small trunk was built into a wooden shelf, and the smaller key opened it. The spices were kept there, and Xavier showed her the inventory Hamish had created the day before. A quick glance proved to Leila that all was in order and she smiled to dismiss Xavier’s concern.

“And you were pleased with the spices Laird Fergus brought?”

“Of course, my lady. It is only sad that we will use them so quickly.”

Leila nodded. “My lord husband and I journeyed from Outremer with a company of Templars.”

“So, I understand, my lady.”

“One of his friends, a former Templar, now commands his father’s holding in France, to the west of Paris. We stopped there on our return.”

“I am told those lands are most beautiful. My own origin is in the north and east of Paris.”

“I anticipate that my husband may communicate regularly with his friend in France, who might well maintain his connections with the Templars. It thus seems likely to me that when a spice is diminishing in our stores, we might be able to request the assistance of these friends in purchasing more.” She smiled at Xavier. “And you might never lack for cloves again.”

Xavier was clearly delighted. “This is most generous, my lady, and most kind.” He frowned, thinking of this. “I wish I could devise a way to better anticipate a shortage or even the use of our last stores.”

“We have an inventory made already,” Leila noted. “Let us keep a record of the use of each spice. Then we shall best know how much of each is consumed by the household over time, which can inform our purchases.”

“And by season!” Xavier added. “For winter meals should have more spice than summer ones, and the Yule uses the most of all.” He nodded with satisfaction. “This is an improvement, to be sure.”

Leila turned to Iain, who had been trying to follow the conversation and by his expression had not gleaned all of the details. She explained her intention to him more slowly and he beamed with pleasure at her. “I shall see that there is a ledger prepared for this very task, my lady. I can use the inventory compiled by Hamish and can make that the first entry.” He dropped his voice. “For I should not see such wealth wasted.”

Xavier glared at him, then gestured to the kitchen once more. Leila preceded him, as indicated, and raised a brow to find the two boys chatting with Agnes. The girl had evidently brought some of the rushes through the kitchen and saw fit to jest with the boys rather than complete her task.

Xavier yelled at the pair of boys and they hastened back to their labor. Agnes swept the rushes into the bailey as Xavier bellowed at her to use another portal and keep such mess from his kitchen. He swept the floor furiously in her wake, muttering curses beneath his breath as he restored all to rights.

“He does not appreciate the girl,” Iain sniffed and went to the hall in search of a ledger.

Xavier glared after him. “He does not see what is before his eyes. I am glad to have that one out of my kitchen, but regret that she now is assigned to serve you, my lady.” The cook dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “Do not trust her overmuch. She came from Dunnisbrae and I cannot think any good of that holding since Laird Fergus was treated so poorly by Lady Isobel.”

Leila was aware that the boys were watching, but secretly liked the cook a little more. Not only did they share a view of Agnes, but one of Isobel.

How curious that Agnes had arrived from Dunnisbrae. Was that a coincidence, or something more?

“I thank you for your counsel, Xavier,” she said smoothly. “I understand that you sent to Dumfries for fish this morning. What kind of fish do you find here? And how do you intend to prepare them?”

“There will be fresh salmon at the market this morning, my lady, and Laird Calum favors the filets fried in a little butter. He tires of the eels from the millpond, no matter how I prepare them. I like to tempt his appetite, but perhaps he will eat better now that Lord Fergus is returned. Worry, as I am certain you know, my lady, is a great destroyer of the appetite.” Leila nodded as the cook continued to enthuse and she had the sense that he had been waiting for a patient ear. “I thought the last of the wine could be made into a sauce for eggs...”

---

It was past noon when Fergus and Hamish reached Dunnisbrae and a gentle rain had begun to fall. It was not a heavy onslaught but it was persistent, and the back of Fergus’ cloak was soaked through by the time the keep came into sight.

They had been compelled to take a longer route, since spring rains had washed out some of the fords and narrow bridges on the shortest path. As a result, they arrived later than Fergus had hoped. The clouds were darker in the west and he doubted their ride home would be pleasant.

