In the end, Cam joined Ross and a couple of other warriors in the local tavern. It was likely mac Uurguist’s mercenaries would be there and men often revealed what they shouldn’t when under the influence of ale.

But it appeared that at last God was on Cam’s side. Because mac Uurguist had also joined his mercenaries.

In keeping with Connor MacKenzie’s instructions, none of the Scots were permitted to drink to oblivion while in Ce. The alliance between Scot and Pict was tenuous at best, and although the queen of Ce had extended hospitality toward them, they all knew the folly of losing their senses to drink.

Two nights ago Cam had discovered that himself. He’d been fortunate to only end up in a noblewoman’s bed, and not with his head embedded on a spike. If Ross knew how pissed Cam had been, he would certainly not have overlooked it, as he had overlooked the incident involving Elise.

It appeared mac Uurguist’s mercenaries were under no such orders. Likely the old bastard believed himself safe here in the heart of Pictland.

His arrogance would be his downfall.

Night had descended early, with black clouds lowering over the land. Rain slashed against the tavern’s roof and the few lanterns inside flickered from the gusts of wind that invaded every possible crack and gap in the structure. The cramped conditions intensified the stink of unwashed bodies, spilled ale and the wet fur of wild-eyed dogs.

The compulsion to leave this rank outpost of hell clamored through every jagged nerve. But he remained on his rickety stool and watched his enemy from the corner of his eye.

“MacNeil.” Ross’ low voice, laden with warning, penetrated his blood-fueled thoughts of retribution. “There’s no room in this alliance for long held feuds. You swore fealty to MacKenzie back in Dal Riada.”

“Aye.” But he’d sworn to avenge his sister long before he’d taken up arms for his king or joined Connor’s ranks. He’d battened down his loathing for the Picts as a people and curtailed his natural inclination to smash the head of every male Pict he encountered. He’d done that because it was expected of him, and he had given his word.

But mac Uurguist was his.

***

Cam had barely touched his first tankard of ale when his fellow Scots, mellow but not drunk from their indulgences, heaved themselves to their feet. It would not do to be late to the feast and the prospect of securing a noblewoman for the night. Who knew how much longer the queen would extend such hospitality their way?

He saw mac Uurguist push his way through his mercenaries and disappear outside. Cam tensed and managed not to grasp the hilt of his sword as he left the tavern with the other warriors. The last thing he needed was for Ross to guess his true purpose.

The weather was foul, and it was fully dark although still hours from sunset. Harsh wind and pelting rain attacked them and as they fought against the elements, Cam stealthily retraced his steps.

The others wouldn’t notice his absence in this weather. And by the time he joined them in the great hall it would be too late for Ross to stay his hand.

He sank back against the cold stone of the tavern and made his way along the wall. Chinks of light escaped the ill-fitting shutters, giving him just enough illumination to discern his surroundings. There was a narrow alley between the side of the tavern and its neighbor, and at the far end, he saw the black outline of mac Uurguist taking a piss. Cam drew his sword and strode forward. Even the storm couldn’t wash away the stink of decay that clung in the alley like a noxious cloud.

“Ferelei mac Uurguist. Draw your sword and prepare to meet your death.”

The Pict swung around, just as lightning split the sky. Shock stabbed through Cam’s chest at the sight of the other man’s face.

He knew mac Uurguist was old. But he’d only seen him from afar earlier this day and the light had been gloomy inside the tavern. Up close, mac Uurguist looked eerily like a walking corpse.

Cam’s guts clenched in revulsion and he resisted the urge to back away. Instead, he gripped his sword tighter, hands slippery from the rain.

“Who dares accost me?” Scorn dripped from every word and although it was too dark to see, Cam knew mac Uurguist swept his arrogant gaze over him. “A mere Scots pup. I could demand your head for this insult, boy.”

“Draw your sword, coward.” Rain slashed, and the mist made it hard to see clearly. Ominous thunder rolled across the heavens. He took another step forward. “I demand justice for the murder of my sister.”

The Pict might not have cut her throat with his dagger as he had their father. But even that savage death would have been kinder than the one she had endured.

“I don’t kill women.”

“She wasn’t a woman.” A hard knot expanded deep in his chest and raw grief pumped through his veins. He tried desperately to cling onto his control. He was a warrior. He wouldn’t fall victim to emotion that could get him killed. But the words could not be denied. “She was a child.”

