Lord James Graham slammed his tankard on the table, spilling ale as he did so. “What did you say?” His deep voice thundered through the great hall.

The messenger trembled in response. “It seems—” His words came out in a squeak, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “It seems the attempt to kill Lady Sophia Douglas failed. She disappeared, along with the knight who aided her.”

“What of the sister and brother?” James asked.

“Gone as well. Their cottage in Berwick stands empty. No one has been seen coming or going from it since the...er, meeting at Sir Gilbert’s keep.”

“How can it be so difficult to kill one woman?” James couldn’t believe it. When he’d ordered the eldest daughter to be killed in the market square over a month ago, he expected confirmation of her death before the sun set. But nay. She’d miraculously escaped harm. The fool hired to do the job had gotten himself caught. James had no choice but to have him killed to make certain he kept his silence.

He’d plotted more carefully for the second attempt from the safety of his holding near Edinburgh, some distance from Berwick. It should’ve been the perfect scheme to have the two women and Sir Gilbert all eliminated in one move by the butcher from Berwick. But apparently, that had gone awry as well.

“They can’t have gone far,” James insisted. In his five and fifty winters, he’d never had such trouble having someone killed.

The man swallowed hard. “The knight who saved Lady Sophia is said to have come back from the dead to do so. He was English—is English.” The man frowned, confused as to how to properly word his report. “Some say he took her with him to the other side.”

“The other side of what?” Superstitions held no place in his world. People didn’t come back from death. They simply hadn’t been killed properly.

“Through the veil that hangs between life and death.”

James shook his head. The knight had been an English spy. James was certain of it. Spies were rife in Scotland. Obviously, his connections had aided him. That made far more sense than Englishmen returning from the dead. “What of the other Douglas sister? Did he take her to the other side as well?”

“No one knows for certain, my lord, but she’s disappeared.”

James took a long drink of ale, but it didn’t quench his thirst. He couldn’t believe the knight would turn tail and run back across the border. Then again, mayhap he’d done so in order to protect the Douglas women. “I have no doubt another spy will take his place. You must alert our men to watch for an Englishman who asks too many questions. And if any of the Douglas family are seen, send word.”

“Of course, my lord.” The messenger bowed then took a step back only to pause. “May I offer my good wishes to your daughter on her upcoming birthday? ’Tis hard to believe she’s seen eighteen years.”

James nodded, his mood lightening. Though the death of his son—an event for which he blamed William Douglas—was an ongoing source of grief and rage, he’d determined a way to use his daughter that somewhat eased his pain. “We’re having a celebration, including a tournament.” He hoped the champion would be worthy of her hand, but the final decision as to who she married would be his. The plans he had for her and her husband would change the course of history.

Before he moved forward with the details, he needed to tie up loose ends. The sooner he eliminated the Douglas family, the better. When William learned of the death of his sisters, he’d be devastated. James smiled at the thought. He’d let William wallow in his misery before he ended his life as well. “Send word when you find the sisters, the young brother, and that damned knight. It had better not take long.”

 

~*~

 

Over the next two days, Braden made slow but painful progress. He’d learned from a young age that soreness often accompanied strengthening, but he was realizing that a fine line existed between pushing himself too hard and just enough.

The daylight hours took on a routine of sorts. They broke their fast together with Ilisa’s flat bread and cheese. Alec departed to fish until he’d caught enough to see them through the day, leaving his bounty on a stringer in the creek to keep them cold. Ilisa busied herself with chores around the cottage and worked in the garden. Braden either rested or walked, moving his arms about when he thought no one was looking to loosen up his shoulder, wishing he were stronger.

His attempt to heal himself had done nothing other than rouse Ilisa’s questions. He’d stuttered an excuse about trying to see how far the damage extended.

From the odd way she watched him, along with the questioning looks she sent him the rest of the evening, he hoped he never had to reveal his gift to her. She wouldn’t understand. Few did, other than his family.