He dared not linger. A mere word with Isobel, a glimpse of her beauty, a cup of ale, and a piece of bread, then he and Hamish would return to Killairic.

He noted that the keep looked less prosperous than he recalled, or perhaps it had not flourished since he had last journeyed this way. It was still a single tower, wrought of timber like the surrounding walls, but Fergus had a sense of decay. There was a fine portcullis on the gate to the bailey, though, which was a surprise. Did Isobel’s father still draw breath? His own father had not said.

Dunnisbrae was to the south and west of Killairic, perched on the southernmost tip of the Mull of Galloway. The isle of Mann was to the south, Galloway and the rest of the Kingdom of the Isles to the north, the lands of the English king veiled in the mist to the south.

Hamish had been quiet on their journey, and Fergus had guessed the reason why. “There will be a fire and a cup of ale soon enough,” he said to Hamish with forced cheer and the boy nodded with a semblance of enthusiasm.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Are you thinking of Kerr?”

Hamish nodded and wiped the rain from his face. “He had good qualities, my lord, as well as bad.”

It was a kindly concession from the one who had probably endured the greatest torment from Kerr, and Fergus took that as a measure of Hamish’s character. “Which is why the truth of his nature will not be revealed by any of us,” Fergus reminded him. “I think Duncan’s counsel most wise in this matter.”

“Aye, my lord.”

“I will tell them of his death, Hamish,” Fergus said and the boy’s relief was obvious. “You will not need to answer questions about it.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

They were clearly spied and identified, for the portcullis creaked as it was raised. A man stepped into the middle of the opening. He folded his arms across his chest, braced his feet against the ground, and watched their approach.

It was Stewart himself, his posture indicating that he anticipated a challenge.

Fergus took this as an indication that Isobel had not been so willing to wed the other man. His heart skipped at the possibility that she might have been loyal to him, if she had been granted the choice.

Not that it mattered now. Duncan had been right in that. It would be a balm to his pride, though, and proof that he was a good judge of character. No more than that.

Though he had always been Fergus’ senior, Stewart looked much older now, his hair silver-gray and his expression harder than once it had been. He wore a mail hauberk with his plaid and his boots, adding to Fergus’ impression that the other man was prepared for battle.

“The crusader returns,” Stewart said by way of greeting, a hint of mockery in his tone. He walked toward Fergus when the arrivals paused outside the gate. His smile was cold and his gaze assessing. “I trust the Saracens have been routed from Outremer with your aid?”

“Just the opposite,” Fergus acknowledged as he dismounted. He strove to keep his tone light, even friendly. “You must have heard that Jerusalem itself was lost in October.”

“We did,” Stewart said. His ostler came forward to take the reins of Tempest and a boy reached for those of Hamish’s palfrey, but Stewart waved them both off. “I doubt my neighbor will linger,” he said, surprising Fergus with such a lack of hospitality. Man and boy retreated and Fergus noted that the boy shared Agnes’ striking coloring. This must be her brother, Nolan.

Stewart smirked. “I apologize for this greeting, but I will not have my lady wife disturbed.”

“I have tidings I would like to give to Isobel myself,” Fergus said, for he imagined she might find the news of Kerr troubling.

“But it is my obligation to defend my lady wife.”

“Surely not from a friend?”

“Particularly so, when that friend is returned after years away,” Stewart replied evenly. “Isobel is with child, again, and is in need of calm and rest during her time.”

“I see.”

“You may grant any message intended for her to me.”

Fergus understood that he would not be permitted to see the lady himself. The realization irked him but he hid his reaction. “Of course. She had asked me to take her nephew, Kerr, in our company as a squire, and I regret that he has not returned.”

Stewart arched a brow. “Did you sell him in a Saracen slave market?”

Fergus tempered his reply. “He was killed, when we were attacked by brigands west of Venice. We laid him to rest in a cemetery there.”