Silence greeted his words. Then mac Uurguist slumped, as though his spine had crumpled. In the gloom, he looked nothing like a warrior. He looked like an old, defeated man.

“I’ve done many things I’m not proud of. The bloodlust of battle does not make heroes of us all. Tell me who you are, boy, so I might know whose sword will deliver me to the gods.”

Cam gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers around his hilt. These were not words he’d anticipated mac Uurguist saying. Yet he couldn’t ignore the question. “My name is Cameron MacNeil from Dunmar. Now draw your sword.”

Mac Uurguist raised one arm, his palm face up in a sign of surrender. His other arm remained by his side. Was it the shadows playing tricks, or did that arm look unnaturally twisted? Was it paralyzed? Had he used that arm in the tavern?

Cam couldn’t recall.

“I no longer fight, Cameron MacNeil from Dunmar. If it’s vengeance you seek, you will have to run me through while I stand before you unarmed.”

Rage thudded in Cam’s chest, making it hard to breathe. He would no sooner murder an unarmed man than he would cut his own throat. “Draw your sword, damn you.”

“I’m not the man I once was. I’m old now and feeble.” Mac Uurguist slowly lowered his arm. “Thanks to my beloved wife who has shown me the errors of my past. I care nothing for my own life, MacNeil. But I fear greatly for her peace of mind should she discover the violence of my death. She is gentle and does me the great honor of loving me, despite my foul faults.”

Elise didn’t love this bastard. She couldn’t love him. Yet how fiercely she’d defended him when Cam had first learned who her husband was.

And she was loyal to mac Uurguist. She hadn’t been with any other warrior and why would she stay true to a man such as this unless she loved him?

For a second his sword wavered before his grip tightened. This wasn’t about Elise. This was about honor and avenging Isla.

But how could he ever look Elise in the eyes again if he killed the man she loved?

A man who bore no resemblance to the demon he’d harbored in his mind for nine long years. This was no warrior. Nor pirate. It was a man at the end of his life.

There would be no honor if he killed this creature. Only a sense of disgust that he, Cameron MacNeil, could sink so low as to murder a decrepit cripple.

He stepped back. His grip around his sword was so fierce his knuckles ached. Frustration burned through him at how retribution was within his grasp and he couldn’t claim justice.

It would be so easy. One swift swing of his sword and the Pict’s head would roll. Rain blinded him and the wind cut through him, but that was nothing to the violent storm ripping through his heart.

He cursed and swung on his heel. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the filth-strewn alley. In that second he saw Ross at the end of the passageway. Saw him raise his arm in warning, heard his urgent shout.

Cam whirled around. The Pict, his arm no longer paralyzed, threw his dagger. The blade glinted and Cam ducked. Stinging pain razed along his cheek.

The thunder drowned out his ferocious roar as he attacked the lying bastard. Mac Uurguist, sword in hand, was far from frail. Metal clashed and Cam’s boots slid on the foul muck coating the ground. He lunged forward and crashed into mac Uurguist who also lost his footing on the treacherous ground.

Cam collided into the wall and pushed himself upright and around in one furious movement. Panting he glared into the shadows to where mac Uurguist slumped against the wall of the tavern. Another trick? Cam would not be fooled so easily again.

“Fuck, Cam.” Ross was by his side. “Bastard was going to run you through from behind.”

Cam shoved him aside. “Get up.” He kicked the Pict’s boot. No response. “Get up and fight like a fucking man.”

Mac Uurguist’s head slowly slid toward his shoulder. His body remained motionless. Frustration pounded through Cam’s blood and he battled the primitive need to thrust his sword through the Pict’s black heart and to hell with honor.

“Wait.” Ross shoved at Cam’s chest and bent over the fallen man.

Cam tensed. “Beware, MacIntosh.”

Ross swore and stood up. “He’s dead.”

Cam ground out a curse and bent over the man himself. The iron scent of freshly spilled blood filled his senses. The darkness that dripped from the wall behind mac Uurguist’s head and mingled with the black puddles was more than mere shadows. It was the Pict’s life seeping into the mud.

“No.” Denial pounded with every thud of his heart. He should have killed mac Uurguist when he’d had the chance. Now the Pict had escaped justice and Cam had failed his sister. He stood over his fallen enemy and lifted his sword. It wasn’t the same, but it would have to do.

