Cora and Ian were a little subdued at breakfast, still saddened by the awful dream that Cora had shared with her lover — made all the more awful by the fact that it wasn’t a true dream, but a memory, an insight into real events that neither of them had any power to change. It was like being in the room herself, imprisoned and powerless to help, made to watch over and over again as Bellina was tortured, broken and killed by men who should have been upholding the faith she was so devoted to. The servants whispered and joked that Ian and Cora had been up all night making love, and she felt very tired — she wished that that had been the case, that she had nothing else on her mind but her new lover and the things they could do together. What a blissful life that would be.

The Laird and his wife had stayed away overnight — some kind of diplomatic meeting at a nearby castle with the English. Colin was still wary of letting the English come to Castle MacClaran itself, Ian had told Cora — it was only recently that they’d stopped taking young newlywed women away on their wedding nights to be deflowered by strangers. A barbaric practice, to be sure, and one that Cora was glad Colin had managed to stamp out (with Audrina’s help, of course.) Traveling so soon after giving birth was not exactly the best idea, and Cora had made some very disgruntled noises about it, but Colin had taken the largest and most comfortable coach that the castle had, and Audrina had promised to spend the whole journey sitting inside it and looking out the window.

“No riding whatsoever,” Cora threatened. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

It was midmorning that day when Colin returned to the castle, stomping through the great double doors with uncharacteristic force, and one look at his face told Cora that something was seriously wrong. She’d never seen the quiet Lord so angry — there was a line of tension down his jaw that looked strong enough to snap, and not even Cora’s stories about what the babies had done in his absence could calm his silent fury. But it was Audrina that struck the most fear into Cora’s heart — Audrina, who was usually so animated and chatty, was pale and withdrawn, silent at Colin’s side as though she’d seen a ghost.

“Right, you both need to tell me what’s going on,” Cora said finally, putting down the mug of tea she’d been sipping. She and Ian were sitting with the Laird and his wife in the mostly-empty dining hall, trying to coax some kind of information out of either of them with no success. She could tell Ian was worried by the way he kept fidgeting in his seat, shooting glances around the room and occasionally taking her hand and squeezing it absently, as though that would bring about the answers they needed.

“It’s the English,” Audrina said finally — it was the first thing she’d said since she’d gotten back, and Cora was relieved to hear her voice at last. She’d had too many dreams lately about tongues being cut out. “Lord Cotswold is coming to stay.”

“Here?”

“Over my dead body,” Colin growled at that.

Audrina put a calming hand on his forearm, but her eyes were full of the same murderous rage. “Not here. Lord Weatherby’s castle. But it’s only an hour’s ride from here. He’ll be here, that — scum. Here, in my country. He doesn’t deserve to see the light of day, let alone to put his boots all over these fields.”

“Easy, love.”

“Why isn’t he dead!” she exploded suddenly, and Cora realized that her silence hadn’t been sadness — it was rage. It was the same rage she’d felt when she found out about Bellina’s death — an overwhelming mixture of anger, frustration and fear, the kind of emotion that was spurred on by powerlessness. “He ought to be dead! He ought to have been fed to his pigs, the disgusting — not only is he alive, he’s still a Lord. Weatherby promised us he’d be punished, but clearly that counted for nothing —”

“Now, lass,” Colin murmured heavily. “Nobody’s more angry with him than me —”

“ — I am,” Audrina corrected him coldly, and Cora recoiled in surprise at the rage in her voice. She’d never seen her friend look at Colin with such hostility before. “I am angrier with him than you are, Colin, thank you. Do I need to remind you of who it was that he raped and murdered?”

Colin shut his eyes for a moment. “You’re right,” he said shortly. “I’m sorry. What I mean to say is — Weatherby’s hands are tied. He did us a courtesy, warning us.”

“Courtesy my eye,” Audrina muttered, eyes blazing. “Maybe I’ll do him the courtesy of wringing his neck —”

“And risk another Lord like Cotswold being put in his place? Weatherby may not have handled Cotswold the way we wanted him to, but he’s an honorable man who’s doing his best. It’s the English who deserve our anger and our contempt. Weatherby’s doing the best with what he’s being given, which isn’t much. And he’s given us fair warning that Cotswold will be in the area. We don’t need to see him, or interact with him. We’ll just wait until he’s gone.”

“I’ll be waiting with a knife between my teeth,” Audrina hissed.

“Why is he coming back?” Ian wanted to know, leaning forward over his cup of tea. “I’d have thought after the humiliation he suffered here, he’d want to stay miles away from Castle MacClaran until his dying day.”

Colin hesitated, and glanced at Cora with a look in his eyes that made worry pool in the pit of her stomach like lead. That wasn’t a good look.

“It seems Cotswold found a newfound devotion to his faith when he was recovering from his little episode out here,” the Laird explained quietly, as Audrina seethed silently at his side. “He devoted himself to the word of God…even traveled to Rome on a pilgrimage to get more in touch with his faith. And while he was there, he learned more about the Inquisition.”

“No,” Cora whispered.

“I don’t know how much he knows about Bellina and her family, Cora — obviously I couldn’t ask in a room full of English lords, it would have raised too much suspicion. But I do know that he’s on a witch hunt, and he’s got a squad of Italian Inquisitors with him.”

Cora sat back in her seat, her mind reeling. This couldn’t be happening — Audrina’s old enemy, back from the dead and riding to her gates with an Inquisition at his back…she felt sick to her stomach at the thought of it.

“It’s alright, Cora. It’s me he’s after, most likely. To be safe, I’m going to destroy my supplies up in the tower.” She sighed heavily. “It’s such a shame to lose them, but I’ll rebuild the stores the minute that scum is out of the country again.” She reached across the table and took Cora’s hand. “Listen, love, we’re going to be fine. If he even dares to come here, he’s got absolutely no evidence of any wrongdoing from any of us. He hasn’t got a leg to stand on, the cur.”

There was no evidence of Bellina’s wrongdoing, either, Cora wanted to say — but Ian squeezed her leg under the table, and she realized that Audrina was as frightened as she was — that she was reassuring herself more than anyone else. The return of this horrible man had shaken her to her bones, Cora could see. Her friend needed her to be strong, now. So despite the fear gnawing at the pit of her stomach, despite wanting nothing more than to fall into a heap and cry and cry, Cora straightened her back and smiled a tight smile.

“He’s got nothing against us, Audrina. Warrior women, remember?”

Audrina smiled — a real smile this time, one that touched her eyes. “Warrior women.”

“I wouldn’t be in Cotswold’s shoes for all the world,” the Laird said, grinning at his cousin. “Not if it meant coming up against these two.”