“Adara is the sole heir to the neighboring Clan MacVarish. She did not know she was Owen MacVarish’s niece, her mum and da having taken her far up into the Highlands when she was just a tiny bairn. When they died, she was passed around to various people until her identity was discovered. The nephew, Penley was his name, of a family Adara once lived with hatched a plan to try and claim the Clan MacVarish as his. His one problem was Adara, the true heir to Clan MacVarish. He had to find her and make sure no one else ever did.” Craven paused, his first wife’s unwilling part in it and her murder a memory he would never forget and one he did not wish to speak of. “I believe Penley paid someone to get rid of Adara and that was probably how she wound up at your dungeon.”

Warrick gripped the metal tankard in his hand so hard that his knuckles turned white. It infuriated him to know that the woman he had laboriously searched for had been right under his nose and suffering unspeakable torture.

“And that was how your wife came to rescue her.” Warrick raised his hand, seeing Craven ready to defend Espy. “I am not condemning Espy. She is a brave woman, though foolish at times. She should have come to me.”

“As Espy pointed out… it would have been too late for too many. I do agree she can be foolish at times, but as she often reminds me, she is a healer and suffering and death are her enemies.”

“And she saved Adara from death.”

“She did that and more. I believe she has helped Adara gain some strength. Something the petite woman never knew she had. Adara spoke little when I first met her. She still does not talk as much as most women do,” Craven said with a chuckle. “But she speaks more than she once did, though she continues to remain much to herself. She trusts little, though I cannot blame her for all she has been through.” Craven paused briefly before asking, “How do you know her, Warrick?”

“A chance meeting.”

Craven understood Warrick’s brief response meant he would say no more on it until he was ready.

“Has she been feeling poorly or is her faint due to her fear of me?”

“Espy has mentioned that Adara has not been feeling well. She was due to visit Espy today and I would have dispatched a warrior to escort her here, but she arrived before I could send anyone.”

“She came here alone?”

Craven nodded. “Adara walked from your castle to here after Espy freed her. Today’s walk would be nothing compared to that.”

“Which probably did not help her sour stomach,” Espy said, approaching the table where the two men sat.

Warrick had caught sight of her entering the Great Hall, though had made no move to acknowledge her. He preferred people not to know how alert he was to his surroundings. He learned much that way. Besides, his thoughts had been on Adara and all she had been through since last he had seen her. What perils had she met along the way? How had she ever survived?

Craven stood and offered his hand to his wife to sit.

“That is all that troubles her?” Warrick asked after Espy took the seat beside her husband.

“Your presence does not help. It brings back unwanted memories,” Espy said.

“My dungeon,” Warrick said. When Espy gave a nod, he demanded more than asked, “Tell me what was done to her there—everything that was done to her.”

Espy held nothing back. “Adara arrived at your dungeon with two broken fingers on her right hand. It had been too long since they had been broken so I could not straighten them. They have never healed right and are useless.”

“Did she say who did this to her?” Warrick asked barely able to control the anger bubbling inside him like a cauldron about to spew over.

Espy shook her head. “She never spoke of it. The dark, confined, and disgusting odors of your cells are torture enough, and the agonizing screams added to the horror of it all. It was obvious after being taken to the torture room twice that your jailers were taking great pleasure in making her suffer and intended to get as much pleasure from it before letting her die. Another woman faced the same fate and another I feared I was too late to help. I do not know where you got such monsters but they deserve to burn in hell.”

“They will pray for the fires of hell by the time I get done with them.”

Warrick’s dark eyes held such a cold emptiness that it ran a shiver through Espy.

“Did my jailers have their way with her?”

His voice was so frighteningly devoid of emotions, so empty, so uncaring that gooseflesh crawled along Espy’s entire body. She had seen him like this before when she was his healer and it had disturbed her just as much then as it did now.

She slipped her arm around her husband’s, grateful she felt loved and safe with him. “No, I managed to convince the jailers and guards that the women had an incurable disease and if they coupled with them their manhood would shrivel and decay.”