“MacNeil.” Before Cam could plunge his sword through the dead man’s chest, Ross shoved him off balance. Cam rounded on his commanding officer, fury and frustration blinding every sense he possessed.

“I should have been the one to end his miserable life, MacIntosh. What end is this, to die by accident? I’ll carve out his shriveled heart and sever his head from—”

Ross shoved him again and he smashed up against the wall. Ross pinned him there, his hand around his throat. “You’ll not touch him. Do you hear me? If the Picts discover his mutilated body there’ll be an uprising. This way he’s merely a drunk who lost his footing.”

Cam bared his teeth as Ross released him. “That’s not good enough.”

Ross rounded on him. “That’s the way it’ll be. You’ll speak to no one of this, MacNeil, on pain of execution. Do you hear me? The bastard fell and hit his head. That’s the truth, and that’s all the truth that will ever be revealed.”

With that, Ross gripped his arm and forced him along the alley. Cam pulled himself free and marched toward the palace since it appeared he had no choice. He sheathed his sword and welcomed the stinging rain and buffeting wind that scoured the stench of the alley from his clothes. But he knew nothing would ever cleanse the darkness in his soul.

The darkness he had known would fade once mac Uurguist’s blood was on his hands.

As the looming shadow of the palace came into view, Ross pulled him to a halt. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because I saw you turn away, MacNeil. If you’d followed through and killed mac Uurguist in cold blood, I would’ve had your head for disobeying orders. Are we clear?”

“Aye.” The bloodlust had faded, and instead a hollow sense of inevitability seeped into his veins. His vendetta was over but there was no victory.

***

Cam and Ross dried themselves as best as they could in front of the roaring fire in the outer hall. Several other warriors, both Scot and Pict were also there, and none commented on his fresh wound or their late arrival.

None appeared to even notice their late arrival.

He didn’t want to sit through another feast surrounded by Picts. He ached to return to Dal Riada. But it wasn’t Dunadd, hill fort of his king, that he craved.

It was Dunmar. He needed to return home, to seek Isla’s forgiveness for failing her.

As the royal party took their places at the high table, he steadfastly refused to look Elise’s way. But it didn’t matter whether he looked her way or not. He couldn’t help but see her from the corner of his eye.

She didn’t appear unduly concerned at her husband’s absence.

The food turned to ashes in his mouth and he swallowed half a tankard of mead. He tried to kill the thought before it took form but could not.

Elise was free. Would she take a lover, now? Would she take him?

A Pict warrior bowed low to his queen and murmured in her ear. The queen’s countenance didn’t change, but she turned to Elise and a moment later, the entire royal party left the hall.

Speculation for the swift departure spread throughout the hall. Cam caught Ross’ grim glare, but he hadn’t needed the reminder.

He would tell no one what had happened outside the tavern.

***

Elise followed her aunt and grandmother to the queen’s private chamber. She hadn’t seen Ferelei since earlier that day and had been dreading his presence at the feast. But for an unknown reason he had risked the Queen of Ce’s displeasure by not attending.

Elise didn’t care what had delayed him. She only wished with all her heart the delay would be permanent. Would Bride grant her such a favor even though her goddess had allowed Ferelei safe passage through countless sea voyages?

She knew it was too much to hope for. But a tiny corner of her heart hoped, all the same.

“Elise, my love.” The queen beckoned her forward and took her hand. “I have bad news of your husband. He’s been taken into the gods’ safekeeping.”

The gods’ safekeeping? She knew what that meant, of course. But they were speaking of Ferelei. “Madam?”

The queen squeezed her fingers. “He is dead, Elise. It appears he stumbled in the rain and hit his head. Nothing could be done.”

The queen’s words echoed in Elise’s ears. He is dead. It couldn’t be true. He was a pirate and a warrior. How could he have stumbled and hit his head?

Her grandmother approached and embraced her. “The goddess has set you free, Elise,” she whispered in her ear.

She pulled back from her grandmother as the truth sank into her soul. She was free. Her heart thundered in her chest making it hard to breathe, and a whirlwind filled her head making the chamber spin about her.

Bride had heard her prayer. The enormity of her wish, and the manner in which her goddess had replied, crashed through her. She stumbled backwards as icy fear filled her veins, and she looked at her palm where the crystal had marred her skin.

Bride had released her from Ferelei. But nothing was truly free. She had pledged wildly and without due care to do anything, sacrifice anything, if only Bride would grant her this one favor.

What would her goddess demand in return?