Braden attempted to rest mid-morn, but the rhythmic sound of Alec chopping wood made him both restless and more determined to do his part. Ilisa had taken a basket and gone to see if more cherries had ripened. Mayhap on the morrow, he’d attempt to hunt some rabbits for a meal. While grateful for the fish, a variety of fare would be welcome.

The sound of Alec chopping wood ceased. He must’ve grown weary of the chore and found something else to catch his interest.

Braden rose from the bed to study his sword, which stood in the corner. His horse and other gear were at the nunnery, but he hoped to be well enough to collect them soon. At least his sword remained here. He would’ve felt naked without it.

The well-crafted weapon had been a gift from his father upon achieving knighthood. He fingered the pommel, which bore a moonstone, a symbol of his hidden identity. The sword was meant for war on horseback—long enough to reach away from the horse but light enough for use in one hand as opposed to a longer and heavier two-handed sword. To test himself, though he already knew the answer, he attempted to lift the weapon with the hand of his bad shoulder. The pain that shot through his body warned him the blade was too heavy. For now. He wouldn’t practice with it until he could wield it with either hand.

Yet he wanted to train, to start working on the mobility needed to use his sword effectively. Rebuilding his strength would also allow him to assist with chores. Impatience simmering inside him, he returned the sword to its place and stepped outside. At the very least, he could make the motions with nothing in his hands until he could raise his blade.

The axe leaned against a stump, a small pile of chopped wood beside it, but no sign of Alec. Braden searched the meadow, spotting him just inside the trees. The lad was bent low, focused on something on the ground.

As Braden watched, he rose, cupping his hands as he slowly walked forward.

“What did you find?” Braden asked.

Alec held out his find, revealing a small quivering bird. “I think something is wrong with his wing. He can’t fly, the poor thing.”

“Poor thing, indeed.” Of all things Alec had found, why did it have to be an injured bird?

Braden clenched his jaw as memories of a similar bird with a broken wing flooded him. Of another boy bringing it to him, wanting him to heal it. Of that boy, who Braden had thought was his friend, breaking the wings of birds he caught to force Braden to heal them. The memory still made him ill.

When he’d determined what the boy had done, Braden hated him with a fierceness that shocked him. So great was his anger that he’d punched the boy. In that moment, he’d realized he held both light and darkness within him. That even as a healer, he had the ability to cause others harm. The knowledge of that division worried him still and was something he struggled with when in battle.

Far worse had been the next time the boy had brought a broken bird to him, as Braden had refused to heal it. He’d had to, convinced that otherwise, the boy wouldn’t stop. What if he hurt a person then brought him or her to Braden to heal?

His father had warned him that he might have to weigh the cost between healing and revealing his gift each time he used his ability. He said it wouldn’t be easy, but he knew Braden would make the right decision. Braden still didn’t know if he’d made the correct choice that day long ago when the poor bird had fluttered to no avail, its pitiful chirps tugging at his heart. He’d had nightmares of the little thing for weeks afterward.

Since then, he trusted no one with his gift. He considered his choices each time before he healed, trying to determine the consequences of his actions despite his instincts to offer help to any who needed it. The fewer who knew of his ability, the better.

Chanse always protected him and often attempted to talk him out of healing. He knew how big a toll it took on Braden, mentally and physically.

Yet as Braden looked at the little bird quivering in Alec’s hands, he reached to stroke its head. How could he not help when it meant so much to Alec? And to the damned bird.

But that didn’t mean he intended to reveal his gift. He directed Alec to set it on the stump. “Let us see if we can tell what the problem is.”

Alec watched far too closely as Braden ran his fingers along its wings, finding the joint that was hot to the touch. Though tempted to distract Alec so he wouldn’t watch so closely, Braden decided it was only a bird with a small broken bone. He might be able to heal it with Alec none the wiser.