“And they believed you?”

“The odorous scent from the salve I concocted and had the women use, kept the jailers and guards away, especially the ones with weak stomachs. They kept a wide berth around the women.”

“You should have come to me. I trusted you.”

Espy shook her head, tucking herself closer against her husband. “You trust no one, least of all me. You questioned everything I did and never once spoke a kind word to me.”

“Yet you stayed,” Warrick challenged.

“I was needed.”

“By the prisoners it would seem.”

“By the innocent,” Espy argued.

“Who are you to judge who is innocent?” Warrick accused.

“Who are you to ignore the innocent?”

“Watch your tongue, Espy,” Warrick cautioned.

Craven raised his voice in warning. “Do not threaten my wife.”

Warrick stood so suddenly the bench beneath him toppled over. “Your wife keeps her freedom because of my generosity. Do not forget that.”

Espy forced herself to take a calming breath, seeing the anger raging in his eyes. It would do no good to further ignite his temper. “Forgive me, Lord Warrick. I meant no disrespect.”

Craven did not think for a moment that his wife meant her apology. She said it to keep peace, to stop further problems. He only worried that Warrick would realize the same.

“I would accept your apology if I thought you meant it, Espy. But I have learned that most women say what is necessary whether they mean it or not. That you worry over your husband and clan’s safety is admirable, but I would prefer the truth from you.”

Craven kept a stoic posture, worried over his wife’s response, but remained ready to defend her at all cost.

Espy gave Warrick what he wanted. “The truth is that I find you a soulless man with no redeeming qualities. You care for nothing—”

Warrick lunged toward her and Craven moved just as quickly, shielding his wife with his body.

“You would do well to remember that, woman,” Warrick warned, his fist smashing down on the table.

“My lord, a message,” Roark called out, entering the Great Hall.

Warrick nodded at him, then turned to Craven. “I will speak to Adara on my return. Make sure she remains in my bedchamber waiting for me.”

Worry had Espy speaking up. “I will have Adara taken to another room, so your bedchamber is free to make use of upon your return.”

“Do as I commanded, Espy. Your husband may tolerate your disobedience—I will not. And I intend to make full use of my bedchamber upon my return.”

Espy tried to push past her husband as Warrick turned to walk away, but his arm refused to let her pass him. Her voice rang out, not that it was necessary with Warrick being only a few steps away.

“I will not stand by and see Adara suffer any more than she already has,” Espy threatened and Warrick turned, shooting her a look that struck her with the force of a blow.

“Keep that tongue in your mouth, woman, or your husband will not even be able to save you from my wrath. And do not waste another worthless apology on me.”

Craven whispered a warning to his wife. “Not another word.” He stepped forward. “We worry for Adara. She is a gentle soul.”

“Adara is no longer your concern,” Warrick said and went to turn away.

“Adara is my concern and my responsibility, Warrick. Her uncle appointed me Chieftain of Clan MacVarish upon his death and that included watching over his niece until a time—”

“That responsibility is no longer yours.”

“You cannot simply claim that,” Craven said.

Warrick turned a hard, cold stare on him. “I claim what is mine.”

“Explain yourself, Warrick, since you are not making sense,” Craven said, his own annoyance showing.

“Have you ever known me not to make sense, Craven?”

Craven’s response was instant. “No.” It took a moment for everything to set in. He shook his head, finally realizing what Warrick was not saying, though trying to comprehend it. “It cannot be so.”

“What?’ Espy whispered from behind him, her skin alive with gooseflesh yet again, sensing something was dreadfully wrong.

“Tell her, Craven. Tell your wife that I am the new Chieftain and lord of the Clan MacVarish.”

“That is utter nonsense,” Espy said and gasped, her eyes going wide.

“I see you realize what your husband already has,” Warrick said, his face an iron mask, but his dark eyes brilliant in what one would see as victory. “Adara is my wife!”