Stewart flicked a look at Hamish. “And yet the boy from Killairic returns with you.”

“Hamish did very well in defending himself.”

“While Kerr did not?” Stewart scoffed. “I suspect there is more to this tale than you are sharing, but Kerr is dead either way.”

“He is.”

“These are tidings that will trouble Isobel deeply,” Stewart said. “She was very fond of the boy and often has expressed concern for his welfare in distant pagan lands. It is good that I did not allow you to see her. Is that all?”

That he would push Fergus from the gates without so much as a cup of ale after such a long ride in the rain was an abomination and an insult. But Fergus could see that Stewart was trying to provoke a response, so did not give him one. “Perhaps you might give Isobel my regards, as well as this gift.”

“A gift?” Stewart asked, arching a brow. He turned to his sentries. “The returning crusader brings a gift for my lady wife. Do you think he is still smitten with her charms? Do you think he means to steal her away from me?”

The guards chuckled.

Fergus did not. He wished Leila and Duncan’s suspicions had not been proven so very right.

“A gift,” he reiterated, unlashing the small trunk from his saddle. His tone had hardened. “When I bought it, I believed Isobel to be my betrothed, waiting upon my return. I see no reason why she should not have it, even though my belief was mistaken.”

“Such generosity should not go unrewarded,” Stewart said, accepting the small chest from him. He seemed to heft its weight. “Dare I hope it is filled with gems?”

Fergus smiled tightly. “It is not.”

The other man tucked the trunk under his arm and held Fergus’ gaze, seemingly inviting him to leave with all haste.

Fergus held his ground. “I understand that you and Isobel have a son already,” he said. “I would congratulate you, belatedly, of course.”

“I thank you.” Stewart smiled.

“And her father? How does Erik fare?”

“Dead these three years, I fear.” Fergus crossed himself at Stewart’s admission. “A better man was never found.”

“I suppose he saw your merit, in putting his daughter’s hand in yours.”

Stewart smiled. “I suppose he did. He saw his grandson born, at least.” He stepped back. “I wish you Godspeed, of course.” He gestured to the sky. “I hope the rain does not turn to snow before you reach home. It is possible, though, given the chill in the air. It would be best for you to ride out immediately.”

Fergus ground his teeth, but would not give Stewart the satisfaction of reacting poorly. “You might offer me felicitations as well,” he said before climbing into the saddle again.

“For returning alive against all expectation?”

“For my own handfast. I am a married man, as well.” Fergus ignored Stewart’s obvious interest and nodded to the boy. “Are you the brother of Agnes? Name of Nolan?”

“I am, sir,” the boy said, bowing to him.

“Agnes asked that I deliver a message to you, that she regrets you were not together at the Yule and hopes to see you soon.”

Did Fergus imagine the quick glance that fired between Nolan and Stewart? Could this message mean more to them than to him?

Nonsense. It was no more than two peasants sending word to each other by whatever means were available.

“I thank you, sir. I hope she is well.”

“She does fare well.” Fergus met Stewart’s gaze steadily. “She is now maid to my lady wife.”

Stewart looked skeptical. “Is it true that you are wed? To whom? And when?”

“I pledged a handfast yesterday upon my return to Killairic.” Fergus granted Stewart a thin smile. “It is to be hoped that we will both have similar happiness in our matches.”

“But who did you marry?” Stewart demanded, seizing Tempest’s reins. “What alliance did you make?”

“None. She is a lady who journeyed in our party from Jerusalem.”

Stewart laughed and stepped back again. “A whore, then? With the loss of your betrothed, you wed your whore!” His mirth seemed to overcome him and he slapped his thighs as he laughed even louder.

Fergus dismounted and closed the distance between them, seizing Stewart by his hauberk and lifting that man to his toes. “My wife is no whore,” he said in a low growl. “And a clever man would not be so foolish as to suggest as much twice. Were you not always said to be clever, Stewart?”