“The problem seems to be right in here,” he said, hoping Alec would keep his gaze on the bird and not him. “It seems as if he has a joint out of place.” Keeping his body shifted away from Alec, he gathered his focus and concentrated on the broken bone, held for a moment, then drew his focus back, drawing the pain from the spot into himself. Hurt filled him, quick and sharp.

He grunted, surprised at the depth of it. As weariness swept through him, he realized how weak he still was. Too weak to be healing someone—or something—else when his own body was far from whole.

All the same, he tried to mask the pain and weakness. “Alec, see if it will drink some water.” Anything to keep him from staring.

Alec hurried away to return with a large leaf filled with water and offered it to the bird. The small creature drank then fluttered its wings and took flight.

“Oh!” The delight on Alec’s face made the effort worthwhile.

“Mayhap he was just thirsty.”

Alec frowned at him. “He couldn’t fly though.”

“’Tis difficult to do anything when you have a great thirst, wouldn’t you agree?” He stood, hoping he could make it inside before he collapsed. “I’m going to rest again.”

Braden slept hard, waking some time later to the sound of the axe once again. He stepped outside, feeling better but hoping Alec wouldn’t find another bird in need of aid.

The boy gave Braden a friendly wave then continued his work, his slim body bending with the effort of swinging the axe. Though tempted to take a one-handed turn at chopping, Braden resisted. The work would help Alec grow strong, and Braden feared he wasn’t yet ready for the jarring motion.

He walked a short distance away to raise his good arm then moved the other more slowly, feeling foolish doing the movements when he wasn’t holding anything. His wound already protested. He ignored both sensations and added his legs into the movements, fighting an imaginary opponent with slow, painful movements as he twisted, turned, and squatted.

“Training, eh?” Alec asked, leaving his axe and wood behind to approach Braden.

“Aye. I need to build my strength.”

“You don’t look weak to me.” Alec grinned.

Braden smiled. “I will soon if I don’t train.” He was relieved when the boy didn’t raise the subject of the bird.

“How often do you do it at home?”

“Most of our day is spent in training in one form or another.” Braden paused, already winded from his efforts. “Pitiful.”

“I’m guessing I could best you in a fight at the moment.” Alec’s cocky claim made Braden laugh.

“That’s probably true.” He glanced over Alec’s shoulder to the woodpile. “I don’t suppose you have anything over there that could serve as a temporary sword.”

The boy eyed him for a long moment, making Braden wonder if he had dirt on his face. “I do, actually,” he said at length. He trotted to the woodpile, sorted through a few pieces, then paused.

Braden waited, puzzled by the lad’s behavior.

At last, Alec turned to look over the clearing then, seeming to find it to his satisfaction, pulled a long stick from the pile.

As he drew closer, Braden realized it wasn’t merely a stick, but a roughly whittled sword, hilt, and pommel, only smaller. The perfect size for a squire with which to train.

Alec offered it to him with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “I made this. Mayhap it will help.”

Braden held the sword aloft. “I’m impressed. Well done.” He brandished it about with his good hand, amazed at how well balanced the wooden weapon felt. “Now I have something with which to practice.”

“I’m pleased ’tis of use to you.” Alec nodded, staring at the sword with a pang of longing if Braden wasn’t mistaken.

Braden forced a frown as he studied it. “I foresee one problem though.”

“Oh?” Alec’s expression fell.

“We need another.”

Alec stared at Braden in confusion. “Whatever for?”

“So that I might have someone with whom to spar.”

Alec blinked rapidly. “But who—”

“You, of course.” Braden held his gaze. “’Tis past time for you to be training as a squire. How can I practice by myself?”

Alec took a step back. Then another. “Nay. I don’t wish to train to be a knight.”

Braden recognized the fear in his expression. Given everything he’d been through, everything he’d witnessed, it came as no surprise. But mayhap the time had come for some tough love. The lad had been living with a houseful of women who’d coddled him overmuch. “Do you intend to be a fisherman all your life?”

“Well, nay, but—”

“Then what? A butcher?”

“Nay.” He looked aghast at the thought, though Braden knew the job had once been among one of the possibilities Alec was considering.

