Kate trembled as she slept, and each breath she drew was strained. With her mother sitting on the edge of the bed and her cat curled up at her feet, Maddock paced the small room where they all would stay the night.

Paton caught his eye and motioned for him to join him in the hallway.

Quietly, he slipped away from the group so as not to draw attention.

“We canna heal her, Maddock.”

“Aye, I know.” He sighed and leaned against the wall. Healing magic would place too much strain on their powers. With The Eight still missing a member and them being so far from the Isle, it could put them in great danger.

Paton continued to ramble on as if he’d not just agreed with him. “Even on the Isle, even with the other men, healing magic is the most difficult. This far from home with only the two of us, such a strain could break our bond to the others. It could set Machara free.”

“Aye, I know. Hush yer mouth. I canna think with yer yammering.” He didn’t need Paton to explain to him what he already knew.

At the rate they were moving now, they were still four days from the Isle. If the weather grew worse or if Kate’s sickness remained, it would take them even longer. She might be dead by then.

Unencumbered by new riders and able to ride through the night without sleep, he and Paton had been able to make the entire journey in just three days.

“We canna let Laurel’s sister die while in our care.”

“Paton.” He shoved his friend into the opposite wall and held both his hands on his shoulders. “I’ve no intention of letting the lass die. We will have to split up so that one of us can get Kate to the Isle more quickly. Then the rest of the men can heal her.”

“I’ll take her.”

Maddock laughed and dropped his hands from Paton’s shoulders. There was no way he was letting Kate out of his sight. “I’ll be the one taking her. I ride faster than ye do. Besides, the lass is more comfortable in my presence than in yers.”

“Ha! How could ye possibly know that? We’ve both known her exactly the same amount of time. Myla hates me, Maddock.”

Maddock smiled for the first time all day. It was true. Kate’s mother did seem to despise Paton for some reason none of them could quite understand.

“Trust me, I just know. Besides, Myla’s distaste for ye is even more reason that I should be the one to see Kate to the castle. Myla wouldna want her daughter in yer care.”

Paton frowned and gave him one begrudging nod. “Aye, fine. When will ye leave with her?”

He could spare a little magic to keep her warm and to help her rest, but the ride would be taxing on her, regardless of the little comfort he could provide. If she could sleep now, she needed to.

“Morning. For now, I shall inquire with the innkeeper if there is a healer in the village. Mayhap I can find something medicinal to help her with the illness.” He stepped away and then paused before Paton walked back inside the room. “Say nothing of this to her mother just yet. It will only make her worry about the severity of Kate’s illness. I will tell her just before we leave.”

Watching Paton slip back inside with the others, Maddock made his way downstairs where the old man who’d rented them the room sat rocking by the fire.

“Pardon me, sir. I am verra sorry to disturb ye so late, but the lass I carried in has grown worse. Is there a healer close by? I’m afraid ’tis quite urgent that I find some help.”

The old man stood and walked over to open the front door, waiting until Maddock stood next to him to point out into the wet, cold night. “Aye, I do. Fourth home to the right. The one with the candle still burning in the window. The lad’s name is Brachan. His mother grows the flowers and herbs he uses, and he mixes them on his own. We’ve not had a villager die here from anything other than old age in three years. If he canna see the lassie well, then I doona believe anyone will be able to.”

---

A woman far younger than he expected opened the door after his first knock.

“Doona tell me ’tis Murdock again? I thought we had him well days…” She paused as she stepped forward to look at him more closely, then she smiled and dipped her head in embarrassment. “Ach, ye are not who I thought ye were. My apologies. I’ve not seen ye around here before. Ye must be passing through, aye? What can we do for ye?”

Maddock stepped into the small cottage as the woman ushered him inside.

“’Tis not for me. I’m traveling with a small group, and one of the women has fallen ill. She has a terrible cough and fever. She drifts in and out of consciousness.”

“Well, we canna have that, can we?”

The woman turned away from him to address the man sitting at a table in the far corner of the room with his back toward them. “Brachan, grab yer bag and come and greet this man so ye may follow him to wherever his lady friend lies ill.”

“She is not…” He stopped, deciding that was unimportant. Besides, he liked the way that sounded.

Maddock watched on as Brachan slowly stood, reached for a small satchel underneath the desk where he worked, and turned toward him.

“Forgive my rudeness, sir. I was in the middle of mixing a tincture. I would’ve forgotten where I was had I stood to greet ye the moment ye entered. Now, what else can ye tell me of the woman’s symptoms?”

Maddock could find no immediate words as he stared at the man in front of him. Brachan bore a striking resemblance to a younger Nicol. The man had the same green eyes, the same spotty stubble, and the same distinct chin.

“The…she…the lass is trembling all over without end, and as I said, she has a fever and a horrible cough. She passed out in my arms earlier in the day. Might I ask ye lad, what is yer surname?”

“Young. My name is Brachan Young, sir.”

Maddock would’ve bet all he owned that the man would’ve said Murray, just like Nicol.

“Do ye have relations to the clan Murray? Ye look just like someone I know.”

Brachan’s mother stepped in between them. Her tone was suddenly far less friendly. “Clan Murray? Why would ye ask that? And what of yerself? What might yer name be, and where are ye from?”

Maddock couldn’t understand the woman’s sudden change of mood, but he said nothing of it.

“My name is Maddock and I live on The Isle of Eight Lairds. I thought mayhap ye might have relations there, for yer son looks just like my friend and master, Nicol.”

The woman’s hands moved to his arms as she tried to push him back toward the door. He didn’t budge. “Get out of my house, sir. While I hope the lass recovers, we willna be giving her aid.”

“If I have done anything to offend ye, I am truly sorry, but I am afraid I canna leave without yer son’s help. The lass may truly die without it, and I willna allow that to happen.”

Brachan moved toward his mother, placing a gentle hand on her back. “I will help them regardless of where they come from, Mother. We canna live in fear forever. I will be back by morning. Doona wait up.”

Maddock turned to follow the man as he brushed past his mother and stepped out of the house.

“The lass is at the inn, aye?”

Maddock called after him as Brachan moved in that direction. “Aye, first room at the top of the stairs.”

Maddock slowed to watch Brachan as he made his way to the inn. The man even ran like Nicol.

If Brachan’s appearance hadn’t been enough to convince him, the reaction of the boy’s mother would’ve done the job.

Nicol had a son.

One that wasn’t Freya’s.

One that Maddock suspected Nicol knew nothing about.