“Perhaps more clever than you,” Stewart muttered.

“Perhaps not,” Fergus countered. “Perhaps one battle too many has cost you your wits.”

The two men’s gazes locked and held for a charged moment.

“Who is your wife?” Stewart demanded again.

“Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm.”

Stewart laughed again, a harsh bark that prompted Fergus to release him and step back. “A Saracen? You wed a Saracen?” The older man smiled. “And who is the witless one, Fergus? I have a beauty in my bed.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you think of Isobel’s pale perfection as you ride your filthy infidel?”

Fergus struck Stewart then, his reaction born of fury. The older man stumbled backward even as his nose began to spurt blood. His men drew their swords, but Stewart chuckled as he regained his balance. He wiped the blood, his gaze still fixed upon Fergus.

“Stand down,” he said to his warriors. “A man with blood in his veins should have the right to express his displeasure when a lady spurns him for another man.”

Fergus might have expressed more, but a woman’s voice carried to his ears from within the keep. “Fergus? Fergus, is that you? Can it truly be you returned?”

Isobel.

The bottom dropped out of Fergus stomach even as Isobel appeared in the doorway to the keep and hastened across the bailey. She was more beautiful than he recalled, her fair hair bound into a long braid, her figure tall and slender. She was as graceful as a willow, even with the slight rounding of her belly. She was dressed in a kirtle of faded blue, probably dyed with woad. She had aged a little and there was a wariness in her expression, but she had lost her father since his departure. Fergus could not imagine that marriage to Stewart would fill a woman’s days with merriment.

His throat tightened at the sight of her.

Isobel.

His beloved.

Stewart’s displeasure was clear, but so was his inability to stop his lady wife. “Isobel, I thought you were resting.”

“Stewart, I cannot surrender the opportunity to see Fergus and hear his news!” she exclaimed.

There was something different about her, or something that Fergus saw now that he had missed all those years before. Isobel was still sufficiently lovely to steal his breath away, but he noticed an assessment in her eyes when she surveyed him. She eyed his horse and trap, his garb, then that of Hamish, and he had the sense she had put a value upon it all within a penny.

And there was no disguising the quick gleam of avarice that lit her eyes when she spied the small chest that Stewart now carried. She knew it was a gift, and one for her, and greed lit her features with such clarity that Fergus was shocked.

Then it was gone, so quickly that it might never have been.

A woman who sees to her own advantage first. That was what Duncan had said. Fergus feared his comrade had been right.

Fergus felt a fool as he had not before. Surely he had not been deceived by a lovely face. Surely he had not missed Isobel’s truth. Surely life with Stewart had changed his beloved into this greedy creature.

But Fergus was not sure.

“You are home. And you are hale! Oh, Fergus!” Isobel’s greeting was fulsome, but now that Fergus was listening, it did not seem heartfelt.

Fergus was surprised that he felt so little as she reached to kiss his cheeks in turn and caress his face. She smiled up at him with pleasure but he could not smile back. He could not forget that glimpse of what he believed was her truth.

Instead of the joy he had anticipated at the sight or her, he felt only disappointment—and a sense that she tempted fate by ignoring Stewart’s obvious desire to keep her from seeing him.

A little bit late, Leila’s advice seemed most wise, and Fergus wished he had not shown such haste in leaving his new bride.

Leila would never break her word.

And Duncan had spoken the truth. In rushing to Dunnisbrae, Fergus might have created the impression at Killairic that he did not admire his new wife.

He had erred.

“Fergus is leaving,” Stewart said with resolve.

“Not yet!” Isobel cried. “He is only just arrived.” She would not release Fergus from her embrace, even though Stewart looked on with a scowl. “You must come to the board and take refreshment, and tell us all of your news! Come out of this horrible rain.” She made to take his hand and lead him to the gate, but Stewart stepped into her path.

“He must leave,” that man said firmly. “Before the weather grows worse. You would not have Fergus ride at night in peril, would you?”