“I can’t believe your brother would want you to be anything other than a knight.”

“I can’t.” Alec swallowed hard. After a long moment, he met Braden’s gaze. “I trained as a squire before the...siege, but I don’t have it in me. I can’t kill anything more than a fish. I can’t even kill a rabbit, let alone a man.”

Braden knelt on one knee. “Being a knight isn’t about killing. Being a knight means taking an oath to honor God and maintain His church, to serve your liege lord and protect the weak, that you’ll observe your vow to God against all other persons without deceit.”

Alec pondered Braden’s words then gave a single, cautious nod.

“To me,” Braden continued, “being a knight means being a man of honor, one who keeps his word, putting God first, the innocent next.” He gave the lad a moment to process his words before adding, “The time has come for you to decide what sort of man you want to be. Even if that path is not one of knighthood, you need to decide who you are and for what you stand. After what you and your family endured during the siege of Berwick, ’tis even more important. Do you understand?”

Alec nodded solemnly.

“With your brother gone, you don’t have someone with whom to discuss such things. If it serves you, I would be happy to stand in his place, if only for these few weeks that we have together.”

“My thanks, Sir Braden. I have much to think upon.”

Braden rose and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Spoken like a man of honor. I respect you for taking the question to heart rather than saying what you think I want to hear.” He twirled the wooden sword in his hand, making it sing as it passed swiftly through the air. “I’d be pleased if you’d consider helping me train, regardless of your decision.”

“Truly?” The boy looked nervous at the thought.

“Knowing how to defend yourself and those you love is a wise skill to possess, regardless of your occupation. What say you?”

Alec’s shoulders straightened. “I’d be honored to aid you.”

Braden held the wooden sword aloft once more. “Shall we make another of these?”

“I have just the right piece of wood to do so.”

Together, they used the axe to shape a rough sword. “I’ll whittle the details of it smooth after supper,” Alec offered. “Do you think it will serve the purpose for now?”

“Considering how quickly I’ll need to rest again, aye.” Braden took the rough piece and handed Alec his original one. “Ready?”

Alec held the sword before him just as a knight would. “Aye.”

Braden moved slowly through movements, coaching Alec to use both hands to hold the sword, to use the momentum of his body to lend power to the thrusts, impressed with his natural ability.

“Hold.” Ilisa’s voice carried easily across the clearing. She marched forward, her anger evident in the tight lines of her face and the length of her stride. “What do you think you’re about?”

“Training with Alec.” Braden thought it obvious.

“Alec is not a knight. He is not your squire. Nor does he wish to become one.” Her glare would’ve sent chills through a lesser man.

But Braden wasn’t one of those. “I am well aware of that. We’ve discussed it. But no harm lies in him learning to protect himself or what’s his.”

“I disagree.” She turned her glacial glare on her brother. “You’re supposed to be chopping wood.”

“Aye.” Alec scowled as he turned to the woodpile.

Ilisa’s attention returned to Braden. “I don’t appreciate your interference in this matter.”

“So you want the boy to become a fisherman?” Braden kept his tone even despite his frustration at her reaction.

“I didn’t say that. But at least then he’d have the chance for a life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with catching fish for a living. It serves a purpose and fulfills a need. But I have a difficult time believing your brother would be happy doing so.”

“And you think killing for a living would be better?”

Braden reined in the burst of temper that her words brought forth. Along with the hurt.

He waited a long moment, wondering if she realized the insult she’d just delivered. Was that truly what she thought of him? “I wouldn’t know. I can’t say that I know anyone who kills for a living. Do you?”

Ilisa’s mouth gaped open as if her words had finally sunk in.

He didn’t wait for a response. Weary to the bone, he only wanted to lie down and rest. He moved to the cottage, handing the rough sword to Alec as he passed him. The boy didn’t meet his gaze.

“Women,” Braden muttered under his breath, glancing down in time to see a corner of Alec’s mouth curve upward.