“Then he must be our guest and stay until the morrow.”

“I imagine his father awaits his return.”

“So he does. I would not give him cause for concern,” Fergus said. “Stewart is right.”

Isobel pouted, keeping his hand clasped between both of hers as she leaned against him. “Oh, Fergus. I feared for your survival so much. I am so relieved that you are hale!”

Again, Fergus heard insincerity in her words and he tried to extricate his hand. “Did you?” he asked. She was the wife of another, and Stewart was armed.

Leila had warned him and he had been too foolish to heed her counsel.

He could not resist the urge to challenge Isobel. “And you were so concerned that you forgot our pledge?”

Isobel had the grace to color. “Fergus,” she whispered, resting one hand on his chest. She fluttered her lashes, looking vulnerable and lovely. She had done this before and he had always succumbed to her entreaties. In this moment, Fergus found he could only think that she had been not kept her vow. “I could not wait for you. It was too long and there was too much uncertainty...”

“I understood that you and Stewart wed within three months of my departure.”

She faltered. “It was so long,” she began again. “I could not wait. Fergus, I am only a woman and I am weak...”

Fergus was skeptical about that.

If her father had forced her decision, surely she would say as much?

“Then you should not have pledged to do as much in the first place,” Fergus replied. “You knew I rode to Outremer. You knew I would serve two years once there. You cannot have anticipated that I would be home any sooner than this.”

“If at all,” Stewart interjected. “Isobel, I must insist that you return to the hall before you take a chill.”

Isobel glanced at her husband before returning her attention to Fergus. “We should all go to the hall...”

“Nay, I will not.” Fergus caught a glimpse of movement and saw the boy in the portal, a boy who had clearly followed Isobel.

There could be no doubt that he was Isobel’s child. He had the same fair hair and blue eyes, though he was more sturdy of build.

Like Stewart.

“Ah, Gavin,” Stewart said. “Here is our neighbor, Fergus.”

The boy bowed and greeted Fergus formally.

Fergus had noted already that Isobel’s belly was slightly round, but the way she cupped her hand protectively over its curve in this moment indicated that she ripened with child again.

Whatever had happened, whatever had changed her thinking, there was no future for Fergus with Isobel. If ever she had loved him, she did no longer.

What was of import was that Leila was now his wife.

“Stewart speaks aright,” Fergus continued firmly, reaching for Tempest’s reins. “We should return to Killairic with all haste, before the weather becomes worse. My best regards to both of you, and my condolences with regards to Kerr.”

“Kerr?” Isobel echoed, her eyes narrowing.

“He died, Isobel,” Fergus said gently. “We were attacked by bandits to the west of Venice and he was killed in the assault. He is buried there, in hallowed ground, beside a lovely chapel.”

Isobel’s lips parted, then she clamped them together. For a fleeting moment, Fergus thought her expression colder than a midwinter night and he wondered whether she had any heart at all. “He died?” she asked, ice in her voice. “And you left him there?”

“We were attacked by bandits, Isobel. It was not possible to bring him home from such distance...”

Isobel did not wait to hear more. She burst into loud tears and began to wail the loss of her beloved nephew. She fled back into the bailey, lamenting the boy’s early death, but it seemed to Fergus that her reaction was insincere.

That glance had been chilling, sufficiently so that he found himself glad Isobel had broken their betrothal.

Stewart gave Fergus an angry glance. “This is not how I would have told her,” he muttered, but Fergus was glad he had delivered the news himself. “Godspeed to you,” he added, clearly meaning the opposite, and headed back through the gates with his son. The portcullis was dropped with a clang and the two sentries glared at him from the other side.

Fergus could still hear Isobel’s lamentations.

He swung into the saddle, nodded at Hamish, and turned Tempest for home. His duty was done. The truth was unwelcome but delivered. He would build a future at Killairic with Leila.

The very notion encouraged him to touch his heels to Tempest’s sides.